Her breath misted in the air, forming tiny clouds. She wrapped her cloak tighter, the warmth from her inner qi spreading slowly to her hands.
Then she heard it — a deep, rhythmic sound. Not footsteps, but something heavier, slower. Turning around, she saw movement among the drifting snow. Massive figures — white and broad-shouldered — emerged, their fur glistening like moonlit frost.
The Jeti.
One stepped forward, taller than any human, with eyes as clear as glacial water. He carried no weapon, but the power in his stance made Lira instinctively bow her head.
"I am Lira," she said softly, her voice visible in the cold air. "The tree spirit sent me. I seek the Ice That Never Melts."
The Jeti's breath was slow, his voice like rolling thunder: "Few speak with the Great Tree anymore. And fewer still survive the journey here. Why do you need what belongs to the mountain?"
