A bitter north wind, like a gale of icy blades, howled across the desolate northern border of the Golden Valley Kingdom.
A lead-gray sky hung low as thick snowflakes drifted down, blanketing the rolling mountains and vast plains in a deathly pure white. The bone-deep chill felt as if it could freeze the very soul.
In this harsh world of ice and snow, a massive military encampment, like a crouching beast, clung tenaciously to the wind-blasted landscape.
Its fortifications were imposing, and banners snapped in the gale, yet the entire camp exuded a heavy, oppressive atmosphere that mirrored the weather.
A burly figure, draped in a heavy wolf-pelt cloak, was trudging through the deep snow, making his way quickly toward the largest tent in the center of the camp.
This was Enrique, Guardian of the Golden Valley Kingdom's Northern Domain.
