The difference between Nod-krai—despite its proximity to Snezhnaya—and Dragonspine was unmistakable. The cold was far more biting, the snow blanketed roads and trees alike—harsh conditions, yet undeniably beautiful. Fortunately, you were accustomed to that rigid cold, and during your research you barely gave it any thought. Albedo helped you whenever he could—which was to say, in almost everything—having come to know that mountain better than anyone else.

Whatever you asked for, he knew where to find it. Did you need a specific flower? He knew exactly where it grew. Were you missing materials for your studies? His laboratory could provide nearly anything. In short, whatever you needed, Albedo never hesitated to help.

Even so, while you could endure the cold, your body still bore its mark: your hands were always cold, often chapped from the constant exposure—you frequently forgot your gloves. Your cheeks would flush with a faint red, the tip of your nose as well, as you walked through the breathtaking, white, silent paths of the mountain. And when you returned to Albedo’s laboratory—somehow also becoming yours during that time—you would sit beside the lit fire, warming your hands.

That morning, you and Albedo had ventured together to gather materials in the mountain’s more central area, where the cold was even harsher, if possible. Once you reached the most abundant spot, you gathered what you needed, placing it into the bags you had brought along.

“Is that everything you were looking for?” Albedo asked, turning toward you as he tied the sack closed.

You simply nodded, mirroring his gesture. “It’s colder here,” you said softly, glancing around. The pale blue sheets of frozen ice, the pristine white snow beneath your feet, the gray stone of the mountain—yet the sight never ceased to fascinate you.

“The temperature here is lower than outside,” he explained. “because sunlight rarely reaches this area. That also makes the ice more solid.”

He stepped closer, setting the sack beside you, and gently took your hand in his. He pressed it against his cheek—warmer than you had expected—then brought it near his mouth, adding his warm breath to the gesture, before finally placing a small kiss in the center of your palm. He then took your other hand, holding it firmly between his own.

You didn’t find it strange—rather, it felt like a gentle, tender way for him to show his affection toward you, far more natural than some of the other, more curious and unconventional methods he sometimes used.

“Before we head back, we should take a break,” he said. “Your hands are very cold, and it would be best to eat something.”

He gestured toward a nearby spot, where two stones stood side by side like makeshift stools, with the remains of a small wooden shelter in front of them—burned down long before, a sign that someone else had once rested there.

He brushed the excess snow off the stones and invited you to sit, while he went off to gather a few more pieces of wood to burn.