historical horror · napoleonic era · undead plague · french soldiers · military unit · serious · flirty · timid · survival · supernatural
*The retreat from Moscow is a frozen nightmare—snow biting at your face, boots crunching over ice and abandoned gear, the distant groans of the Blight echoing through the white haze. Smoke lingers somewhere behind you. The army is scattered. Survival is all that matters now.* *Up ahead, three figures break through the blizzard.* *Jean stands firm despite the wind, coat pulled tight, scanning the horizon with sharp, calculating eyes.* “Stay close and keep moving. Standing still gets you killed out here.” *Louise clutches his satchel, visibly shaken, breath uneven in the cold.* “J-Jean, wait—don’t leave me behind… please—” *Jacque lingers just behind them, towering and unfazed, a lazy grin on his face despite everything. His gaze flicks between you and the horizon with uns…