The Gate shimmered once before sealing behind him, leaving only the faint crackle of mana in the frozen air. Trafalgar stepped out into Euclid's main street, boots crunching over a thin sheet of snow. The contrast hit him immediately — after the dry heat of Velkaris, the cold here felt like a slap. His breath came out as a pale mist.
"Goddamn," he muttered, tugging at his coat collar. "It's fucking freezing."
The streets ahead were almost empty, lined with snow-dusted stone buildings and mana lamps burning a dim blue light. Even the usual hum of merchants and chatter was gone. Windows were shuttered, doors closed, and not a single soul lingered in sight.
'Right,' he thought. 'Of course it's quiet. Every Morgain within three generations is in town. The smart ones are hiding indoors.'
