The castle is still with the cold. The long winter months bring death and melancholy with them, with hundreds of livestock dying from a lack of the sustenance the now dead grass is supposed to provide.

This melancholy of ice reaches the high capital of the city through the large cities and towns, displayed through the thick layers of pelts and fabrics that even the guards inside the castle adorn over their armor.

The last of the commonpeople that line up in the throne room disappear with the light of the sun, and a quiet peace is once again settled with the darkening of the light. The torches are lit by the servants and the guards begin their next shifts, trading places with each other and getting comfortable in the increasing cold.

It's reached the High King too. His deep, blue eyes are overshadowed by the headpiece crowning his head. Some of his once jet black, now greying, long hair is pulled back in a ponytail that sits over the rest of his large mane. Kristys' strong, large hands tap on the armrest of his throne slowly while the frowning, aging lines on his face seem more obvious in the winter that weakens the world.