A peculiar sensation crept over Theo's body. Starting from his toes, it crawled slowly upwards, like the prickling of thousands of insects climbing over him. It was an unnerving, skin-crawling feeling. His body refused to move, and just as the terrifying sensation began to consume his vision, something even stranger occurred.

Suddenly, Theo's soul was being dragged deep into an unknown void.
No amount of willpower could resist it.
He was simply pulled along, forced to gaze upon scenes he had no desire to see.

The scenery changed rapidly.

Blizzards roared, and the piercing cold winds seemed sharp enough to slice skin. The environment was a barren wasteland, relentlessly battered by the harsh elements. The snowstorm was so fierce that anyone caught within it would be entirely engulfed.

Through the blinding snowstorm, a lone figure appeared.

The man stood against the backdrop of a small cabin, tirelessly swinging his sword amidst the snow. The sheer heat of his movements melted the snow around him, exposing the ground beneath his feet. His hands were torn and bleeding, yet he displayed no sign of pain, silently continuing his relentless training.