The bitter northern wind whipped through the high battlements of the Northwest fortress, carrying with it the scent of fresh snow.
Inside the quiet study, a brazier flickered, casting long shadows across the walls. Xulthas stood before an ancient grimoire resting on an oak pedestal. His emerald eyes burned with an intense focus as his calloused hands traced the glowing, complex incantations hovering in the air. A translucent, deep-emerald magic circle rotated slowly in front of him, its intricate runes humming with volatile, raw power.
