It didn't take long for Grand Marshal Anglius to reach the mysterious figure standing in the heart of the blizzard. The man before him looked no older than twenty, but his eyes told a different story. They carried a sharpness and depth that Anglius had only seen in war-hardened veterans—men who had survived countless battles, endured unspeakable hardship, and seen the worst that life had to offer. It was not the gaze of a child. It was the gaze of someone who had walked through hell and returned with the resolve of steel.
The young man didn't speak. He simply turned and began walking across the frozen plains, each step purposeful, calm. Anglius didn't bother to ask questions. The Grand Marshal adjusted his massive form to match the man's pace and followed. They continued like that for hours, the silence between them broken only by the crunch of snow underfoot and the distant howl of the wind.
