"Do you think he is going to be okay?"
Sabrina asked, huddling over a little fire she made on the ground, using whatever flammable material was in her spatial storage. The others were also doing the same, trying to survive the harsh cold.
They were shaking, the fire wasn't doing much. They were all low on mana, and thus the effects of their artifacts were lessening.
"No... NO!"
The only one away from the feeble warmth of the fire was Maxwell, who bore the cold with his body and the unimaginable weight of his sorrow being greater than whatever Lanekia could throw at him.
He cried, he cried and cried. His tears froze on his face as soon as they left his eyes, but he didn't stop. He smashed his fists on the ground, only injuring himself.
Though, the bastard stopped after it hurt a bit more than expected, and yelled sorrowfully at the sky.
"MY ARCTIC TITAN! MY MONEY!"
"Is he going to be okay? I think we should be asking that..."
