For the little years of her life, Sylaris's world had been painted in monochrome—the permanent, grey of the northern sky, the relentless, biting chill of blizzards howling past frost-caked windows.
Stepping out into the human realm for the first time, however, felt like falling face-first into a freshly opened jewel box.
Sylaris stood outside the bustling perimeter of the Ruo Han residence, her small hand clutching a jagged rock from Harun's training yard like a sacred talisman. Her jaw was slack, her eyes wide and swimming with utter bewilderment.
The sky above was bright blue, devoid of clouds. The air wasn't throat-freezing—it was warm and smelled of blooming plum blossoms and wet earth.
