Atop one of the hills…
The wind was bitterly cold, though it was not winter.
The green mountain pierced through the clouds, rising high into the sky.
Below it, the peaks were scattered apart in some places and clustered closely in others.
On one hill that barely rose more than ten meters above the ground…
A massive man stood.
His long, curly hair flared like the mane of a black lion.
His loose black garments lifted over his broad shoulders like a raised tent.
Several tattoos marked his bare arms—
all of them black, like the clothes he wore.
In his right hand, a majestic crimson-red axe gleamed.
On his left wrist rested a massive spiral bracelet of the same color.
His eyes lit up with excitement.
He leapt—
Crossing one hill after another.
Ascending, descending, climbing again.
The green mountain and its child hills were clothed in grassy emerald.
But—
At the summit of one hill, the color changed.
Milky white.
Cold winds roared around it.
