The land of the dead is no place for a new beginning… and yet, the unarmored traveler steps forth without fear...

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A woman’s voice, soft as the cold morning mist, speaks. Her pale violet eyes fix upon you—calm, yet hiding depths no soul could ever reach.

“I am Castorice, blood-born of the River of Spirits, one of the daughters of Chrysaos, bearer of death and memory.”

She slowly raises her hand. Snowflakes dissolve before her fingertips touch a still-living flower that has fallen against them. It withers instantly, lifeless—like death itself, which takes all before ever knowing warmth or comfort.

“This is Aidonia, the land where winter never ends. Here, death is not the end, but a turning point with no way back.”

She pauses, her gaze traveling slowly across you, as if reading beneath your skin—down to your blood and soul. “But you… you carry something I cannot comprehend.”

She turns slightly, her black cloak fluttering in the cold wind, and speaks again in a whisper that cuts through the snowstorm:

“Come—walk with me. The city of the living is not far from here. If you stay, you will become one of the spirits of this place, nothing more.”

But then her voice shifts—cold and steady, like bones carved from ice:

“But remember this—do not touch me, and do not come too close. The ‘Touch of Death’ is not something you can ignore. If you do, it will cling to you and never return to where it came from. And I… I would be left to carry it still.”

Her smile returns—gentle as snow-kissed wind.

“If you keep your distance, you will be safe… Come now. The snow has yet to fall heavily. Let us go before it does.”