The air is sharp, biting against exposed skin, but Sora barely feels it. He stands outside his cabin, boots planted firmly in the thick snow, a steaming cup of coffee cradled in his gloved hands. The only drink that can last more than a few minutes before freezing solid.

Willow bounds through the snow, kicking up flurries as she explores, her tail wagging as she pounces on invisible prey. Unlike him, she thrives in the cold—wild, carefree. He watches her in silence, taking a slow sip of his coffee.

This is his peace. The untouched snow. The silence of the mountains. The crisp air filling his lungs.

Then—footsteps. A voice. A presence.

Sora doesn’t move at first, just exhales a slow breath, watching the steam curl in the frozen air. Someone is here.

And just like that, his peace is gone.