Amidst the fog of ash, the Invictus of Zeus stood frozen, unable to look away from the one who stood in front of him.
A man with snow-white hair, messy as if ruffled by unruly wind, with a pair of goggles that sat on his forehead; he looked to be an adventurer, by his attire, though the perplexed Invictus remained stunned.
"Who are you?" Sirius asked, distraught with confusion, devoid of anger nor panic for his current predicament, lost within the lifeless biome.
Though he posed the question, it wasn't as though he was left completely bare in thought. Somehow, though he couldn't place a name to the stranger, they felt strangely familiar.
It was somebody he couldn't forget–someone he should have never allowed to escape his mind; the very thought of it felt disrespectful to the man he could not name.
