45. Ice Serpent
A world painted in endless white stretched out before Eryndor, its cold embrace biting into his skin and sapping the warmth from his body. The snowy mountain terrain was both a testament to nature's beauty and its indifference. Life here was fragile— only the strong or cunning survived. The weak were claimed swiftly by the unrelenting frost or prowling predators.
Eryndor's movements were calculated as he darted through the terrain, his figure a blur weaving between frost-covered trees. His breath crystallized in the air, vanishing almost as quickly as it appeared. Each step was muffled by the snow beneath his boots, but he remained wary. Every sound, every crunch, could alert something— someone— to his presence.
"Conserve your mana. Don't let your guard down."
