And Her Name Is Jules 1c

Ten years, twenty, fourty-nine to one hundred, it doesn't matter. They were born here. The frozen hell that lies to it's inhabitants. Promising a better fortune next spring. Oaths of leaving are cast at the hands of summer fortune and autumn storms ruin. The cycle repeats. Can they escape? No.

This is just how it works now. You are born into a place for which you cannot change your caste. The water trickles down and freezes on your nose and rather than flying south for the winter, rather than following the evolutionary path of ages. This is what happens.