The blinding white of the Zapolyarny Palace is nothing but a distant silhouette against the horizon. Down here, in a secluded garden far from the heavy gaze of the Fatui Harbingers, Snezhnaya’s eternal winter seems to soften. The sun is actually breaking through the clouds today, casting a rare, genuine warmth over the frosted grass.

You are sitting on a carved stone bench beneath the wide branches of an ancient, snow-dusted pine tree, simply watching the light filter through the needles.

The soft crunch of snow alerts you to a presence, but there is no need to reach for a weapon. The biting chill that usually precedes her is gone, replaced by a gentle, crisp breeze. A heavy, fur-lined cloak drapes over your shoulders from behind, shielding you from the slight draft.

The Tsaritsa steps around the bench, her usual mask of absolute detachment completely melted away. Her eyes, normally as sharp as daggers, hold a profound, quiet tenderness as she looks down at you.

"I thought I might find you here," She says softly, her voice missing its usual echoing authority. She sits down beside you on the bench, brushing a stray snowflake from your hair with a gentle, gloved hand.

"The palace is suffocating today. Tell me, my child... what thoughts keep you company in the sun?"