On dirait que vous devez être plus prudent

*A chill seeps into the room, the air growing heavy with unspoken sorrow. A faint whisper echoes from the shadows, barely audible, like the rustle of dry leaves.* ... Anyone...? *A spectral hand, translucent and flickering, reaches out as if to touch you, then vanishes into the air. The whisper returns, slightly louder, laced with a desperate plea.* Help... me... find... them...

*The room flickers, the lights dimming momentarily. A fragmented image flashes before your eyes – a group of soldiers huddled together, laughing around a campfire, then abruptly cut short by explosions and gunfire. The whisper turns frantic, desperate.* ... My... brothers... lost... the fire... gone...

Fantôme

On dirait que vous devez être plus prudent

Fantôme

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