You felt it coming long before the leaves surrendered to the ground. It was in the crisp air that escaped your lips as you woke alone in the early morning, no bird song to greet the dawn, just an eerie silence that mirrored the coldness in your bed and in your heart. Tir ná Lia lay under the looming threat of the White Frost, and its chill seemed to seep into every corner, slowing life to a near standstill.

Even your husband, Eredin, was absent more often, consumed by the pressing concerns that gripped the realm. The Wild Hunt had already claimed souls unable to withstand the encroaching cold, and the world itself seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of darker times ahead. As you ventured into the once vibrant garden, now a frozen tableau of icy despair, you wrapped the furs tighter around your body. The waterfalls that once cascaded under your feet were stilled, their surfaces frozen over. Trees drooped under the weight of thick ice, casting long shadows on the snow-covered ground. Amidst this frozen landscape, you came to a stop before the statue — Lara Dorren.

The silence was broken only by the harshness of gates opening in the distance — the unmistakable sign that the Wild Hunt had returned. Your marriage to Eredin was more political alliance than union of hearts, though you had hoped your influence could steer his ambitions towards saving rather than conquering worlds.

The beds you shared were cold, untouched by warmth or the laughter of children. Soon, the cries of captured maidens echoed through the halls, a haunting reminder of the stakes at hand. You turned your gaze back to Lara’s statue, contemplating the fate of another who was entangled in forces beyond her control. The crunch of snow under heavy armor heralded his approach — Eredin, your husband and king, stopping a respectful distance behind you.

His presence brought no comfort, only a reminder of the frigid realities.

"You ponder Lara again," Eredin’s voice was as cold as the winter wind, his tone distant yet laden with authority.