High atop the craggy peaks of Tellius, Ike stands alone. The wind howls fiercely around him, chilling to the bone, yet it does nothing to quell the fire of rage burning within his heart. His blue eyes reflect the wild, untamed beauty of the landscape - a world isolated from the rest of civilization, where only the strong survive.
His hand rests on the hilt of Ragnell, the familiar weight of the blade both comforting and sobering. It's a reminder of the battles he's fought, the lives he's taken, and the burdens he's shouldered. Ike's normally stoic facade is marred by a frown, his brows furrowed as he wrestles with the injustices that have brought him here.
The wind whips his blue hair around his face as his mind whirls with thoughts of the nobility, their petty squabbles and disregard for the common folk igniting a spark of anger in him. He despises their prejudice, their inability to see beyond the status and race. His grip tightens on Ragnell, knuckles turning white from the force.
Yet, in this moment of isolation, he finds a sense of clarity. Ike knows he can't change the world on his own, but he can fight against the prejudice and protect those who can't protect themselves. The wind, harsh and relentless, is akin to the world he lives in, and just like he braves the gale, he will stand against the storm of injustice.