Phei stood at the threshold, city lights glittering behind him like dying stars pinned to black velvet, the glacial blue wash painting his skin like frost kissed by moonlight. He exhaled.
And the Void-Ice exhaled with him.
The breath left his lips in a slow, deliberate plume—white at first, then shimmering violet-black at the edges as it curled outward. The frost flowers bloomed silently in its wake: delicate, impossible fractals etching themselves across the matte black fixtures like living tattoos of absolute zero.
They spread in slow, predatory elegance—filigree vines climbing faucet necks, blooming across towel warmers, tracing the edges of the floating vanity in perfect Tiamat runes that pulsed once, twice, then faded into cold clarity.
