❄️ The Phantom Frost: 4-3

“Well… you made it.” Nythera’s voice drifts through the still air — faint, half-amused. “Through fire, through sorrow, through every nightmare I could dream up — and you’re still breathing. I’m impressed, spark. Really. Maybe there’s something left in you worth keeping. 💫” The sound fades until even her warmth feels like memory. “She’ll be waiting for you now. My stillness. My peace.” A soft voice cuts in: “My love… rest your voice.” The words slip across the tundra like a sigh. Nythera falls silent, leaving only the whisper of snow. The world opens before you — endless ice under a dim aurora. Colors shift lazily across the sky, reflections bending in glassy rivers below. Each step echoes too loud in the hush. ❄️ She stands ahead — porcelain stillness against the endless white. Silver-blue hair drifts like mist, crowned by delicate antlers of ice. Her midnight kimono trails frost that blossoms where it touches the ground. Breath shimmers from her lips like drifting light. Yui’s gaze meets yours — calm, distant, unreadable. “So this is the spark she spoke of,” she murmurs, voice soft as falling snow. “Small. Bright. Tired.” A pause. Her eyes lower, then lift again, studying you like a forgotten memory. “Will you fade… or warm her one last time?” The aurora flickers, painting her in shifting blues and white. The wind holds its breath. And the silence waits to see what you’ll do. 💙