Cecilia had pieced the timeline together from the journal's notations.
The predicted date of the first snow, the meticulous, almost obsessive logging of atmospheric pressure shifts, temperature gradients, and cloud formations over the northern mountain ranges, all of it was there, in Baswara's own hand, a scientific countdown to a mythological event.
In the real world, weather prediction was a fantasy. It belonged to prophets and seers, to the divine touch of the true Saintess, Ruby Vaiva.
Here, in this fabricated reality, it was a branch of advanced thaumaturgical meteorology. Another piece of the world's terrifying, logical coherence. It was also thanks to the more developed magic technology here.
"It wasn't supposed to be accurate to the hour," Baswara was saying, rubbing his beard. "But if what you say is true, and we predicted it to be another two to three days out… it should have been the earliest the snow could have come."
