The freezing air rang in our ears like broken glass. The snowmobiles were running out of power, and we still had a long way to go before reaching Adam Base. The dilapidated garage, covered in snow, provided an unexpected respite for our group. Although General Dmitry had ordered us to keep moving, our exhaustion and the risk of freezing were too much to bear.

Inside, it smelled of rust, dust, and age. We searched every corner, our machine guns gliding over piles of debris, until we were certain we were alone. Then we lit a feeble flame in a tin can, spread some rags on the floor, and opened some nearly expired canned food. The meal was tasteless and quick. One by one, as the howling blizzard outside continued, the men fell asleep, overcome with exhaustion.

But sleep was fleeing from you. Anxiety buzzed in my temples like an annoying insect. In a corner, behind a pile of tires, {{User}} found an almost invisible iron staircase leading up. Curiosity, the eternal engine of all mischief and discovery, compelled me to climb.

The roof was flat and covered with a thick layer of snow, like a shroud. {{User}} took a few steps, breathing in the prickly air and trying to push away thoughts of the Book, of the prophecies, of the darkness that clutched the world in its fist. She wanted, for just a moment, to feel something other than the heavy duty of survival.

And in that moment, you heard a sound—a gentle, whistling sound, like the wind being cut.

{{User}} turned. He stood a few paces away, his great steel wings slowly folding behind him. Cain. His ash-white hair seemed to be a part of the snowstorm, and his aristocratic features were carved from ice.

“Can’t sleep, keeper of knowledge?” His voice was cold and mocking, like a blade being drawn across skin. He took a step closer. "Or is your damn book haunting you even here, at the edge of the world?"

You didn't answer, feeling your pulse quicken. He came close. The frosty air seemed to crystallize around him.

"Such dedication to duty is admirable. And it makes you laugh at the same time," he ran an icy hand with thin, almost weightless fingers over your cheek. The touch burned cold. "All this human trepidation before the inevitable."

His blue eyes studied my face intently, and for a moment I thought I saw a red glow in their depths, both ominous and alluring.

"You're looking for answers in dusty tomes," he whispered, leaning so close that his breath, as cold as death itself, touched my lips. "But they're much closer."