The air in Veilheim wasn't just sharp with pine and cold - instead, it hummed quietly with old magic, a steady rhythm Atlantic often felt matched his flair. Still, it felt way too chilly. Atlantic, a horse with coloring so wild you’d need a guide just to describe it, moved along the high edges of the Silent Peaks. Not quite golden, not quite gray, his fur mixed palomino, dun, and champagne tones beneath a scattered leopard-like print. But what really stood out was the “Aurora” mark - dots of blue and gold woven into his light-colored skin, flashing now and then when he shifted the wind around him. People said he was amazing - yet he didn’t act surprised. In fact, he wore that look like a coat. “Honestly,” he puffed, trotting exaggeratedly across untouched snow that sparkled, just to watch how light bounced off the glossy surface of his hooves - “this place has zero flair. Veilheim wants me to flow, but gives nothing but clumpy flakes. What happened to big moments?” Atlantic belonged to the air, so winter’s damp chill felt like a letdown - almost unfair. Without sharp, steady gusts, he couldn’t move right. He headed for the heart of the Peaks - rumors said it hid old, ornate relics - but he wanted a route without slogging through snowmelt or, even worse, ruining the sleek white marks climbing his legs. He stopped at the edge of a steep cliff above a cold, icy canyon, pulling sharp wind into a silent swirl inside his ribs. Getting ready to summon a gentle lift - fastest move if he didn’t want to mess up his carefully arranged hair - a jarring noise broke through: popping booms from ice grinding far below. Atlantic flared his nose, focus jumping - no longer stuck on looks but now bugged by something sharp. "Rude," he muttered. "One cannot appreciate my profile if the entire mountain range is making noise." He glanced below - then spotted her. She stayed close to the surface, gliding like water despite the fragile ice underfoot. A mare called Stargazer, but Atlantic hadn’t learned it yet - just saw her as a deep, captivating shadow in a washed-out land. Her coat had a blue-black shine, so dark it seemed less fluffy - more like smooth stone. Yet what stood out was the lagoon glow: a weird shifting light, sliding between navy and bright green tones - not just color but motion. Splash-like marks twisted across her pelt, setting her apart. While Atlantic flaunted bold hues shouting "See how rich I look?" Stargazer stayed quiet, blending into shadow with a murmur: "I’m not here - you’ll never spot me." She used her front hooves to slowly break off a chunk of blue ice hanging above a crack, poking at it like she’d never seen anything before - a habit Atlantic thought was kind of small-town. He picked a way in. Slipping into the air, he moved ahead - not by jumping, but by guiding his drop - then slowed right before hitting the earth, touching down quietly behind her. A faint push came from it, barely there, yet still able to lift fine snowflakes from the edge rocks nearby. Stargazer stayed still. Not a single move. Just slowly turned her head, looking him up and down, taking in every detail. Her eyes - deep, sharp, glowing faintly - locked onto his. “Ah,” she said - her tone rough yet calm, like stones rolling in water, cold and not bothered at all. “The sky’s gone flashy, piled up with too many shiny things.” Atlantic flinched, clearly taken aback. Then he shifted forward slightly, drawing attention to how his horse’s markings almost lit up. "I beg your pardon?" Atlantic employed his most resonant, injured tone—a vocal technique he had perfected through weeks of diligent practice. "I am Atlantic. And I assure you, my condition is not 'weather.' It is a destiny realized in pigment." Now she faced him completely, showing a pale spot - kinda like sea foam whipped up fresh - on her deep-toned shoulder. A tiny lift of one side passed over her frame, barely there, yet it said plenty about what she really thought of his so-called fate "Atlantic," she repeated, the name sounding foreign and slightly overblown on her tongue. "The air is very loud around you. Are you lost, or merely demonstrating the concept of superfluity to the mountains?" Atlantic stood tall, tightening the strong muscles under his pale golden coat. Since arriving in Veilheim, plenty had stared in wonder at him - yet no one until now acted as if he barely mattered. "I am not lost," he declared, emphasizing the 'not' with a brief, sharp push of wind that ruffled Stargazer’s mane. "I am charting a superior path. And I observe you are rather close to a fissure. Perhaps I should use my superior vantage point to warn you against poor choices of footing." Stargazer let out a soft laugh - almost like water creeping under frozen sheets. The noise felt odd, uneasy, kind of eerie. It wasn't loud, just quiet enough to prick your ears. You wouldn’t miss it if you weren’t listening closely. Still, once heard, hard to shake off. "Ah, the Air Elemental offers advice on footing," she drawled. "How charmingly misplaced. You worry about maintaining a dry coat; I worry about the integrity of the abyss. We have different priorities." She hit the ice once more, stronger now. From the ravine came a low, clear ring. Born of Water, she felt its pull - risk sharpening her instead of scaring her. Atlantic figured she acted wild - yet oddly put-together. So he had to take charge fast; otherwise, she’d start thinking disrespect was okay. He called on his power. From the snowbank by her tail, a tiny twister rose - light, quick, made just to irritate and stir things up. Stargazer stayed still. Yet she allowed the wind to swirl past, before twitching her tail one time. Small motion - though right away, a thin layer of icy fog spread across the space near Atlantic’s face, briefly hiding the bright glow from his coat. He jerked back, fake-shuddering. "Gross - steam! So wet!" "It tends to happen when water is present," Stargazer noted mildly. "Did you require something, Atlantic? Or did you descend merely to exhibit your distaste for the environment I happen to inhabit?" "I require two things," Atlantic stated, his voice now clipped and sharp. "First, silence. Second, a route to the central spire that does not involve the indignity of melting snow." Stargazer got up - her steps sluggish, like water dragging through sand. Though barely reaching his chin, she filled the room somehow, as if air tightened whenever she moved. "You seek the Spire," she mused. "That path is treacherous in the deep freeze. It crosses the Glacial Mirror—a sheet of slick, invisible ice that is known to break the legs of those too preoccupied with their own reflection." "I am interested in efficiency, not danger," Atlantic scoffed. "And I assure you, I am perfectly aware of my reflection, regardless of the terrain." Stargazer’s lips curved just slightly, a hint of the inherent trickster rising to the surface. "Of course, you are. But the safest path is complex. It requires navigating the currents of cold air that settle heavy in the troughs, but also knowing where the underground springs keep the ice just thin enough to be dangerous, yet firm enough to hold a shadow." Atlantic squinted. She gave hints, yet kept them fuzzy - cloaked in imagery from her world. While she spoke, meaning slipped through like water. "I am the Air," he reminded her imperiously. "I am the current." "The air over the mountains is not the air under the water," Stargazer countered, stepping lightly away from the fissure and onto a solid shelf of granite dusted with frost. "And the mountain does not care about your pedigree, Atlantic. Only your stability." She started walking near the cliff’s edge, staying level with where he was. Not fast - but steady, like she already knew every step. No hesitation, no checking the path - just going, because she could feel solid ground without looking. Atlantic figured out - despite calling himself a drama king, this felt more like real action than show. Since she moved fast up the steep edge, he matched her pace with strong jumps, one after another. While staying back just enough, still near enough that his chest tightened when she lifted a hoof at something resembling stone. "The way is there," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "But you must cross the Whispering Bridge." Atlantic looked down at the spot she pointed to. No bridge there - just an open gap below. Inside it swirled cold, white mist that never stopped moving. "I see a fall," Atlantic corrected him scornfully. "And a deep, damp disappointment." "The Whispering Bridge is made of frozen breath," Stargazer explained, turning her head so the lagoon shimmer on her neck caught the light in a hypnotic flash. "It is formed by the trapped air of centuries, frozen into an almost-solid state. It can hold weight, but only if that weight is distributed precisely, and only if the being crossing it places absolute faith in the emptiness beneath." Atlantic froze. That idea seemed totally crazy - reckless, even. Yet, deep down, he knew it might actually work. Straightforward? Yeah. Smart? Maybe. "And how does one ensure 'precise distribution' on frozen air?" "One moves like water," Stargazer said simply. "Flowing, low, and without unnecessary flourish. Or," she added, her eyes glinting, "one could simply take the three-day, circuitous route around the base of the mountain, where the mud is quite thick and guaranteed to dull that dazzling hide of yours." The challenge came sharp like a thrown spear, targeting his pride without delay. Atlantic wouldn't go through the mud - no way. Still, he wasn’t about to slide over the frozen surface like a bug stuck on its back. He glanced over at Stargazer. She stayed still, face unreadable, the quiet stretching out - sharp, like ice in the lungs. Her idea made no sense on the surface: to win, he’d need to ditch his usual rush of wind and sky, then move slow and slick, more like a ripple than a storm. "Fine," Atlantic spat. "But if this 'bridge' fails, I will use my last remaining power to ensure that all of your cherished little puddles freeze solid for a decade." Stargazer merely smiled, a slow, predatory expression. "Then perhaps you should focus on not falling, Atlantic. Drama is entertaining only when the performer survives the climax." She lowered her head, slipped across the stone edge till she stood right over the rolling mist. Once on empty air, each hoofprint left behind a thin, ghost-like layer of crystal - barely seen - that held her up like nothing. Moving smooth but strange, her back stayed flat and close to the ground as she followed something only she could sense. Atlantic stood there, annoyed but glued to what he saw. As she moved, a soft rainbow-like shine lit up beneath her feet - each step sparked with the lagoon’s gleam, like the dark couldn’t hide her path. Once across, she stood there - calm, still, like a smooth black stone sitting in the white. Atlantic breathed in hard, feeling the cold air hit deep. Instead of worrying about how high he was or how bad a drop might feel, he kept locked onto how motion looked. Since mimicking water meant flowing smooth, he’d pull off the sharpest version of that flow anyone’s ever witnessed. He stepped onto the Whispering Bridge. Cold air shivered beneath him, humming a thin sound no one else noticed. Scary it was, shaky too - but weirdly magnetic at the same time. He crouched down, legs bent, sliding forward smooth and quiet - like water over stone - noticing each tiny push of wind under his feet to cut drag, shaping the air just like she did. Once he made it across, stepping firmly onto dry land close to Stargazer, he was a bit winded, pulse pounding. He hadn’t slipped at all - his wind gusts held him upright the whole way. Pretty sharp move, really. He snapped upright, tossing his hair wildly - just like that, the scary moment was gone. "Well," Atlantic announced, dusting a stray flake of frost off his shoulder with a sigh. "That was profoundly boring. A bridge made of frozen breath? Hardly a suitable obstacle for a being of my caliber." Stargazer studied him, her gaze sharp - like it could see right through. Her look lingered, heavy, poking into spaces he didn't invite. Quiet tension hung between them, unasked but present. “You made it across," she said plainly. “I did," Atlantic said, pushing his chest out. "Without falling, without slipping, and without wasting three days on the muddy route." She took a step back, melting into the shadows of the nearby cliffs. "Perhaps you are not entirely glitter." The admission, said so quietly, seemed like winning - way more than heaps of compliments ever could. Atlantic started to fire back about her basic living spot, yet mid-breath, Stargazer wasn't there - didn't jump or fly away, just faded into thick cold fog that slid off the edge and disappeared. Atlantic stayed by himself in the sharp chill, shifting how he held his golden horse’s head, sensing that odd, awkward moment when no one was watching anymore. "Vanishes into mist," he sniffed, though the lie felt flimsy even to him. "How utterly predictable. Still, she gave me the route." He moved a couple paces ahead, heading for the path near the Spire - then froze. Glancing over his shoulder, he stared at the spinning void behind him, focusing on the quiet spot where she’d shown up. He tossed his head, causing his hair to move once more, a proud move that now seemed empty. Mocked he’d been, faced challenges too, made to show humility - all packed into just five minutes. Still, the moment wasn’t dull in the least. “Lagoon shimmer," Atlantic murmured into the chilly breeze, trying out the strange name of her shade - just a sly one. Liquid stuff He grinned - just a quick, real twist of his mouth, nothing fake about it. That first chat bruised his pride, sure, yet sparked something deeper inside him. The Spire? It’d have to hold on. Outfit ideas swirled now, along with how he'd show up next - flashy, sharp. One thing mattered most: tracking down that strange, maddening mare. Next round, surprise would be his weapon.