At the sight of Celeste, there was distant calling from the guards. The Arch-Watcher stood straighter, refusing to admit that she was either cold or that her body ached from the unexpected march. The walls towered them all, the bleak sunlight casting long shadows that wrapped them all in its snare. Vines yawned against the ancient structures, the ivy burying itself over and within the bricklayers, filling every place like poison. The rickety chains rang against one another as the gears brought the gate upwards, as if the grand portcullis had not been used in years. Before them, Aknarius' cold bluster spurted against them all, lines of snow dotting against the four travellers. Despite the malignant gloom that heralded the snowy city, within it was far from the spectral misery it had welcomed them with. The hustle-bustle of people in the market still continued, as if nothing had happened – and certainly, nothing had happened at all. Yet. Snow's voice made Celeste frown. 'No. You and these two will go to an inn.' She narrowed her eyes. 'The Congery will take far too much interest in you and you will be unable to leave. I must ask for their counsel, then I am done with you.'