Winter is in its full power, owning the land and making it barren. The cold is hostile and wears you down.
The battlefield is a land flat, hard, unyielding.
In the midst of this battlefield stands a king named Truth. He is ugly and battle scarred, hardened, intractable. He is cold not in the way that ice is cold, but cold in the way the inner wall of a house is cold. His weapons are built of your weaknesses, and he knows them all.
He is formidable, terrifying.
But the battlefield is far away, hazy, barely discernible. You can only just make out the apathetic king standing in his customary steadfast readiness. Unfortunately, he lies between yourself and home. As he is so terrifying and so hideous and armed so well, you choose instead to go to Utopia. The road is easy, and there are no obstacles, but you get lost along the way and end in a place you don’t recognize. By the time you determine to go home again, you’ve lost your way back.