In the snowy meadow, time passed slowly and quietly.
Grey sat cross-legged upon the icy grass, snowflakes drifting lazily around him as though the world itself had slowed its breathing. His eyes were closed, his expression pale and drawn, yet steady. His mind was submerged deep within cultivation. He was recovering.
The captain had said that the snow meadow could only be maintained for four days. After that, the sacrifices sustaining it would fully turn into ice, and the entire meadow would retract like a dream melting at dawn.
Four days sounded like a long time.
But in truth, it was not.
If Grey's injuries had only been physical or internal, he would not have been too worried. With the aid of the purple crystal, he could have healed completely within that time.
But this was different.
His body was wounded. His mind was fractured.
And even his soul had been shaken to its core.
