In the distance, nestled between rolling hills and scattered pine forests, a city rose from the snow like a jagged crown. Its rooftops shimmered beneath a soft winter sun, thick plumes of steam curling up from various towers and forges. The heavy mountain ranges of Morgain were far behind them now, replaced by plains dusted in white and patches of visible stone roads.
Trafalgar adjusted the fur-lined cloak tighter around his shoulders.
"Is that it? Have we arrived?"
Mordrek, seated in front of him atop the wyvern's saddle, gave a nod.
"Almost. That's Euclid—my territory. My city. I control the Gate to Velkaris."
Trafalgar raised an eyebrow. "You have an entire city to yourself?"
"I'm a Morgain," Mordrek replied with a snort. "Of course I own something. It comes with the name."
Trafalgar blinked once, then nodded. "...Fair enough."
