“It seems you’ve adapted to our weather, young lady,” Lord James said politely, his voice even and warm, carrying an undertone of curiosity.

  Emma’s gaze lifted toward him at the sound of his words. Her eyes, unique white, lingered briefly on his composed figure before drifting downward to the white dress she wore. For a moment she traced the hem with her fingers, as though the fabric itself reminded her of the road that had brought her here.

  A slight smile tugged at her lips. “It’s a long story, sir,” she replied softly, her tone carrying both honesty and restraint.

  Lord James’s lips curved faintly as a low chuckle left him, the sound surprisingly warm against the icy air. “Well, I don’t mind,” he said, his words inviting yet measured.

  Emma gave a small nod, her silver-white hair swaying gently with the motion, and began to speak. Her voice, though quiet, carried with it a thread of resilience. She told him of her arrival, the suffocating cold that had nearly frozen her very existence when she first set foot here. She explained how, in that struggle, she had manifested her cold resistance.

  Her words were careful, measured; she spoke only of fragments, never the whole picture. Some details remained tucked away, as she only explained the necessary details.

  When her explanation came to an end, silence lingered between them for a heartbeat before Lord James gave a slow nod. “Interesting, interesting,” he murmured under his breath, his tone thoughtful as though her words had confirmed something within him.

  Then he lifted his gaze once more, his expression composed yet carrying a spark of subtle knowing. “It’s just like everyone here in Xin,” he said.

  Everyone? Emma thought, her brow creasing slightly. She tilted her head and allowed the question to form, her lips parting just enough. “What do you mean, sir?”

  Lord James met her questioning look without hesitation. “What I meant,” he replied smoothly, “is that right from birth, everyone in Xin develops resistance to the cold. What would freeze another’s existence, to us is nothing more than a chilling breeze. The cold of our land does not gnaw at us, it merely brushes against the skin.”

  Emma’s lips pressed together in thought as his words settled within her. She gave a small nod of understanding. That was exactly how she felt about the cold, too.

  Their steps carried them onward, smooth and unhurried, the rhythm of their pace blending with the soft fall of snow, until at last they came to a stop. Ahead, the silhouette of Xin’s kingdom loomed faintly in the distance, its edges blurred by the drifting veil of snow.

  Lord James halted, his figure steady against the backdrop of white. His gaze shifted away from the tile beneath their feet toward an empty stretch of snow-filled space. For a moment, Emma watched him, puzzled by why they stopped here.

  His hand lifted slowly, deliberate in its motion, until his palm faced the air before him. The space he stared at seemed still, untouched, yet the moment his fingers stretched outward, reality itself trembled like glass under strain.

  And then... It fractured.

  An invisible seam split open, not with sound, but with the quiet certainty of inevitability. The world bent inward as though all possible existence had given way for something beyond itself. Before them unfolded an opening, an unseen door that parted with silent reverence.

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  Beyond it lay a white expanse, vast and endless, like the blank surface of a canvas untouched by paint. The floor, however, was not bare. A dense carpet of grass stretched outward, each blade thick and alive, their roots so dark they appeared almost black. The tips of the grass glimmered faintly, dusted with pale specks that caught the light in soft flickers, shimmering like tiny shards of frost caught in an eternal twilight.

  Lord James’s hand lingered in the air for a moment as the invisible door yawned open. Soon after, he slowly lowered it to his side. His pale ash hair caught the dim light of the snowy world behind them, faintly gleaming as he turned to Emma. His lips curved into the faintest of smiles, calm and unreadable.

  “The Queen said,” he spoke quietly, his voice carrying like a soft thread across the vast silence, “you’ll understand when you see it.”

  Emma’s white eyes lingered on him for only a heartbeat before drifting back to the doorway. She nodded, her movements measured, steady, as though she had already accepted the inevitability of stepping through.

  The trance, She thought, a smile tugging gently at her lips.

  Her silver hair shifted with the faint breeze as she lifted her steps toward the threshold. The snowy air clung to her dress one last time before she crossed over, leaving the world of frost and falling snow behind as though all of existence had simply ceased.

  She entered the white world.

  The first thing her gaze caught was the sky, yet it did not feel like a sky at all. It stretched endlessly above her, flat and dull, a vast expanse of ashen white-gray. There was no sun, no cloud, no trace of depth or light. It felt as though someone had taken a giant canvas, painted it in faded tones, and nailed it across the heavens. Too pale to be called gray, too empty to be called white.

  Emma tilted her head back, her lashes low as she studied the emptiness overhead. A slow breath slipped from her lips, visible for only a moment before fading into nothing. It was like standing inside a dream, or a trance. Something suspended between reality and nothingness, where the fabric of the world was stitched not with presence but with absence.

  Her eyes lowered and swept across the plain that stretched endlessly before her. The ground was alive with grass, dark and thick, each blade trembling faintly beneath an invisible wind. They were nearly black at their roots, but their tips shone pale, dusted with a faint glitter that caught in the dull light. Tiny specks drifted down from above, not snow, not ash, but something in between. Each flake touched her skin and dissolved instantly, leaving behind no trace of warmth, no trace of cold.

  This is definitely the trance, She thought again, certainty ringing in her chest.

  Her steps began to carry her forward. The field gave no direction, no road, yet her feet pressed onward as if her body remembered something her mind could not. The grass bent under her weight, bowing with a soft hiss before swaying upright again after she passed. Cool and slick against her bare feet, it clung faintly before letting go.

  There was no horizon, no mountain or structure to mark the edge, yet the plain felt finite, like if she walked long enough, she could eventually touch the end of it.

  And then, just as she remembered, her eyes caught it.

  A line.

  Thin, white, a rope lying low across the grass. It glowed faintly, standing out against the darkness of the field, simple yet deliberate. Emma’s steps slowed as her eyes traced it, recognition flashing in her pale gaze. It stretched forward, unbroken, vanishing into the drifting mist that lay heavy across the plain.

  Her body moved without hesitation. She followed.

  The rope lay steady, guiding her with its silent pull, until at last her steps came to a halt.

  Before her rested a nest.

  It lay pressed into the grass, woven low and snug as though it had always been part of this place. The structure was rough, uneven, crafted from thin twigs and bark-colored fibers, layered with a careful hand. Time itself seemed pressed into its texture, as though it had existed here longer than the grass around it.

  At the nest’s center, an egg.

  Its surface was dark blue, deep and smooth, but not lifeless. It pulsed faintly, a slow rhythm like a heartbeat. With each throb, thin streams of dark frost energy bled outward, seeping into the air around it. The space shimmered faintly in answer, as if the very air breathed along with it.

  Emma’s lips curved slightly, the quietest note of satisfaction softening her face.

  She did not linger on the egg. Her gaze shifted away as she turned fully, her silver hair sliding over her shoulders with the motion. Her body lowered with slow grace, and she bowed.

  A calm voice left her lips, measured and clear.

  “A very good evening.”

  Her pale eyes lifted, and with them, her words carried a smoother edge.

  “Your Royal Highness.”

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