Grey came out of the teleportation room and the cold hit him like a wall.
Well, the chill did hit him, but it didn't really feel like it penetrated. It rolled off his shoulders like a normal breeze. It was odd. He was sure it was cold—very cold, in fact. Not the sort of chill one experienced in the winter, but instead the sort that quick-froze invaluable drugs in a lab.
But he didn't feel it. He seemed to have become immune, and it wasn't just because his body was stronger. There was something about the cold in specific that was completely unable to affect him now.
He dashed into the bar room.
The bar top had a shallow breadth of frost growing up it in feathered spines. The stools were practically welded to the floor by ice rising up their legs. Snow drifted down from nothing, descending from the ceiling in glittering motes of white.
In the middle of it was Thi Lan and Amunet.
