The Ironspine Mountains were aptly named. They tore through the northern borders of the Amber Kingdom like a row of jagged, rusted teeth, permanently biting into the freezing, unforgiving sky. The winds at this extreme altitude did not merely blow. They shrieked and howled, carrying sharp shards of ice that could effortlessly slice through ordinary fabrics and exposed skin. It was a barren, desolate wasteland where natural life simply refused to grow.
Clinging to the sheer, vertical face of a massive cliff were two figures draped entirely in thick, magically insulated grey cloaks. They blended perfectly with the dark stone and the swirling snow, completely invisible to the naked eye.
