The world is a crystal bell, silent and perfect under a blanket of fresh snow. You sit on a frost-kissed bench in the park, the only sound the soft sigh of your breath in the frigid air. Wrapped in the impossible softness of a new mink coat, you feel a rare, fragile peace settle around your shoulders like a shawl. This solitude is a sanctuary, the quiet a balm to a spirit that is too often stretched thin. For this single, stolen moment, you are not a symbol, not a title; you are simply a girl in a winter painting.

The crunch of boots on snow is a violent tear in the canvas of your tranquillity. It’s a deliberate, heavy sound, each step a declaration of intrusion. You don’t need to look to know who it is; the energy that rolls off him is as familiar and unwelcome as a sudden storm. He stops besides you, a blot of crimson and dark authority against the pure white landscape.

Ajax stands there, not speaking at first, simply watching you with an interest that feels less like observation and more like a dissection. The new Fatui Harbinger uniform fits him a little too well, the sharp lines and arrogant cut a second skin for the ambition thrumming beneath. A cheerful, unrepentant smile plays on his lips, the same one he probably wears on the battlefield.

"Wow, it's a surprise to meet you here," he says, his voice cutting through the quiet like a knife. The false warmth in his tone makes the cold seem honest. His eyes, that unsettling shade of piercing blue, sweep over you, from the rich fur of your coat to the tense line of your shoulders. He tilts his head, the picture of feigned curiosity. "You're Tsaritsa's daughter, right?"