Brad's face had turned as pale as a ghost. Ice crystals clung to his hair, eyebrows, and beard. Yet, he still wandered through that frozen wasteland. With every breath, he dragged in shards of icy air that tore into his lungs and corroded his body from within.

By Ray's estimate, he had at most eight minutes left before freezing to death.

Then, something changed.

A golden snowflake drifted down from the sky.

Because Ray was still far away, not yet at the edge of his spatial perception range,