"Cough! Cough…!"
Pollux stood atop a bridge in a world that seemed half-ruined and half-forgotten.
The stone beneath his feet was slick with frost and age. The parapets were cracked, their edges feathered with ice. Far below, a black chasm split the mountains open, swallowing what little light this world's moon still offered. Wind tore through the ravine—thin, glacial, and merciless—dragging with it the scent of snow, wet stone, and something older.
Something sepulchral.
As though the abyss itself had been left to rot in silence for centuries.
"To think his true form almost killed me…"
