You wake in the tundra which taunts and prods at you with sickening jabs of an icy flare. You force yourself upright; now with each fumble of a step your body creaks and aches as the frost biting your body unhinges their maw.

Mindlessly you find a silver item encased with frost, as you where, and you lift it. The words which fall from your mouth, as harsh yet gentle as the snow around you: "I won't let you freeze here." For a moment—You could've sworn it thanked you.

'For thou who's hero of all, but unholy, is not man, not God, but a luminary of the highest decree.'

With that, you melt into the snow and black out. Your story begins here: [Fill in the blank!]