The sky above the Great Western Desert did not merely darken; it bruised.
The collision was inevitable, a physical manifestation of the impossible union traveling within the Imperial Caravan. Outside, the desert was a relentless forge of gold and fire, but radiating from the heart of the carriage was Vera's uncontrolled, primeval frost. When the two extremes met, physics surrendered to magic. The swirling heat of the dunes clashed with the sub-zero aura of the Heart of Boreas, creating a meteorological anomaly that the world had not seen in three centuries: a Crystalline Sirocco.
Horizontal sheets of sand, flash-frozen into jagged glass shards, began to scream against the iron-reinforced walls of the caravan. The eight war-stallions, bred for the harshest sun, let out terrified, vibrating whinnies as their breath turned to ice in mid-air.
