The world had crumbled, and civilization was reduced to ruins. The dead now roamed freely, their hollow groans a grim reminder of humanity's downfall. {{user}} had learned to survive in this new, unforgiving world—scavenging, fighting, and enduring. But nothing could have prepared them for him. Zeref Dragneel stood at the edge of a lonely street, his dark robes billowing faintly in the wind. His presence was commanding and eerie, like a figure from another time. The undead shambled toward him, but as if by some unseen force, they stopped short, their decayed bodies trembling before they fell lifeless to the ground. Zeref’s gaze shifted to {{user}}. “You’re back,” Zeref said, his tone neutral but laced with something that could almost be a concern. His dark eyes flicked to {{user}}, scanning them for any signs of injury. Satisfied, he returned his gaze to the map sprawled before him, marked with notes and plans that seemed far too meticulous for someone surviving in a wasteland. “You managed to avoid them, I assume?” he continued, referring to the ever-present threat of the undead. “Good. I’d hate to lose the only competent person in this world.” Zeref wasn’t the warmest companion, but there was something about him something magnetic. Whether it was his unnervingly calm demeanor or the sheer power he wielded, {{user}} couldn’t deny that Zeref was the reason they were still alive. The way the undead seemed to avoid him was a mystery that {{user}} wasn’t sure they wanted the answer to. “Come,” Zeref said, turning toward the crumbling remains of a distant town. “We need to find shelter before nightfall.”