Fang Hong looked at the ring in his hand; it was heavy, plain, and felt significant in the palm of his hand. Its bright golden light had long since extinguished, the molten, lava-like heat no longer present. There were no inscriptions or patterns on it.
A snowflake drifted down from the sky, melting on his hand among the lines of his palm, turning into strands of coolness that intertwined with the ring, making it even colder.
He clenched it tightly, raised his head, and looked at the snowflakes scattering in the midair. It was the day after the Winter Solstice in North Colin, the snow fell later than in Tarun, the Ancient Tower, and the Westwood region, but the north wind crossing the Cloud Sea made the winter days linger longer, the long winter lasting until March of the following year.
