[SE] all is not frost

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The Palace always made for an imposing figure, but long gone were the days were Wardens lived within. Deimos and Evie had established themselves elsewhere, suited just fine in their Ignatius residence and homestead, rather than play sovereigns and royalty in a massive edifice. Nowadays, it had become a place for multitudes to gather – an adequate shelter in emergencies, and a quick area for stockpiling and resources. Though, currently, Deimos, Belial, and Zuriel (the latter two for moral support) stood beneath one of its many, many windows, on the portion and side of the building that contained the sanctuary aspects. He might’ve looked as though he was glaring at the lines of ice, stone, and snow, but in actuality he was deciphering which contortions had worked themselves into a weak spot – leaving more of the elements on the inside. Sighing, he eventually pinpointed the culprits; several worn fixtures along the sides, and began unfurling his incantations directly into the spaces high, high above, working the earth enchantments into the slabs of rock, striving to seal off what had been chiseled away by the weather. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace