Chapter 299

In Iceland's desolate north, there was a place where no trees grew, and the snow and ice stretched like a frozen ocean. The townspeople would rarely speak about it, yet the old men in the tavern always told stories to the younger ones. They said, in that stark, bitter wilderness, she lived. The Ice Queen.

Everyone knew the rules. No one ventured out after dark, not unless they wanted to become part of the legend themselves. But one man, Tomas, a fool of sorts, had always been drawn to the empty beauty of Iceland's wilds.

He had never believed the stories. They were simply tales for children, things to make them fear the unknown. It was said that the Ice Queen only took a man every few years, but Tomas had no fear of her. He was an explorer, seeking solitude far from the reaches of civilization.

He arrived in the small village late in the evening, with only the pale sun as a witness to his arrival. It was always colder here, even in the summer months. The buildings were humble, clustered together to shield from the unforgiving winds. Tomas had no plans to stay long. He needed only a place to rest before he headed out to explore the vast icefields and glaciers that lay to the east.

The innkeeper gave him a room and a bed for the night, but she made sure to warn him. "The icefields are not to be traveled in the night. Many men have gone out, but few return." Her eyes locked onto his, hard as stone, before she turned away. Tomas nodded politely, dismissing her words as just another superstition.

That night, the wind howled outside, shaking the small cabin. Tomas lay awake, listening to the quiet sounds of the village, the creak of the floorboards above, and the occasional snoring of the other guests. But something about it didn't feel right. Something was off. He couldn't put his finger on it, but a strange pressure settled in his chest, almost as if the world itself were holding its breath.

At around two in the morning, Tomas couldn't sleep any longer. He decided to go out for a walk. The cold hit him like a slap across the face, but he was used to it. His boots crunched through the fresh snow as he walked, heading towards the icefields. He figured he'd return soon, but curiosity pulled him further than he intended. It was like something was calling him.

The sky, now darkened to an oppressive shade of indigo, stretched above him like a canvas, and the only sounds were his steps and the wind that never ceased. Tomas paused at the edge of the glacier, staring out into the vast white expanse.

There, at the edge of his sight, something moved. It was swift, a blur of white against the snow, but he saw it. He blinked and it was gone. He felt his heart start to race. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought that there was someone or something out here with him.

He stood there for a moment, questioning himself, before turning to head back to the inn. But as he did, the wind died. The air became still. Not a single breath of air moved. He couldn't explain it, but the emptiness around him felt suffocating. The snow crunched under his feet, but his pulse thumped louder in his ears.

Then, he heard it: a soft sound, like a breath or a soft, unearthly sigh, carried on the wind. He froze. This time, he was certain. It wasn't the wind. It wasn't the snow.

Behind him, something moved.

Tomas spun around quickly, his heart racing. He saw nothing, but the cold seemed to creep deeper into his bones, and the ground beneath his feet seemed to tremble. And there, just out of the corner of his vision, he saw it again—a pale figure, shimmering faintly against the darkness.

Her face, pale as snow, framed by long hair as white as the glaciers themselves. She stood tall, impossibly so, her eyes gleaming like two shards of ice.

For a moment, Tomas stood frozen. His breath caught in his throat. He had heard the stories, of course, but they were nothing more than drunken ramblings, things to frighten children. This, this thing standing before him, was real.

She tilted her head, her gaze locking onto his. Tomas felt something deep within him shift, something primal. He should run, his mind screamed. He couldn't. It felt as though he were paralyzed. Her eyes, like ice, bore into him, stripping away any shred of defiance he once had.

"Come," she spoke, her voice a smooth, icy whisper. "Come with me."

Tomas opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He wanted to scream, to break free, but his legs refused to move. He watched, helpless, as she reached out her hand, fingers long and delicate, but covered in frost. The air grew colder, the snow deeper, and the sound of his heart pounding louder than ever before.

With a final, unearthly pull, Tomas felt himself stagger forward, caught in her gaze. He could feel her ice-cold touch as she gripped his wrist.

It was too late. He had fallen into the grasp of the Ice Queen.

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When Tomas awoke, he was no longer standing in the icy wasteland. He was in a place that felt wrong, an impossible blend of beauty and terror. The room around him was like a palace of ice, the walls glittering with frozen jewels, and a faint glow emanated from somewhere unseen. A low, eternal hum resonated from the ice itself, as though the world was quietly vibrating.

He looked around, trying to make sense of where he was, but there was no sense to be made. Everything seemed distorted, unreal. The Ice Queen stood before him, now closer than before. Her presence seemed to fill every corner of the space, pressing against him with a cold force he couldn't escape.

She smiled, but it was not the smile of someone happy. It was an empty, ancient smile, devoid of warmth. "You are here now. You will stay." Her words fell heavily in the air.

Tomas wanted to speak, to ask her why. But when he opened his mouth, only a dry, rattling breath escaped. His tongue felt heavy, numb. She was draining the life from him, piece by piece, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He tried to move, to break free, but his body refused to cooperate. He was a prisoner in her ice-cold realm.

For what felt like days, he was trapped, a silent spectator to the strange rituals she performed. Her cold beauty never faltered, but each time she looked at him, it felt as though something of him was being taken. His strength, his will, his very soul seemed to seep into her, until he was nothing more than a shell.

But then, one night, something changed.

Tomas found himself standing before her once again, the cold biting into his skin. But this time, it wasn't fear he felt—it was acceptance. He had nothing left to give.

"I will not fight," Tomas said, his voice cracked and weak.

The Ice Queen studied him, her gaze unwavering. She stepped closer, her cold hand brushing against his skin, and for the first time since his capture, Tomas felt something like warmth. It wasn't her touch, but something deeper. Something inside him, perhaps the last vestige of his spirit, had found a measure of peace.

"You are free," she said softly, though her voice was heavy, almost sorrowful. Tomas met her gaze one final time and saw the sadness within her. She was alone, just as he was. Her beauty was a curse, a curse that no one could ever truly understand.

With one final step, Tomas turned and walked away, leaving behind the ice that had once held him prisoner. He could feel the chill creeping into his skin, but he no longer feared it. He was free, but he knew this freedom would come with its own price.

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The next morning, the village found Tomas's body near the glacier. He had died alone, but there was a strange peace to his face. No one spoke of the Ice Queen again.