For the people of the Northern Realm, the eternal unchanging white and black are the colors of the world.
Snow falling from the sky and rocks growing from the ground overlap, like blades and teeth intersecting and slaughtering each other.
Each snowfall signals the feasting of the monster called the Northern Realm, its teeth chewing. The cold gusts hitting you are the foul winds blowing from the monster's mouth. The roar amidst the snowstorm is its bellowing.
To survive in such a world, every minute and second, there's only one thing to do.
Fight.
Become an enemy of the world.
Every time facing the cold wind, every step through the snow and black rocks, climbing higher peaks in the chill that could freeze your nose and eyelashes, is a challenge against all of this.
This is exactly how it should be.
The explorers prided themselves on this, wanting to conquer the world in front of them, aiming to break deeper into the storm and reach higher heights, no matter how many times.
