It is said there are places where winter does not end, not because the cold persists, but because time itself has slowed to a crawl. Blackfrost Veil was formed in one such place, where breath turns brittle and thoughts freeze before they can become memory.
Within the dice, dark ice clouds the surface like a funeral shroud, hiding what lies beneath. Pale veins drift through the frost, remnants of moments never fully lived, suspended between past and future. Each roll feels delayed, as though fate hesitates before revealing its hand.
Those who wield Blackfrost Veil often speak of a pressure behind their eyes, a sense that something is watching from beneath the ice, patient and eternal. In its presence, destiny does not rush. It waits.
It is said there are places where winter does not end, not because the cold persists, but because time itself has slowed to a crawl. Blackfrost Veil was formed in one such place, where breath turns brittle and thoughts freeze before they can become memory.
Within the dice, dark ice clouds the surface like a funeral shroud, hiding what lies beneath. Pale veins drift through the frost, remnants of moments never fully lived, suspended between past and future. Each roll feels delayed, as though fate hesitates before revealing its hand.
Those who wield Blackfrost Veil often speak of a pressure behind their eyes, a sense that something is watching from beneath the ice, patient and eternal. In its presence, destiny does not rush. It waits.
