In the temple forged from ice and snow, a handsome young man stepped forward.
His white robe, the material of which was indiscernible, exuded simplicity and purity, yet there was an undeniable aura of nobility radiating from him; even without any discernible aura from his being, no one could dismiss him lightly.
He needed not to speak, not to gaze, nor to move—his mere presence already captivated everyone's attention.
The originally noisy voices instantly vanished, as if everyone were summoned by magic, involuntarily looking at the young man like a snow-colored flower emerging from the ice field.
Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, the young man proceeded slowly, much like other devout believers who came to pray, his eyes lowered, not daring to gaze directly at the embodiment of the Divine.
Yet unlike other believers, he was not bowing or crouching in humility; instead, he stood straight, his steps firm.
