Summer.

    Trensharr is famous. The tiny mountain village is the axis on which the seasons shift. Some scholars will say that it’s the rotation of the world or the position of the sun, but all truly learned people know that the seasons turn at Trensharr. This is where the Elementalists are trained. One would think that with such a thing as the seasons at their command, Trensharr would be an empire that stretched across the known land, a place of knowledge and power, a center of trade and diplomacy.

    It is none of these things. It remains, as always, a village of only 10,000 people at the summit of Peak Gavana.

    Not that there aren’t visitors to Trensharr. Many people come along the well-worn roads that separate the town into four quarters. Some come as children, abandoned by parents who fear their abilities to call wind, start fires, or cause the earth to tremble with their cries for food.

    Many come to watch the seasons actually change.

    They come to watch the Earth Movers sink fingers deep into the soil and leech life from the very ground, turning leaves from vibrant green to fiery red and sickly yellow.

    They come to watch the Air Dancers weave in, out, and around each other, calling the wind faster and further, covering the ground with a thick, cold, white blanket that does not slow the dance for a moment.

    They come to watch Water Singers lift their mouths to the sky and call down light showers of rain that fill their throats, making the singing even more melodious and hypnotic.

    No one comes in the summer.