Outside the Mansion, Snowstorm Intensifies

The snowstorm raged on, ferocious and relentless, blanketing the entire Imperial City in a thick layer of white. The once vibrant streets were now eerily silent, buried beneath the frozen landscape.

Outside the mansion, in the vast garden, the place where Owen had been sitting for weeks was now completely covered in snow. His figure, which had once sat still and unmoving, was now swallowed by the storm. The snow piled high, obscuring every trace of his presence. His clothes, soaked and frozen, lay buried beneath the layers of white.

The air was eerily still, save for the soft whisper of the wind, now muffled by the thick snowfall. The once clear path to the mansion was now a maze of white, making any attempt to approach nearly impossible.

The servants, who had been watching from the safety of the mansion, stared out in shock. No sign of Owen remained, only a mound of snow where he had once been.

"Where did he go?" one of the servants muttered, his voice barely audible over the storm.

"He's gone," another answered, his gaze fixed on the pile of snow.

Panic set in, but no one dared to venture out into the blizzard. The wind howled louder, as if warning anyone who might dare to face it. The mansion, once so alive and filled with activity, seemed frozen in place, mirroring the stillness outside.

Inside, Yvette sat in her penthouse office, oblivious to the chaos outside. The storm had cut off all communication—her phone line, usually reliable, now only produced static. She tried dialing again, but the calls failed to connect.

Frustrated, she threw the phone down, her mind racing. "Why isn't it working?" she muttered, growing more anxious by the second.

She glanced out the window, her brow furrowing. "Owen..."

Her thoughts were consumed by him. "Did he finally give up? Or did something happen?"

But no matter how much she tried to reach him, the storm had taken away all connection. She was left with nothing but silence, broken only by the howling winds outside.

The storm had finally begun to subside, leaving behind a vast expanse of white and a silence so profound it felt almost suffocating. The once noisy streets of Imperial City had become a ghost town, consumed by snow.

Outside the mansion, the once-hidden garden now lay fully exposed, blanketed in a thick layer of snow. The area where Owen had been meditating was still indistinct, the snow piled high, covering everything in sight.

One of the servants, trembling from the cold, stepped forward cautiously, wielding a shovel. His breath visible in the frigid air, he began to dig away the snow. With each scoop, the servant's heart pounded louder in his chest, his thoughts racing.

After what felt like an eternity, the shovel struck something hard beneath the snow. He dropped it and wiped away the remaining snow, his eyes widening in horror.

A block of ice, smooth and crystalline, had formed. Within it, completely encased in a glacier-like coating, was Owen's figure—motionless and serene. His eyes were closed, his hands folded, and his face unmoving.

"Owen..." The servant's voice trembled, barely above a whisper. He fell to his knees, staring at the ice-covered figure, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

Slowly, other servants gathered around, their faces pale with shock. One of them reached out, touching the ice as though to confirm it was real. "He's… still there," the servant whispered, his voice breaking.

"Call Yvette. Now." The command came from one of the more senior servants, his hands trembling.

The other servants scrambled to obey, dashing back to the mansion to call Yvette, their steps hesitant and hurried.

Meanwhile, Yvette was seated at her desk, still lost in thought. The silence from her phone had been deafening. The storm, the isolation—it all felt suffocating.

The phone rang suddenly, breaking the silence. Yvette grabbed it instantly, her heart racing.

"Yvette, you need to come. You need to come now," the voice on the other end was panicked.

"What is it?" Yvette's voice was sharp, her patience fraying.

"It's… it's Owen. He's... out in the garden. He's—he's covered in ice. We don't know what's happened to him."

Yvette's breath hitched. "What are you saying? Ice? What—what's going on?"

"You need to come!"

The line went dead. Yvette's hands trembled as she set the phone down. For a moment, she was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what she had just heard.

Without another word, she rushed out of the office, her mind a whirlwind of uncertainty and fear. What had happened to Owen?

The gates of the mansion stood in front of Yvette, now eerily quiet, the air thick with the aftermath of the storm.

Snow still blanketed the ground, making everything look surreal. As she stepped through the gates, her breath came out in visible clouds, and the cold air bit at her exposed skin.

Her mind raced, the image of Owen encased in ice haunting her thoughts. How could this happen?

With each step, her heart pounded louder in her chest. The servants who had already gathered by the garden parted to make way for Yvette. They were silent, too afraid to speak. The tension in the air was palpable.

Yvette's gaze fell on the familiar spot where Owen had been meditating just days ago. Her breath hitched.

The sight was devastating.

Owen stood, or rather, his figure stood frozen in a massive block of glacier-like ice. His eyes were still closed, his posture calm and serene. The ice glistened under the dim light, reflecting the sun's feeble rays that barely pierced through the thick cloud cover.

"…Owen…" Yvette whispered, her voice barely audible.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she took a step closer, her legs trembling with disbelief. Her hands stretched out involuntarily, as if reaching for something that wasn't there.

"What... what happened to you?" she whispered again, her voice trembling.

The servants stood silently, their heads bowed in respect, but none dared to approach further. The sight of Owen, encased in ice, felt surreal, as though it belonged to a distant, ancient world.

Yvette stared at him for what felt like an eternity, unable to move or comprehend what she was witnessing. Every emotion surged inside her—anger, fear, sorrow—all blending into a terrifying numbness.

Tears streamed down her face, unnoticed, as she reached out to touch the ice. It was cold, unbearably cold, yet she didn't recoil. Her fingers traced the surface, as if hoping it would melt away, but the ice remained unmoving.

"Please…" she choked, her voice breaking. "Please, wake up."

But Owen remained still, his figure locked in place, his expression untouched by the world.

Yvette fell to her knees, tears pouring freely now. "What have you done to yourself?"

The servants watched in silence, their faces as pale as hers. One of them stepped forward tentatively, his voice barely audible.

"Yvette… We… we didn't know… what to do."

Yvette shook her head, unable to respond. She looked up, her gaze fixed on the figure frozen in ice. Why did you do this? she wondered. Why did you leave me like this?

Her heart ached in ways she couldn't describe, and for the first time in months, she realized just how much she had longed for Owen—despite everything.

"I can't… I can't lose you like this," she whispered, her voice cracking.

But Owen remained frozen, his eyes closed, and the ice did not thaw.