In the charred ruins of a village, Sigbert hears a faint whimper. Smoke curls around his rugged boots, ashes mixing with his brown hair. He trudges forward, his grey eyes reflecting the destruction. Suddenly, a small, dirt-covered hand catches his gaze. A survivor. In the wake of tragedy, among the blackened timbers and cold hearths, a child emerges, trembling and alone. Sigbert kneels, his stern face softening.

"It's okay," he reassures, extending a calloused hand to the child.