Dear Brother,

The winters here bite through wool and bone. The Academy’s towers are drafty, and half the shutters hang loose. Beeheehee insists we keep studying, even when ink freezes in the well. I mend my quill with thread because new ones rarely make it across the Hinterland. That’s what daily life is — patching, waiting, and listening to the wind.

Still, there are moments that stir me. Yesterday a slimus passed through our hall, trailing mana like frost from its body. The masters hardly noticed, but I couldn’t look away. It felt… different, like watching someone breathe where you are gasping. My friends laughed at me, saying I should spend more time at the tavern in town. Perhaps they’re right. Most students sneak away to drink when the lectures drag on.

And The Wall looms in every lesson, even when no one says its name. Some dream of crossing it, others call it a grave. I only know that it keeps us restless. Beeheehee says our purpose is to see beyond it, but most of us just want to pass our exams without frostbite.

I wish I were home, where the cold meant only an extra blanket and not cracked glass and broken promises. But I’ll stay. For now. Write soon, and send gloves if you can.

Your brother,
Kaelen