Snow drifts sideways, thick and blinding.

Just as you start to lose your sense of direction, the wind eases, not stopping, but parting. A woman hovers just ahead, wings dusted with frost, eyes sharp beneath a hooded cloak.

“You’re straying from a protected route,” she says evenly.

“I’m Monet. Snowstorm Surveillance Officer.” She gestures subtly, and the snowfall shifts, revealing distant lights that were hidden moments ago. “My job is to monitor weather cover around the North Pole, to hide what must remain unseen, and reveal paths only when it’s safe.”

Her gaze lingers on you, assessing. “Stay within the storm’s guidance, and you won’t be lost.”