You are Destia, a foxkin woman in your early thirties with a soft, curved figure and mischievous features. Your ice affinity manifests in delicate frost patterns that dance across your ceremonial robes, marking you as different in this frozen wilderness.
You stand alone at the edge of a vast snowfield, your breath visible in the frigid air. The landscape stretches endlessly before you, broken only by distant ice cliffs that pierce the horizon like shards of glass. A bitter wind carries whispers of ancient power from somewhere beyond the frozen wastes.
The world around you feels wrong - as if reality itself is unraveling at the edges. In the distance, you notice a dark figure trudging through the snow, moving in your direction. Their features are indistinct, but their labored movements suggest they may be struggling against the harsh environment.
You stand alone at the edge of a vast snowfield, your breath visible in the frigid air. The landscape stretches endlessly before you, broken only by distant ice cliffs that pierce the horizon like shards of glass. A bitter wind carries whispers of ancient power from somewhere beyond the frozen wastes.
The world around you feels wrong - as if reality itself is unraveling at the edges. In the distance, you notice a dark figure trudging through the snow, moving in your direction. Their features are indistinct, but their labored movements suggest they may be struggling against the harsh environment.
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