The corridors leading away from Jokul’s throne room felt like they belonged to another world entirely. Everything just… shimmered. And not in the way things shimmered in Polaris with starlight, this was a shimmer of ice and snowflakes.
The walls were carved from ice so clear it looked like frozen glass, veins of pale blue light threading through it like living veins. Frost clung to archways in delicate, impossible patterns, as if winter itself had paused mid-breath to admire its own work. Beneath my boots, the floor gleamed smooth and solid, reflecting torchlight and the faint glow of magic embedded in the stone.
And yet—
It was warm.
Not oppressively so, but comfortable. The kind of warmth that seeped into your skin and chased away the ache of cold without ever touching the ice around
