North of the Northern Territory lie the ruins of the Dwarf Federation. For sixty-three years, this land has been without the protection of Climate Magic, trapped in a deathly silence as relentless blizzards rage.
"What about this one?"
"Give it here."
At the Dwarf's command, the boy handed over the object he'd found in the ruins. The Dwarf took it. It was a flask.
"'It's just a flask, and there aren't any special markings...' Even knowing it was from over sixty years ago, the Dwarf couldn't resist twisting off the cap and taking a sniff. 'Heh, it actually still has a bit of a smell.' He then examined the material. It was an oxidized, blackened metal—probably impure silver."
"But the flask isn't dented at all..."
