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Summary
The End was always so, so cold, yet never painfully so. Something about the stone seemed to soak up any temperature that wasn’t chilly room, making it so that the typical underground or off-island portal spawn was freezing, but the main islands were light-jacket worthy at best.
Philza, having freshly slain the dragon in a random one-off world just for something to do, was leaned up against the side of an obsidian pillar, panting, clutching half-heartedly at a sluggish wound on his forearm. He stares right into the empty, endless Void, and it stares right back, watching the way the blood begins a slow, steady trail around his pointer finger.
He blinks, and it is not only the Void watching him.
//
How Philza got his wings.
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