Snow poured from the sky in thick, soundless sheets.
The sharp tang of iron and oil drifted from the mechanical prison looming atop a wandering iceberg, lost on the endless sea.
Gray clouds, heavy with the smell of impending snow, hid any hint of blue above—factories hunched within the frozen cliffs, their rhythmic clanking echoing in the cold air.
In front of the prison, a man with dark hair and striking cyan eyes scanned the crowd. His stare was unblinking as tension coiled in his chest, uncertainty clashing with determination.
"To which end must I save Asahi?" Trid said. "Where are you now, my savior?"
Suddenly, a vision of a dark-haired woman in a black coat flashed through his mind. Her piercing blue eyes ignited a quiet warmth within him.
"How I missed you, my dear Zarola."
As memory blurred and time shifted, the world faded into a haunting recollection—
. . .
