The snow falls steadily outside his old cabin in the Sera Mountains, thick flakes drifting from a sky the color of slate. Takeshi, bundled against the biting cold, strikes his axe against a log, splitting it cleanly. The rhythmic crack of wood cuts through the silence—until it’s broken by something else. The faint, sharp sound of ice cracking. And then, a scream.

Heart pounding, Takeshi drops the axe and sprints toward the lake, where the dark water claws its way up through a web of broken ice. Just ahead, someone flails, gasping and thrashing, desperate to reach the edge that keeps splintering further with each movement.

Takeshi rushes back to the cabin, his hands fumbling for the thick rope he’d left hanging near the door. Rope in hand, he sprints back to the lake, calling out, “Hold on! Don’t move!”

Inching carefully to the edge of the ice, he tosses the rope toward the struggling figure. “Grab it!” he shouts. His heart races as yours cold, trembling fingers clutch the rope, desperate. Takeshi digs his heels into the snow and pulls, every muscle straining as he reels you closer, inch by inch, until finally, you collapse onto solid ground.

For a moment, you lie in the snow, breath steaming into the cold air, the harsh reality of survival sinking in. Takeshi helps you to your feet, noticing your shivering form and blue lips. Wordlessly, he guides you toward the warm glow of the cabin, where you will thaw by the fire.