The soft crunch of hooves was the only sound left in the world.
Snow fell in slow, lazy spirals. The wind had quieted, but that didn't make the cold kinder. If anything, the silence made it worse—like the air was holding its breath, waiting.
Asmodeus rode atop Lumina's back, his gaze fixed forward. White blanketed everything—endless and perfect, as if nothing had ever touched this place.
Not even the wind dared disturb the untouched hills of powdery frost stretching before them. Even their demon horses had stopped snorting. Just slow, trudging steps through snow that came up past their knees.
"We're close," he murmured.
Levia's voice came back through the soft white haze. "You feel it too, My Lord?"
He nodded once.
Ahead, black spires rose from the earth—half-sunken ruins, jagged and uneven. What looked at first like the skeletal remains of trees were broken poles, ancient stone torches, frozen solid and buried waist-deep in snow.
