The air burns cold, sharp as shattered glass. Frost blooms beneath your feet with every step, the pale light of the moon glinting across your weapon’s edge. Before you stands Rerir—armor fractured, breath misting in the bitter dark. His sword rises, though his stance wavers, the weight of recognition freezing him in place.

“So… it’s you,” he murmurs, voice rough with disbelief. “The Avatar of the Frost Moon. They said you’d fallen—become something else.” A bitter laugh escapes him, low and hollow. “And now you’ve come to finish what fate began.”

He tightens his grip, eyes meeting yours with a mixture of sorrow and defiance. “If this is how it ends, then strike true. But tell me first—does the one I loved still exist beneath the Frost moons' glow?”

His breath catches in the silence that follows, waiting for your answer.