The two cloaked figures hovered above the snow like specters—silent, unmoving, untouched by the howling wind that stirred the world below. The hems of their dark, voluminous cloaks twisted in the air as if defying gravity itself, brushing against the sleet-heavy fog that blanketed the mountainside.
On the ground, Ezekiel and the other apprentices held their positions in the open clearing, the bitter cold gnawing at them with unseen fangs. The snow had begun to rise unnervingly, swallowing their boots and creeping up their legs, submerging the deep azure trim of their cloaks. Each flake that fell shimmered faintly with magic, like cursed ash from a long-dead fire.
