[table][row][cell][img]https://i.imgur.com/sfL4M8x.png[/img][/cell][cell][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/240501/f05a736427987502b04e7512136c14ae.png[/img][/cell][/row]
[row][cell][sub]Location: Royal Cabin  |  Time: 9am[/sub][/cell][/row][/table]Over the course of the blizzard, Flynn found himself in a relatively quiet and reflective state. Amaya rarely emerged from her room, leaving him alone to occupy his thoughts and fill the long hours. He often sat by the fire to read, write, or just stare into the flames while his mind ran wild. The fire was his constant companion, and Flynn kept it going with a steady supply of logs, carefully tending it to ensure the cabin stayed warm. 

By the second day, Flynn tried to busy himself with various tasks. Placing a chessboard near the fireplace, Flynn set up the pieces with the hope that Amaya might want to play a game with him. He was sorely mistaken. On most days, he ended up moving the pieces himself, playing both sides in a game that became more about distraction than strategy. 

Occasionally, Flynn would converse with the royal guards and let them inside to warm up before they returned to their shift. They spoke about the storm, the state of Dawnhaven, the blight-born’s gracious volunteer work to help the guards during the blizzard, and at times they would even entertain Flynn with a game or two of chess. 

On the third day, guilt weighed on Flynn for making the cooking staff brave the relentless blizzard to cook meals morning and night. Determined to take matters into his own hands, he attempted to cook. The results were mixed, the kitchen often left in disarray after each try. On three occasions, he managed to produce an edible meal and would proudly set aside a plate for Amaya. However, by his final attempt on day six, he forgot a batch of pancakes on the stove, turning them into charcoal. Smoke filled the cabin, forcing him to crack open a window despite the blizzard. After that, the kitchen staff insisted that they do the cooking. 

As the days passed, Flynn found himself sitting by the fire and staring out the window watching snowfall more often, silently contemplating his next move. The search for the cure and the prophecy weighed heavily on him, gnawing at his thoughts. If he wasn’t staring at the fire or the snow, he’d find himself staring at the statue he had been gifted by Ashe, his eyes locked onto the visage of Aelios. Placed beside her was the statue of Selune, the two twin goddesses staring back at him. At times, he could’ve sworn they were smirking at him. Eventually he took both statues and put them into an empty kitchen cabinet, hoping to forget that they were even there. 

When the storm started to show signs of dying down, Flynn instructed the guards to prepare a feast to be held by the tavern, a gathering for when it was safe for people to emerge from their homes. Though grand gestures had never been his way, it was the Aurelian way, and this felt important—a celebration of their survival, a moment for the town to come together after days of isolation. It was his first blizzard, and for many of the Aurelians, theirs as well. 

Despite the cold and the isolation, he found the blizzard oddly beautiful. The quiet of it, the way the snow coated everything in a soft, pristine blanket. It was nothing like the warm, sunny days of Aurelia, but there was a harsh beauty in it that he couldn’t deny.

More than anything, Flynn found himself wondering how the Lunarians had endured this kind of weather for generations. It was a testament to their resilience, their strength in the face of adversity. His admiration for them deepened, recognizing that their survival, like the blizzard itself, was something to be respected.

On the seventh day, Flynn awoke with a rare sense of excitement as the blizzard had finally passed. The winds had quieted, and the heavy snowfall had softened to a gentle flurry. The storm's end brought a lightness to the air, and after a week of confinement, Flynn felt a renewed energy. Though the past week had been stressful, it had also given him a chance to reflect and rest. Now, with the celebration ahead, he was ready to reconnect with the townsfolk and share in the sense of survival.

The guards outside were already preparing the streets, shoveling the snow and calling for people to join the feast at the Eye of the Beholder. As he dressed and got ready to head out, Flynn’s thoughts shifted from the storm to his next steps. The blight still loomed large, but now, after a week of rest, he felt more focused and determined. Today, they would celebrate together, and the work would resume.