The Winter Region was unlike any other land in the known world.
It was neutral like the Elven land yet untouchable — it stood as though carved directly from the will of the Ice Goddess herself.
It was a place of perpetual frost, where the sun's warmth rarely touched the earth and snowflakes blanketed every inch of land without pause.
Temperatures dropped so low that travelers often claimed even their blood slowed in their veins, and when night came, the cold transformed into something cruel, enough to claim lives within hours if one was unprepared.
There was magical equipment to help with that but still, that was how cold this place was.
Yet the most curious thing about the Winter Region wasn't its climate, nor its natural fortifications.
It was its people.
Every man, woman, and child born there shared a distinct mark of heritage: silver hair that shimmered like spun moonlight.
