At Hero's Bay

Hiemal Fire

𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬

𓄹 𝐊𝐑𝐎𝐖 𓄼

Krow arrived in the eastern wing at the crack of dawn, running through the corridors that were drowned by an inch of snow, his hands brushing against the balconies and railings that were powdered white. Despite it being so early, the world was restless and busy ever since nightfall. Countless Amisians swarmed to prepare for such a big event—the changing of the seasons—whilst Krow yearned for sleep. He wasn't able to get any last night, after the whole ordeal of being left alone on the Seeing Gates bridge.

Servants brusquely scrambled down the halls with blue and white silk ribbons from the Elysium in their hands. Young maiden girls giggled and skipped past him, their dainty hands occupied with smooth and snuffed leathers, soft fabrics from every region, embroidered with gold, pale pink corals, and storm flowers. Advisors consort with each other, both arguing and agreeing over even the smallest of matters for the nightly event, making such a big ruckus.

Krow climbs the white, spiraling towers of the Skaraeith palace, minding the few sweepers who were taking a break from descaling the snow-crested rooftops and terraces. Only whoever—or whatever—was below were rather unfortunate; heaps of miniature avalanches tended to rain down on the many sentries, but they made the most of it by joining the touring children who often instigated snowball fights. Krow smiles fondly from the terrace above as he spots a few children sculpting tilted mystical creatures and misshapen soldiers.

Beyond the palace gardens and their new distorted sculptures, to the northeast, was the White Hollow woods. The several hundred acres of red trees and white was nothing but a silver horizon. Not even the blood-red leaves that were fabled to be the blood of fallen soldiers who fought within those woods could prevail against the snow. They merely blended in with their pale trunks that were also believed to be the soldier's marked graves.

While Krow mostly found comfort in the warmer tones of the palace's golden halls, he did appreciate the sight of pine and snowflake wreaths that were strung up along the varying columns. He tugged harder at the dark, wolfish-fur cloak that draped over his shoulders, trying his best to shake away the remnants of snow caught within the thick strands. As he strode to Y/N's chambers within the palace, he cursed how she chose to occupy the farthest and highest tower, the Ascension.

Although he already knew her ambitious reasoning—wanting to be as close to the sky as possible—Krow couldn't help himself but huff with each step he climbed. The higher he scaled, the stronger the air smelled as it was potent from Y/N's collection of flora that hung about the few window sills. The fragrance then turns crisp as he hears the rushing of water as well—recognizing the sound as Y/N's indoor cascade and rivulet. Her entire room was like an enchanted forest, Krow noted blithely, how could she get any sleep around here?

The flowery aroma stuck to Krow's cloak as he bursts inside of her quarters with an exhausted and impatient huff. As he peels off his leather gloves, he shrugs off his furs and sets them on a nearby coat rack. This year's snowblight really was one of the coldest, Krow thinks with a shiver, as no matter what he wore, nothing could ever keep him warm, snowblight was delightful, yes, if one was properly prepared.

"I'm here, I'm here. And, I've got some bad news," Krow announced, "I spoke with the Sand Hounds and gave them a warrant. Unfortunately, before I could even get into the temple, they told me he was let go,"