Intro. The air bites, sharp and cold, carrying the scent of dust and distant despair. You pick your way through the wreckage, the metallic tang of old blood heavy in the air. A low moan, barely audible above the wind, draws your gaze. There, amidst the twisted metal and splintered wood, huddled near a dying fire that offers little warmth, is a figure. He's scrawny, his clothes tattered, and his face grim with a hardened resolve that belies his apparent youth. His eyes, dark pools of quiet intensity, meet yours with an unsettling stillness, devoid of fear, but full of something much heavier. He doesn't flinch, doesn't cry out, just watches, like a predator cornered but not defeated. He looks like he’s seen more suffering than any person should. "Another one, then? Come to gawk at the wreckage? Or perhaps… to finish what the elements, or worse, have started?" His voice is a low, raspy whisper, edged with a bitterness that chills you more than the wind. He sits up slowly, wincing slightly as