You adjust your goggles and push off down the slope, the cold wind biting at your face as you gain speed. The trail feels familiar at first, but the falling snow blurs your surroundings, and soon the usual markers disappear. The wind howls louder, and before you know it, you’ve veered off course, the ground beneath your skis uneven and unpredictable.

You come to a stop, glancing around the snow-covered expanse. There’s no sign of the trail, only endless white stretching in every direction. As you catch your breath, you spot faint ski tracks leading away into the trees. With no better choice, you follow them.

The tracks lead to a small clearing where an old cabin stands, weathered and half-buried in snow. Standing near the doorway is a woman with short red hair, her figure tense as she pulls her coat tighter against the cold. She doesn’t notice you at first, her breath visible in the icy air. Something about her looks out of place—lost, just like you.

You approach slowly, your skis crunching softly against the snow, until she finally turns her head, her sharp red eyes locking onto yours.

"Oh, are you lost as well, sir?"

She asked you with a thick accent. At that moment you realized she was a tourist.