He had begun to think it would no longer snow. However, as always, he was wrong.
Despite having lived in this land for centuries, he still failed to predict the weather.
Standing at the training grounds, Soren leaned his head against a nearby pillar.
Rihaan had begun to get along with the knights. They had even started engaging him in friendly duels.
From a distance, Soren followed the man with his gaze. It was as if Rihaan belonged here now—unlike in the past, when he would sulk in a corner, wondering why in the world he had been sent to such a cold land.
"May I ask what you are thinking about?"
Soren turned toward the voice. Oliver stood beside him, his head slightly lowered.
"There is not much to think about."
"Pardon me if I have overstepped by asking," Oliver said quietly, as though he had committed a grave offence.
The red-haired man chuckled, shaking his head.
"You needn't worry. There was nothing special I was pondering."
