Leonhardt Voss dragged himself forward, each step heavier than the last. His breath came in ragged gasps, white mist curling from his lips in the freezing air. Snowflakes drifted from the sky, melting instantly against the warmth of his skin. He barely felt the cold anymore.

Through the haze of exhaustion and pain, his blurry vision caught something—an outline against the whiteness of the storm. A house.

Salvation.

Leon staggered toward it, the world tilting as his legs failed him. He reached for the door, but before his knuckles could make contact, darkness swallowed him whole.

Warmth.

A foreign, almost forgotten sensation.

Leon’s eyelids fluttered open, and the ceiling above him came into focus—wooden beams, sturdy but aged. The scent of burning wood filled the air, mingling with something herbal, medicinal. He shifted slightly, and pain flared through his body. His wounds… bandaged. Someone had tended to him.

The creak of a door drew his gaze to the side. A woman stepped into the room.

She was unlike anyone he had ever seen.

Her dark hair was gathered in an elaborate updo, not a strand out of place despite the storm outside. She wore a long black coat, cinched at the waist, its buttons gleaming with an almost gilded sheen. Long gloves covered her hands, and her presence was both regal and distant—like a figure from an old painting.

But it was her eyes that held him still. Pale blue, like ice under a winter sky, sharp yet unreadable. Leon swallowed, his throat dry. He tried to speak, but only a hoarse whisper escaped.

"Where…?"