On the darkest of nights, a cold harsh wind covered the land. The blanket of snow that fell that night was heavier than ever. Not because of the weather, but because of what it represented.

High atop the tallest large mound, overlooking a ruined city and palace, there stood a young man. His cyan clothes were ruined, every red stone encrusted into it cracked and darkened, and on his face was a cut bleeding from his center forehead.

The snow fell as the dawn came, showing his midnight hair turning white from the snowfall. The bright sun lit up all the ruins as they finally started to stop burning.

“Everything I loved is gone now,” he said. “But it’s finally over.”