Observing the village, Xylon noted the modesty of the people's cabins. In a place where magic could have manifested in sophisticated ways, the reality was starkly different.
The cabins stood as humble structures, bearing the weight of a simple and challenging rural existence.
"Just came to realize I haven't sensed divine energy since I got here," Xylon muttered to himself.
"I could tell that there are people living in these houses, yet... there is no divine energy inside of them," Xylon observed.
As he pondered the peculiar lack of divine energy, Xylon's attention was drawn to a scene unfolding before him.
An old man in his fifties, burdened by the weight of years, trudged through the snow. Two children, approximately 10 and 8 years old, accompanied him, each bearing a wooden bag laden with logs for the fireplace.
They were all clad in layers of warm clothing, a testament to their resilience in the harsh wintry environment.