Vaeron stopped where the hall widened into an empty crossing of stone and silence and found himself standing at a quiet edge of the palace, alone upon a high balcony. The cold wind swept through the open space, carrying with it the bite of northern winter, yet it barely touched him as he remained unmoving, lost within the gravity of his thoughts.
Beyond the balustrade, Blackvale stretched outward in solemn stillness, dissolved into the layers of shadow and mist. Snow drifted endlessly from the low-hanging sky, falling not in gentle flurries but deliberate sheets.
Moonlight glimmered weakly against polished stone, tracing the severe geometry of spires and bridges that cut across the darkness at impossible heights. Far beneath, the lower levels of the city were swallowed by fog and snowfall, leaving only silhouettes and faint torchlight flickering like distant embers trapped beneath ice.
