Ominous clouds smothered the sky, a sign that a blizzard could hit at any moment.
The weather in the Northern Domain was always like this. Not even a Prophet Mage could say for certain when a storm of ice and snow might strike.
Every such storm claimed innocent lives—people trapped under collapsed houses in their sleep on an otherwise ordinary day, or farmers whose entire year's harvest was destroyed by hail.
Figxin was brought back to Winterfort under guard.
The heavy gates slammed shut, the sound echoing through the great hall with a puff of dust.
Zete Mage immediately cast Protective Magic on the doors.
He was somewhat regretful. 'Why didn't I major in the School of Defense or the Plastic Energy School back when I was young? I'd be more useful in the face of sudden danger.'
"Have they found the shooter?" Figxin asked urgently as a Priest tended to the wound on her ear.
'This little wound is nothing. I've been hurt far worse than this on more than one occasion.'
