Moonstone Quarry The world that hardens as the harsher winter holds

Aneira walked quietly at his side, her tuquoise gaze on the path ahead, though it was clear she was listening. For a long while, she said nothing, letting his words settle like snow on stone. She knew better than to fill silence meant to hold memory.
When she finally spoke, her voice was low; measured, thoughtful. „Still waters run deep,” she began, not as a correction but as a recognition. „And storms... they carve valleys. Not all destruction is cruel.” Even if he believed her words to be riddles, they carried clarity in her own eyes. To her, destruction was not chaos, it was transformation. Sometimes, only through ruin could something stronger rise. And he embodied that truth well; a leader forged in pressure, a mountain unwavering in the storm, the kind one could cling to when all else gave way.
Her eyes shifted toward him briefly, soft with understanding. „You must have balanced each other well.” The frostmaiden was quiet for a beat longer, then added, more gently, „It’s no small thing… to speak of those who shaped us.” Then she turned forward again, wind catching in her fur.