Two days later on the northern highway.
The transition wasn't gradual. It was violent.
One moment, the Marquis Carriage was rolling through the pine forests of the Midlands, where the snow was a polite dusting on the trees. The next, they crossed the invisible border of the Whispering Mountains, and the world turned white.
The wind didn't blow here; it screamed. It tore across the tundra, carrying ice crystals that hit the carriage windows like gravel.
Inside, the magical heating crystal mounted on the ceiling flickered.
Zzzzt.
"That's the third time," Lord Rurik grumbled, tapping the crystal with a claw. "The ambient mana is too thin. The cold is eating the magic."
Primrose pulled her fur collar tighter. She could see her breath in the air. "I didn't think it would be this cold. It feels... heavy."
