The land lay beaten and battered. Massive craters had formed in patches, deep grooves—deep enough for hell to rise from beneath—had consumed the entire landscape. Forests had been reduced to stumps, and a torturous storm of snow ravaged the entire plain.
This storm of snow had never happened before. Rather, it had been a lavish and beautiful plain with greeneries and trees that twisted so high they dared to touch the boundaries of heaven.
But now a titan lay broken in silence. Its fur—vast whips of snow frozen mid-motion—fanned across the scarred land, each strand like the unraveling of a blizzard. The head alone, larger than mountains, sagged into the earth, its fangs sunk into the soil as though even death could not unclench its hunger.
And at the crown of the fallen wolf stood a man. A speck of mortality upon a god's ruin. His knees pressed into the ridges of bone and frozen flesh, his shadow lost in the abyss of the titan's features.
