Krain walked forward until he reached the wall.
Before him stood a heavy door — forged of black iron, etched with veins of ice.
When his hand touched it, the chill pierced straight through to his bones.
But the door… was already open.
He pushed it gently.
The wind howled; snow cut across his face.
At the peak of the mountain, the white flakes drifted down through a hollow in the rocks, resting upon his hair and shoulders — like the quiet sorrow veiling his heart.
He lifted his gaze to the sky.
"What am I, really?" he whispered.
"What is a human? Can a human ever be perfect?... I don't understand."
He thought the wind would carry his words away —
but a soft voice answered beside him.
"Yes… you don't understand. Not yet."
Krain turned sharply.
A tall figure stood behind him — calm eyes, voice soft as desert wind.
"Airaa… what are you doing here?" Kraen asked.
Airaa smiled faintly.
"Actually, Sefisf was supposed to be here instead of me," he said.
"But today… he's busy."
"Busy?" Kraen frowned. "On another mission?"
Airaa looked up at the gray sky.
"Yes. Today is… a heavy day for him.
It's the day he first met his wife."
Kraen fell silent.
"You know," Airaa continued softly,
"Even those who smile the brightest often carry the deepest silence inside.
Some know their sorrow — some don't.
But Sefisf… he just chooses to ignore it.
Still, today even he feels its weight.
So don't speak harshly to him, Kraen.
Sometimes sorrow brings a deeper kind of peace."
Snow kept falling, layering upon Krain shoulders.
He stood still, then nodded slowly.
"I understand…" he murmured.
Airaa smiled gently.
"I can see it in your eyes — you've begun to accept yourself.
But this is only the beginning."
He turned toward the east, the wind brushing against his cloak.
"Nevan went that way. Follow him.
Perhaps there, you'll find the answer to the question you carry today."
The wind howled once more.
Snow blurred the world into shades of white and gray.
Krain cast one last look back toward the mountain's peak,
then lowered his head and began to walk.
Behind him, a single trail of footprints stretched into the distance —
lonely, fading like a lost shadow swallowed by the storm.