Arabian Desert (beginning), modern world

It was done. In the depths of the Arabian Desert, while the Shiites and the Sunnis fought their quarrels, the meeting of the immortals was adjourned. The cavernous underground hall had an aura of sad emptiness, with those few remaining arriving at dusk without the retinues they might have had in better times. Sometimes it echoed with the angry sound of harsh words as argument erupted between the more hot-tempered members of the remaining council. But in the end, a decision was made, and most had agreed. There was no turning back.

Jack Frost stepped out into the cold winter night, where the temperature dropped below freezing point after sunset this time of year. A light frost, barely visible, spread across the rocky outcrop of the narrow entrance. The darkness cast deep shadows over his body, so that only his clothes seemed a light patch against them from a distance, and the silver glinted like snow when it caught the light of the full moon or one of the countless stars. At the moment, Jack’s beautiful winter coat was draped over one shoulder, revealing the kaftan and black slacks underneath – peasants’ dress, some might say, but so well-made that none who saw him dare make such an accusation.

He stood there for a minute, taking in the glorious night, which seemed pleasantly cool to him. The chill air left no goosebumps on his skin as he breathed in, just to take in the scent of it all. Jack Frost was not one to frequent deserts, not even on chill winter nights such as this. He did so only for gatherings such as this, and the rare visit for . . . personal reasons.