At Hero's Bay

Seeds of Change

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥

𓄹 𝐊𝐑𝐎𝐖 𓄼

The hour of twilight, with all of its perpetual colors, seemed eerie as the Echealion dwelled within the ethereal wisps of shadows. The glow was glorious as much as it was chilling, where the wind upon the citadel blew north and led a warning that Krow could not miss. He rubbed his hands together with little rewarding friction, where the warmth abated the yearning to call out Y/N who was in front of him.

Despite how much it pained him not to do so, Krow didn't have the heart to call Y/N out of her distressed stupor—regardless of how unbothered she might've looked as the cold wind lashed against her. The two were traversing through the Seeing Gates, free of the scorching deserts where the winds of the northwest were much cooler now. But even that did little to appease the blisters forming on their heels.

They were beginning to happen upon the border between the Irie and the Echealion—the dark greenery of the forests that led to the Great Keep was just beyond their reach. A little further, Krow encourages himself with each step, just a little further and I can bathe until the morning comes. His thoughts seemed to be his only company for now; conversation at such a time between him and Y/N was unwise; especially while she was ruminating relentlessly about the past.

She wasn't nostalgic for it, Krow reassured himself, she was just...impatient with such changes.

Their last conversation between Khrosa Aruul Qhyros certainly didn't sit well with Y/N as she did not speak another word once they left the domain. Her furrowed expression diminished from crinkles and disdain to sunken and melancholy. He had only hoped to save his own skin, he would rather not return to the Echealion and be immediately bombarded with questions and accusations why Y/N looked so forlorn—especially from Gardenia who made it explicitly clear not to talk with her anymore.

A small part of Krow wanted to blame himself, but he merely remembers that there are others who might share the blame—some more than him.

"Snowblight begins tomorrow," The sound of Y/N's soft voice immediately heeds his attention, "How absolutely dreadful."

Admittedly, Krow found snowblight to be quite delightful. The clouds would come in such heavy and pure billows that it rained down gentle snow. The northern regions would glow with a pristine white, where the tops of the Terius mountains blew with harsher blizzards—and yet the tribes below did not find it bothersome. Even in the Irie dunes did the cooler breezes from the east sweep through the valleys of sand. But Krow knew, deep down, Y/N did not share his likeness; none of those places was what she needed.

"Do you remember the last snowblight we had? Or the one before that?" Y/N sighs as she looks upon the stars, her gaze desolate and fleeting, "Neither do I. All I can remember is the night sky looking over us our whole lives. The same, empty, perfect sky. Even when we fought and were near-dying, there were always stars above us. Father says that they are the true reminders of hope...of change...of tomorrow. Now that's all I see, wondering if there ever will be another tomorrow,"

Krow cranes his head towards the heavens, too, noticing that the glittering specks of light brimming the empyrean darkness are not akin to the blaze in Y/N's eyes. When he looks back at her, Krow is reminded again of their younger days—when things were still new and innocent. He then misses those traits in her eyes, they've been gone for a long time.

"I wish...I wish tomorrow would be different."

There's a lot of ways to interpret such a thought, Krow thinks, but only he knows what she truly means—what she wants to change the most.