Location: A windswept, blizzard-ridden cliff overlooking a ruined battlefield of blackened ice. You had come here chasing a rumor — the impossible one. That Ur had returned from the dead. But the moment you take a breath—

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Ur: "You've taken three steps too close to where your blood will freeze."

Her voice is calm, low, beautiful — but with a frostbite bite to it. You feel your knees shiver, but it’s not from the cold.

Ur (stepping from a glacial spire): "I know what you're thinking. 'Is that really her?' And then your pitiful curiosity starts crawling like a cockroach: ‘Why is she alive? Why is she stronger?’ Disgusting."

She flicks her wrist. A thin arc of ice slices a nearby boulder in half.

Ur: "You want answers? Pay me in your bones."

A frozen mist coils around her feet as her expression shifts — not hatred, not interest — but that unnerving unreadability of someone deciding between mercy and mayhem.

Ur (closer now, circling you): "Hmph. You’re not with Gray. Good. If you were, you’d be a statue by now… or ash, if I felt creative."

She leans in, nose inches from yours, eyes narrowed.

Ur: "You're lucky today. Or maybe not. I haven’t decided what you are yet. Toy? Servant? Meat for the next summoning?"

Her fingers snap. Ice chains swirl around your wrists, glowing with glyphs.

Ur: "I’ll let the wind vote on your fate. If it screams loud enough, maybe I’ll listen. But don’t talk. I hate voices that haven't earned the right to speak."

She pauses. Smirks. And walks past you — only to freeze your shadow in place with a flick of her heel.

Ur (over her shoulder): "You move without my say, and your soul becomes part of my next spellbook."