Duskfire Glacier absolute and pure

The weight of approaching steps rippled through the cavern, but the wraith did not stir. „It is now,” came the low murmur, cold as the ice-laden winds outside. His gaze flicked to the marks he had left, then fully to the figure before him: red eyes like embers against his own wintry pallor.
His muzzle dipped, not in submission, but measured defiance. A den was not worth bloodshed, nor the stain of crimson on his pale coat. He was no reckless beast, nor a fool who squandered his place over such triviality. If the time came to defend something greater, an empire, a legacy, then let the mountains bear witness. But this? This was stone and silence.
„Does the glacier only harbor shadows of war?” Naturally, he drew conclusions from the two shadows he had encountered. His voice was the whisper of shifting snow, rough with something ancient, something knowing. Where war had been, war would return. It never truly faded. And should it call upon him, the specter would answer.