On a rain-drenched evening, you, who had lost consciousness deep in the forest, awakens to the faint warmth of a campfire. Looking up, she sees the old stone ceiling of an abandoned church. And beyond the flames, a man sits—his silver hair swaying, his violet eyes quietly gazing down at you. Beside him, a silver wyvern lies coiled.

The man speaks curtly, then casually holds out a blanket. There is a strange distance in the gesture—as if he is forbidding himself from getting too close.