The Sunspire immune to this

faust stood at the edge of the mountain spire, the wind howling around him like a restless spirit. the sharp bite of the cold air clung to his fur, but he didn’t flinch; the chill was a familiar companion here. his piercing green eyes scanned the jagged peaks that stretched across the horizon, a sea of stone and snow, unforgiving and eternal.

the world below was shrouded in mist, the valleys hidden like secrets whispered between the mountains. faust liked it here, where the air was thinner and the silence heavier. there was no pretense on the spires—just survival, raw and unyielding.

he lowered himself onto his haunches, the weight of his frame settling against the frozen rock. his breath puffed out in clouds as he watched the sky shift, the faint glow of the sun struggling to pierce through the gray haze. here, he could think, untangle the knots that the world below seemed so determined to weave.

but even as the solitude wrapped around him, faust knew it wouldn’t last. the mountains had a way of drawing wanderers, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was waiting—for what, he didn’t yet know.