From the Observer's Eyes
Ah, dear reader, if you have ever witnessed the slow transformation of a world, you might understand what it meant to travel from fire into frost.
It was said, by the old storytellers, by the monks who sat in cloistered libraries handling brittle scrolls, by children who whispered legends into snowdrifts that journeys changed people more than destinations ever could.
And perharps that was true.
For this was not merely a journey of distance, but of elements reshaping themselves around two souls who had no business belonging to one another, and yet could not seem to exist apart.
The second day began with silver.
Silver light bleeding across a silver sea, frozen solid as far as the eye could dared to wander. The procession had left the Border Territories behind in the grey hours before dawn, when the world was still caught between dreaming and waking, and by the time the sun crested the horizon, they had entered the realm of The Silver Shores.
