If one were to pin him down and demand an answer to the question: Where is your home away from home? Naota would have to say Zets’Ki Cradle. There was a quiet magick to its very existence. The culture here was rich, but not obnoxious. While respect was demanded in a way one might go as far as to describe as unforgiveable, it was not harsh. To be in the cradle was likened to being in a world separate from Revaliir itself. Perhaps it was for this reason that he felt such contentment.

Before the surge of his memories had returned, he’d hardly given Zets’Ki more than a pleasant thought and occasional visit. But since remembering everything? He wandered its snowy valley almost as much as the grounds of his own temple. The snow blanketed everything, giving the place a cozy feeling without being completely dangerous. True that he could withstand the constant cold temperatures, but he wasn’t blind to the risks others took when coming here.

His previous temple had been atop a mountain, and there was a reason he had portals that took you straight to the entrance. In a way, this place made him homesick for his former residence. The Valley of Vada suited him now, but his heart still ached for the mountain top. Now he was all but underground with his residence: he couldn’t be more opposite if he’d tried.

Couples ducked into one of the many taverns, others dashing into stores, while children tried their best to keep their games off the road. There was hardly ever a dangerous struggle here, and it was amazing to think that there weren’t more people rushing to live here. Then he remembered the cold for about the thousandth time.

Above him the sky was clear, dusted in stars as if someone had thrown a satchel of diamonds into a still ocean. They blinked and winked at him, and he wondered what they were trying to say. Najima would know, since he was a fallen star. Perhaps it was time for another lesson. Their language was so completely different than any structure on Revaliir, and he still couldn’t tell what the different flashes meant.

It was strange to think about how so many of them were alive, which meant some had also already passed on. Which ones were whispering to him now? He smiled, a little to himself, a little to them, and looked ahead. The cathedral stood before him; the nearer he drew, the more colorful the snow became. It was the perfect canvas for the light that shone through the stained-glass dome; bathing the pure white in visions of ruby, sapphire, and emerald.

The great respect they gave to crystals and gems was not lost on him and only strengthened the kinship he felt. Were it not considered extremely disrespectful to do so, he wondered if this might have been where he’d chosen to make his new place of worship. Then again, he hardly chose at all: his soul did all the work.

Soft melodic chanting echoed within the cathedral, slightly dampened by the windows, but easy to enjoy nonetheless. His eyelids drooped as he walked to an untarnished slope of snow and sat down. It was so soft and pure that he sank a good four inches in, causing his smile to spread. Were they practicing or worshipping? He wasn’t sure, but it was so lovely to listen to: their mystic voices, the darkness around him only being cut through by the light from the window; the stained glass coloring the snow and his own skin; that he couldn’t help it when his eyes closed all the way.

He reclined back, crossing one leg over the other and cradling the back of his head with folded arms as he listened. It was a good night…

Ivren made his way outside, ducking to avoid hitting his antlers on the doorframe. Swinging to a close, the door quickly cut off the warm air radiating from inside, leaving the biting cold of Zets’Ki Cradle to hit Ivren like a mace. He winced. Once the initial shock had worm off, however, the frigid air didn’t seem quite so bad. Besides, he’d take the outdoors over the stifling air and overwhelming chatter of the inn any day. Even if the outdoors was freezing.

Ivren had only been in the town a few days, but he was growing quite fond of the place. The black granite and pale snow had a sort of beautiful crispness that drew him to them. Strolling past by yet another intricate stain glass window, he couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship. Of course, the window was dull in comparison to the majesty of the palace’s great cathedral. Judging by the whisper of chanting floating down to him, it was nearby.

Admiring the palace from afar, Ivren’s eyes found themselves drawn down by its sweeping architecture, coming to a rest on the pools of vibrant light filtering through it’s dome onto the snow’s pristine canvas. He was pulled from his thoughts by the sight of something lying in the snow. Walking closer to investigate, Ivren realised it to be a man, reclining on the side of a slope… Surely he must be freezing! Perhaps something was wrong? Better safe than sorry, he thought, walking over to investigate. “Sorry—excuse me—but are you alright there?” he began, concerned.

Just as he was starting to doze off he heard someone’s approaching steps in the snow. The voice was new, and he opened one eye to look up at them. Well, that wasn’t what he’d expected. Both eyes blinked open and his lips parted, half wonder half greeting. At first he was confused, but then he remembered that it wasn’t really normal for someone to be laying about in freezing temperatures. This young man, he couldn’t tell yet if he’d entered his dreams before, but he was pretty sure he’d remember him. Then again, dreams had only been his for a little under a year.

It was then that he realized he hadn’t answered him and instead had stared wide eyed and silent. He cleared his throat, warmth rushing his cheeks which was quite a rare thing…he blamed it on the cold temperature. “Oh, yes! Quite all right really,” he answered, a smile spreading on his face and staying there easily. “I’m sorry about that, I forget myself sometimes,” he offered an apologetic wince and sat up more in the snow.

White dusted his back as he pulled his legs in to sit up straighter. He moved a hand out and patted the snow next to him; barely making a sound from how soft the powder was, “Would you like to join me? I think they’re about to wrap up,” he nodded towards the stained glass in indication of the voices echoing out. “If you’d like then I can make sure you stay warm,” he offered. The crystalline emerald of his eyes glinted brighter with curiosity.