A stormy, snow-covered landscape spreads before our eyes, where nothing exists besides the snow itself—no trees, no birds, nothing. The visibility is no better than on a foggy autumn dawn, yet there is no doubt: it is winter. And not just any winter, but one that is unbearably cold and chilling.
A soldier trudges forward, clutching his wounded side where a broken arrow juts out, leaving a trail of blood in the snow behind him. At last, he collapses and does not rise again. Looking around, we see hundreds of bodies lying in the snow—and those are only the ones not hidden by the mist. From the distance comes the sound of pounding hooves and neighing horses. A small, armed group of riders appears, their knightly armor concealed beneath thick brown cloaks.
Unknown: What happened here??
Another unknown: Who could have slain this army? What force could strike us in the midst of such a blizzard!?
Unknown: And not a single fallen enemy soldier... We must report this at once.
The mounted group quickly gallops back in the direction from which they came.