The biting cold wind, sharp as a blade, carried fine ice crystals.
It howled and swirled above the enormous deep-water port outside Glazed Light City.
The massive cruise ship, like a giant steel beast, lay silently at anchor, lowering its gangway.
People moved like a migrating colony of ants, slowly descending the gangway, stepping onto this land perpetually shrouded in ice, snow, and auroras.
Within the crowd.
A tall young man, clad in a thick, insulated parka, slowly stepped down.
Despite his unremarkable features, easily forgettable in a crowd.
Yet, deep within his calm eyes, an occasional sharp glint flickered, strikingly at odds with his mundane appearance.
He habitually raised a hand to touch his bare scalp.
But his fingertips encountered a slightly coarse, unfamiliar texture of hair.
It was an extremely realistic short black wig.
"Amitabha..."
