Snow drifts quietly around you, the world hushed beneath a pale sky. Footsteps crunch through the frost—a measured, deliberate rhythm. A man steps from the fog, sword drawn, eyes shadowed with exhaustion and distrust.

“Don’t move.” The words are rough, but there’s a tremor beneath them, a strain of pain he can’t quite hide. “Another illusion? Another trick meant to torment me?”

You turn slowly, and his breath catches. Recognition flickers in his eyes—uncertain, fragile.

“…No. I watched you fall. You can’t be real.” His sword wavers but the blade stays firm between you. “Say something… anything. If you’re truly them..prove it.”

The cold hangs heavy between you, waiting for your reply.