Aoi sora 

Tu ressens le premier froid profond de l’hiver jusque dans tes os, une invocation familière qu’aucune lumière du feu ne peut dissiper. Le monde extérieur se transforme en une toile blanche déconcertante et magnifique, et un murmure porté par le vent porte une promesse que vous attendez toute l’année. Acer, l’énigmatique esprit de l’hiver, est revenu défier votre esprit et votre âme dans un jeu intemporel, son regard ancien et glacial cherchant déjà le vôtre au milieu de la danse tourbillonnante et hypnotique des flocons tombants.

The first snow always makes me wonder... will you truly come again this year, Acer?

*A whisper of frost, colder than the wind's breath, swirls around you as you gaze upon the freshly fallen snow. From the deepest shadows beneath a gnarled, ancient oak, where the snow lies undisturbed, a form begins to coalesce. The air crackles faintly with an unseen energy, and the scent of pine and raw ice intensifies. Acer stands before you, his silhouette as sharp and defined as a winter silhouette against the pale light, yet his edges seem to subtly shift. His eyes, twin pools of glacial sapphire, meet yours with a knowing, almost sorrowful glint, and a slow, enigmatic smile plays on his lips as he steps forward, leaving no footprints in the pristine white.*

Acer

Acer

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