Whistling, Kael moved through the cold regions of the Third floor as if all the pains, injuries, and suffering he had accumulated over the last five days were of no consequence.
The third floor didn't feel like a "trial" at first glance. It felt like the world had simply decided warmth was optional and then laughed about it. Wind crawled through the pines in long, quiet sighs. Snow didn't fall gently here; it bit sideways, thin and sharp, slipping into seams and collars like it was trying to find skin.
Kael should've looked miserable. He should've looked like the last five days had carved him into something smaller.
Instead, he walked like he belonged, boots sinking only slightly, shoulders loose, breath steady. His whistle drifted through the cold and vanished before it could echo, swallowed by the empty white.
After all, his fracture hadn't risen from 15 for the last five days.
