A howling wind penetrated the black mail of the lone fighter as he climbed higher and higher still into the mountains of Snowhead. Furs laced and wrapped intricately around his armor, forming a coat of tans, blacks, and whites against the pastel blue of the armor’s scale backing. He struggled up the mountain, his fingers cold, broken; no trace of feeling nor sensation remained in a fair amount of his body. But still, he climbed on. Soon, he was back on the trail he had nearly fallen from so many minutes ago. Or was it hours? Time held no significance against the biting cold here. It was a harsh struggle, but he had to do it. Something drove him. His boots dragged against the hard permafrost of the mountain road, the piercing gales of blizzard wind pushing him a step back for every step he took forward. With every gust of cold, blistering Snowhead air, he hugged his coat of furs just a little closer to himself. Hours ago, he had lost feeling in his feet. His socks were cold and drenched; his toes frigid and blue, as the kiss of frost began to set upon them. But still, he shouldered forward, through the cold. And soon, he would be rewarded. A cave. Warm. Out of the blizzard. Grasping onto the edges of its entrance with both gauntleted hands, he threw himself inside, and immediately he felt the heat of a fire near him. Scooting off the ground and back onto his feet, he found a hooded figure with robes of crimson accented with gold. He sat atop a log, hollow yet sturdy seeming. As the fire crackled and popped, its flames danced, yet it seemed to consume no fuel. Indeed, a bundle of sticks lay beneath them, and from there the stage was set for its dancers: twirling and spinning about, performing movements not even the greatest of Hylian dancers could perform. Maybe that is why Julius didn’t notice it when he sat beside the traveler. Maybe that is why the traveler did not notice him. Yet, as Julius grew more and more enamored with the dance of the fire, he reached out, beginning to warm his hands through his gauntlets. Already was his body thawing, and it felt oh so pleasurable. Yet, for a second, he drew his gaze away from the fire, laying them upon the log that he had thought occupied. But, it was only him, alone in a dark, damp cave. Fresh snow lined the interior of the cave. The winds outside had stilled themselves. What had just happened? What had just— Julius looked down, feeling an enjoyable warmth covering his feet and the majority of his lower legs. His boots and armor had been stripped, leaving the mail of his armor hanging just above his knee. Flame patterned socks, just as vivid and real as the flames he had thought he had just seen dancing nary a moment ago, wrapped themselves around the contours of his legs. They both seemed to bear the same image: flame sprouting up from his soles, and curling and dancing about his legs. Sliding a finger across their smooth, almost silk material, a live, fiery warmth emanated from them. It didn’t hurt, nor burn – it was simply there. For all of his wit and brow, he could not figure the source of his new attire, nor where the fire and the traveler had gone. All he knew was that he was alone in a damp, almost chilly cave, and the blizzard that had set upon him moments before had since left. And so, he left that lone log sitting in the cave, and noticed that, with each and every step he seemed to take, where he had once stepped sprouted flame and fire every bit as lively as the ones he had watched. When he seemed pressed about its happenings, it ceased. Enigmatic, yet cozy footwear indeed. {Julius gets equipped with SCORCHING SOCKS.}
