Welcome to the Saga
The North doesn't just have winter; it keeps it. It holds it in the heartwood of sleeping pines and breathes it across the glass of frozen lakes. These are not just moments caught in time; they are the whispers of a longer story. A tale told in the slow drift of snow, the sharp glint of a low sun, and the deep, resonant silence of a world held still. Here, in the fading light and the long shadows, are its chapters.
The Winter Tales are unfolding and will be here before you know it.
The old ones say the forest watches from a thousand unseen eyes.
Listen. The only sound is the snow settling on the pines.
The Beacon of Defiance
In the boundless white, where the sun's fading gold offers no warmth, a heart of wood and flame is commanded to beat. It spits and crackles, devouring the frozen timber, hissing steam where it meets the snow. For a few precious feet, it carves a kingdom from the cold—a temporary truce offered by hands unseen. This is not just a fire; it is an argument. A single, burning word spoken against the inevitable silence of the coming night.
Winter's Silver Veins
The Saga
The sun does not set in the north; it bleeds out.
A wound of saffron and gold opens across the horizon,
spilling its light onto the snow's blank page.
For a moment, the world is forged in fire and ice.
Skeletal pines become sentinels dipped in copper,
and the frozen lake, a dark mirror for a dying king.
It is a beautiful lie, this warmth of color,
a final, defiant breath before the cold claims its kingdom,
until only the long blue echo of the light remains.
What secrets does the ice keep?
