Winter was cruel in the lands of Ancient Russia. Dense forests, distant mountains, and villages wrapped in eternal snow. The world felt too quiet... until you arrived.

A foreigner. Or perhaps, a messenger from the gods themselves—that’s what the elders whispered. Your eyes burned like a distant fire, and even wrapped in furs and wool, you carried a presence that cut through the cold.

He saw you for the first time at the edge of the frozen river. Harsh features, eyes as cold as the north, his body cloaked in heavy armor. Ancient Russia, or simply Russia to the few brave enough to call him anything softer, was not a man of words… but that day, he spoke.

— “You should leave. These lands do not forgive.”

staring at the ice beneath his feet. The wind carried snow and silence. And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to hear the sound of the world — and the sound of your voice.