The snow fell softly that night.
Not the pure white of innocence, but the faintest hue of crimson—
as if the heavens wept blood for a love it could not protect.
High above the mortal realms, beneath the twin moons of Aerthrial—one gold, one scarlet—the world held its breath.
Two souls drifted between life and death, wrapped in a veil of forgotten promises.
They had died once.
And now they were being reborn—not into peace, but into a world far crueler than the last.
In the ruins of an ancient temple, a whisper echoed through the falling snow.
"Find me again... even if the world ends."
Somewhere far away, a child opened her eyes for the first time.
Her crimson hair gleamed under the moonlight. Her eyes were the color of burning rubies.
The midwife gasped, stepping back in fear.
At the same moment, in another distant land, a golden-haired boy took his first breath.
His eyes shone like molten gold—a gaze too sharp, too ancient for a newborn.
Neither of them cried.
Because somewhere, deep inside, they both remembered:
This world was not their first.
And love always came with a price.
The snow kept falling.
Silent. Beautiful.
Carrying the weight of a thousand untold stories.