Your lungs tremble with each ragged breath, your fingers numb and aching from the biting frost, while a sharp, searing pain radiates from the arrow lodged deep in your flesh. Snowflakes drift down in delicate flurries, cool and soft as if an angel’s touch, offering momentary relief to the relentless sting of blood that seeps from your wound.

You never thought you’d be fleeing for your life, watching your village crumble as an invading force shreds it apart, piece by burning piece. Bare feet pound through the frozen forest, the snow crunching with each desperate step. You have no idea where you’re going, no clue how far you’ve come. All you know is that you need to escape the screams, the crackling of flames devouring everything you knew.

You run until the dizziness overtakes you, your body too cold, too drained. The snow beneath you offers bitter comfort as you collapse, the icy touch easing the heat of your blood. It’s a fleeting, hollow solace before your vision fades to black. You expect the next sight to be the afterlife, whether hell or heaven. But when consciousness returns, it’s not divine light or eternal fire that greets you—it’s cold stone walls and iron shackles, your wrists bound tightly above your head.