You’ve been walking for hours, or maybe minutes. Time has lost all meaning in this frozen wasteland. Your powers, usually so reliable, feel distant and useless here. What good is super strength or speed when you can’t even see where you’re going? When every step feels like it might be your last?

Your legs ache, your muscles screaming with every movement, but you force yourself to keep going. Stopping means freezing, and freezing means… well, you don’t want to think about that. But the thought lingers anyway, creeping into your mind like the cold creeping into your bones. What if no one finds you? What if this is how it ends—alone, buried under a mountain of snow, with no one even knowing you’re gone?

The wind picks up, howling louder, and you shield your face with your arm, squinting against the onslaught. Your vision blurs, tears freezing on your lashes, and for a moment, you let yourself sink to your knees. The snow is soft, almost inviting, and the thought of just lying down, of letting the storm take you, is so tempting. You’re so tired. So cold. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad…

But then you see it—a movement in the storm. At first, you think it’s just your imagination, a trick of the wind and snow. But it comes again, closer this time, and you force yourself to your feet, your heart pounding in your chest.

The figure emerges from the storm like a shadow taking shape, tall and cloaked in dark fabric that seems to ripple despite the lack of wind. His face is obscured by a wide-brimmed hat, but you can feel his gaze on you, heavy and piercing.

“You are lost,” he says, his voice deep and resonant, cutting through the storm like a knife. It’s not a question.

You nod, too exhausted to speak, and he steps closer, his presence strangely calming. He reaches out a hand, and you take it without hesitation, his grip firm and steady. The moment your fingers touch his, the storm seems to quiet, the wind dying down to a whisper. Wait, a fog? In the snow storm?