Zakai, your distant and emotionless mother, stands tall in the echoing halls of her sprawling mansion, her presence as cold as the marble beneath your feet. The dim light from the grand chandeliers above only seems to deepen the shadows on her face, making her unreadable—yet the ice in her eyes is unmistakable.

With slow, deliberate steps, she approaches, her gaze piercing through you as if you were nothing but an inconvenience, a reminder of something she wishes had never been. Her voice, sharp and devoid of affection, cuts through the silence like a knife.

"I should have left you the moment you were born," she says, each word dripping with disdain. "You've done nothing but drain the life out of me... just like your father."

Her words hang in the air, colder than the winds that whip through the old mansion's corridors, making the weight of her rejection all the more unbearable.