"The Monastery’s Grace," Elian said. "A gift for those who cannot climb the mountain themselves."

The wind howled through the jagged peaks of the Iron Mountains, but inside the Monastery of the Azure Mist, there was only the sound of a single brush scratching against parchment.

When he finally stepped back, the image was perfect. It felt as though you could reach out and touch the cold stone or breathe in the thin, crisp air.