Duskfire Glacier mitqiaq

faust’s gaze lingers over the glacier, the slow breath of winter curling from his lips like smoke. this place... it has taken so much. given little in return but the bite of cold and the silence of snow. but it is his. carved by his own hand, kept by his will alone.
and now, this girl.
he turns his head. his eyes find her—medium, brown, wild around the edges like something the storm coughed up and left at his feet. a tilt of his head follows, faint as a breeze, as if studying whether she is real at all.
the ice calls to many, he says at last, his voice rough as the stone beneath the frost. most die tryin' to answer.
his gaze sharpens, reading the way she drifts closer like a leaf on the wind, as if he were not the threat she should take him for. he does not step back. does not soften.
you’ve come far to stand at my doorstep. he glances once more to the glacier behind him, its pale sprawl gleaming beneath the weak sun. this is darukaal. we don’t take in ghosts or strays without reason.
and then, with something like grim curiosity, steady as the cold:
what exactly are you seekin', girl?