Frost Moon draws to a close, and winter has arrived in all the countries of the Northern Continent.
The bitter north wind howls through the city streets, creating sharp whistles as it passes between buildings. Snow on the rooftops is blown off, dancing mid-air into a hazy curtain, as though another round of snowfall is upon us.
But all of this is kept at bay by thick walls, laminated crystal glass, and the heating system.
Gawain sat in his study, flipping through a book about the folklore of the Northern Continent, while his other hand held a dipping pen, sketching whatever images and inspirations came to mind on a piece of draft paper. The howling wind outside, filtered through the glass, became a faint echo indoors, blending with the low melody from the magic device in the corner, calming his mind even more.
Betty stood quietly beside the desk, hands clasped over the apron of her maid outfit, nodding off with soft snores.
