It was dark—night time, truly night, in a way the Fourth Layer seemed to specialize in. A darkness that didn't merely settle over the snow, but pressed into it, pushed down, seeped in like ink spilled into white cloth.
The only source of light across the damn endless snowy lane was the snow-made mansion crouched in the far corner like some strange frozen beast pretending to sleep.
Inside, it felt warm. Outside, it was hell's idea of winter.
The cold weather beyond the shields was a creature of its own—alive, whispering, watching. It prowled the endless white dunes, swirling with hunger. And the monsters that lurked in it… they came to the light.
They always did. The brightness of the mansion, the glow of Merlin's crafted ice walls, Aurora's layered barriers, and Michael's final holy shield—it called to them.
