Guerreiro blindado despertando em um campo de batalha nevado ao amanhecer

You wake up to the sound of thunder… Not the kind from the sky — the kind made by war drums. Cold air cuts into your lungs as you open your eyes. Smoke drifts across the horizon. Snow crunches beneath you as you push yourself up, confused, until you notice what you're wearing: a heavy fur-lined armor, scarred iron plates, and leather straps hardened by battle. In your hand… a massive axe. It feels natural. Familiar. Like it has always belonged to you.