With the snow, all hope left. It felt more like the icy wind and particles of frost brought a clearer understanding of reality than the depression everyone seemed to think she was experiencing. It wasn’t depression. It was an objective observation of the battle lost. The fourth Master had been killed; only three remained, but that fact did nothing to comfort anyone. The Sun, the only weapon against the increasing darkness, was dismantled, shattered and left in the rubble of their world. One was dead. One was injured beyond repair. Two had become outcasts for their betrayal. And one had lost their mind. However, the Masters would not allow complacency. They had decided the order in which they would attack, and the Sun—the pitiful group they had become—would be given no time to sulk. The choice was theirs; become what they were destined to be or leave the world to its death.