Brother Elian didn’t mind the isolation. In fact, he’d spent the last twenty years perfecting a single view. He sat before the Great Arched Window, the very one that looked out over the sea of clouds and the floating spires of the lower valley. "Is it ready?" a young initiate whispered from the doorway.
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.
"The Monastery’s Grace," Elian said. "A gift for those who cannot climb the mountain themselves."
"It’s beautiful," the initiate breathed. "What will you call it?"