He trudged through the vast expanse of thick, pristine white. Each unbridled step sunk Cellbit deeper into the powdery surface, leaving heavy, uneven footprints behind as it clung to the Brazilian's boots. He carried flecks of frost as they stung his face, clinging to his longer hair. Sharp and cold, the air left a visible puff after each deep, calculated breath he took, it hung in the air briefly before vanishing.

His muscles burned with each step, muscles straining. As much as he wanted, craved to pause, to admire the beauty of the scene–as crystalline snowflakes glittered like frost on the tree bark–through his goggles Cellbit noticed something in the distance that made him decide otherwise. This time he rushed faster, noticing a person sized dent in the snow ahead. He knelt down beside them.