His blade still bloodred from the slaughter of Dolatians, the silver-robed man braved through the blizzard of Larian land. Standing before the minotaur dungeon, he found himself straggling for the very blood in his body was piercing his flesh from the inside. Despite it all, the smile on his face was far from fading.
"Cold, after so long…I'd forgotten what it felt like," although he'd landed in Laria with thundering magic, he made his way all the way here on foot to feel the tundra's winds brushing up against his skin.
Turning his gaze to the slumbering dragon atop the Frost castle, he was reminded of the time when he stood beside the emperor and lord Frost to take down the reign of those very creatures. Yet as he stood in the cold winds, he almost felt thankful to the maddened dragon for making him feel something after so long.