"In 1845, two mighty ships, the Erebus and Terror, stand trapped in a vast expanse of Arctic ice, their hulls frozen in place by jagged, unyielding sheets. The sails hang limp, covered in frost, while the masts rise like skeletal fingers against an overcast, gray sky. Surrounding the ships, the icy terrain stretches endlessly, its surface fractured into sharp, crystalline formations that glint faintly in the dim light. The atmosphere is heavy with isolation and despair, and faint traces of human activity—scattered supplies, broken sleds, or fading footprints—hint at a desperate attempt to escape the frozen prison. Overhead, dark clouds loom, casting shadows that deepen the foreboding sense of doom. "