As the sun sets over a war-torn countryside, a man stands alone on the remnants of an old homestead—its walls charred, its fields overgrown with twisted crops and jagged brambles. Behind him, a surreal fortress looms in skeletal ruin, its towers tangled in spidery filigree and covered in unnatural moss. The ground beneath his feet is cracked and littered with broken implements, yet his stance is proud, rifle at his side. The golden-pink sky floods the scene with warmth that belies its grotesque textures, and a subtle wind carries leaves and ash past his feet. This final stand feels personal, human, symbolic—etched in both memory and myth.