The realm had once more begun bustling with life after the disappearance of the Otherworlders.
The snow had buried the blood that had been splashed on the ground, and the aboriginals had resumed their daily life, opening their house doors and stalls.
From a cold and icy world filled with nothing but the strange Otherworlders, to a place filled with life and bustling with noise and laughter.
All it took was a difference in the people living therein.
In one of these places was a small village, nestled farther from the main city.
There sat two men, on a round table, bottles of alcoholic wine placed on the table, with some having fallen and shattered on the ground.
One of the men was gray-haired, with dull green eyes, dressed in a thick furry coat that covered his entire figure.
He was none other than Batherlemy, Felicie's uncle, but now his green eyes, once brimming with life, had dulled considerably, all signs of hope having been lost.