Dante ran through the white forest, his boots crushing layers of untouched snow as he moved between towering trees whose branches sagged under frozen weight.
Snow fell constantly from above, not in a violent storm, but in a slow, endless descent that made the world feel muted and distant, as if sound itself had been buried beneath the cold.
Each breath he took formed pale mist in front of his face before being torn apart by his pace.
Strapped diagonally across his back was a black cane.
The surface was smooth and matte, absorbing light rather than reflecting it, and faint runic lines occasionally surfaced along its length before fading again, like something alive beneath the material.
With every step Dante took, the cane shifted slightly, responding to the rhythm of his movement.
His body moved effortlessly.
Mana circulated through his limbs in a steady flow, reinforcing muscle and balance without needing conscious effort.
