Then came the second.
That person had made it farther than the first, nearly crossing the next ridge. He lay prone in the snow, one hand still gripping the iron staff used to probe the way, as if he had collapsed only after exhausting the last of his strength.
The third figure was at the edge of an ice crevasse farther away.
He was pressed sideways against the crevasse's edge, moving slowly along it. Every step was an attempt to get around that bottomless fissure, his movements slow and cautious.
The fourth, the fifth, the sixth...
Snow White's senses spread out like a net cast all at once, precisely locking onto every figure struggling amid the blizzard.
Before the blizzard arrived, the group had maintained a relatively tight formation. The storm had erupted too violently, scattering them apart.
After confirming everyone's location, Snow White stirred a thought.
In the skies above the Far North, the Aurora that had been fading flared up again, as though its fuse had been reignited.
Colors emerged from every direction at once, weaving seven slender bands of light across the gray-white sky. The bands descended vertically from high above, piercing the roiling snowstorm and precisely enveloping the seven figures scattered across the ice field.
The instant they were covered by the light, they did not feel warmth. Instead, they felt a gentle touch, as though wrapped in a spring breeze, shutting the bone-piercing cold outside the bands of light.
At the same time, a gentle force supported their bodies, carrying them steadily in the same direction within the light bands. The blizzard churned around them, yet could no longer touch them in the slightest.
Several figures crossed the ice field buried beneath the blizzard. Guided by those light bands, they arrived at the Aurora Ruins