Late winter weather had begun to turn unpredictable again. Last night had been bitterly cold, yet when morning came, it was bright and sunny.
At the summit of the Himalayan Mountains, the blue sky looked like rich paint spilled across a white canvas. Aside from the occasional gaps of white clouds, everywhere else was a vivid, almost unreal blue.
A thin wisp of smoke rose into the air, while the distant sound of horns carried low and far. A traveler leaning on a cane gazed toward the mountains from their base, unable to see the mysterious and ancient sanctuary standing quietly at the very edge of his sight, overlooking everything in the mortal world.
Ice crystals from the previous night still clung to the upturned eaves steeped in ancient Eastern charm, and icicles hung in rows from the roof. Through the window frame of the main hall beneath the eaves, a hand placed three sticks of incense into an incense burner.
As the somewhat rough hands withdrew, they revealed Wong, Kamar-Taj's chief steward.
His withdrawn hands came together. Wong closed his eyes and meditated quietly, but into this tranquil scene came the suddenly inappropriate sound of hurried footsteps.
A Little Sorcerer in a yellow robe came thumping up the steps and into the doorway. Wong heard him but did not turn around, merely sighing as he said, "An, I've told you many times: walk more softly when entering the main hall. You must learn to keep your heart as still as water before you can better sense the call of mystical power..."
The Little Sorcerer looked only seven or eight years old. Hearing Wong's words, he wore a troubled expression and could only slow down as he entered the hall. After bowing, he said, "Something's wrong, Archmage! The Sorcerer Supreme