The path we've chosen is a brisk walk marked by the hazy shadows cast by dim lamps. In truth, the decision to take this route was a mutual one between Shiloah and me, though Erwein harbored some reservations. As we make our way towards the inviting warmth of the trail, I find myself shrouded in snow-packed mitts, a wool cap pulled low over my ears, and a perpetually sniffly nose. Everything around is draped in an ethereal white curtain, and an uncanny silence hangs in the air. Distant pine trees sway gently, the castle lights in the distance flicker intermittently, and the icy air nips at my nose, leaving a frosty tingle.
With every step, the reassuring crunch of my winter boots against compacted snow fills the stillness with a comforting rhythm—a sound both peaceful and familiar, serving
