Chimper #2651
The air in the upper spires of The Crystal Highlands of Armaria tastes of sharp magic and frozen strawberries. Jurika balances on one foot atop a monolith, guiding lanterns swaying, a private game to see how long they can last before the unnatural frost bites too deep. Below, the ancient warrior Shimo waits, a statue carved from millennia of ice. The training is simple: endure. But endurance leaves marks. Other trainees see Jurika’s giggling demeanor and the milk stain on their face and dismiss them as a fool. They don't see the fine, silvery lines lacing their hands, the permanent frost-kiss that earned them their name. Those scars don't hurt anymore; they are the price of being the only one who saw a being of immense cold and asked to play.
