Accursed Frostborne

The biting cold of the morning air cut through Ryuji's skin, a harsh reminder that the Frostborne clan was born from the frozen embrace of ice. His breath formed visible clouds in the frigid atmosphere, but the chill didn't bother him. No, it was the pain from within that gnawed at him, the suffocating feeling of being trapped in a body that had betrayed him.

His wooden sword was gripped tightly in his hands, each swing seeming more sluggish than the last. His body, aching from hours of practice, moved with a tiredness that was more than physical. It was the weariness of someone who had been working, striving for something they could never attain.

Strike.

Strike.

Strike.

The rhythm was almost hypnotic, but it couldn't silence the voice in the back of his head, the voice that reminded him of the one thing he couldn't escape. Ice. The very thing that should have been his birthright—his clan's inheritance—was the one thing he lacked.

The Frostborne were the elite of the clans, their bloodline flowing with the power to command ice, to bend the cold to their will. They were warriors, mages, and masters of the blade. But Ryuji? He was nothing. A mere shadow in the long line of warriors who had once stood tall.

"Ryuji."

He didn't have to turn around to recognize the voice. Daichi. The son of the clan's most renowned warrior. The boy who had it all—magic, swordsmanship, and the respect of everyone around him. Daichi's footsteps echoed behind him, a reminder of the distance between them. While Ryuji struggled to grasp even the basics of swordplay, Daichi excelled effortlessly, wielding his powers like an extension of himself.

Ryuji continued to strike, each swing heavy, the wooden sword a blunt tool compared to the grace of Daichi's movements. He was so focused on his own failure that he barely noticed when Daichi came into view, his figure silhouetted against the pale blue sky.

"Pathetic," Daichi's voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet like a knife. He walked forward, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Still training with that stick, Ryuji?"

Ryuji's grip tightened on the sword. His knuckles turned white, but he refused to acknowledge Daichi's presence. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of showing weakness.

The other boys, who had been lingering in the background, snickered amongst themselves. They had always been there, quietly watching, eagerly waiting for a chance to join in. They all knew about Ryuji's curse—that he could never summon the ice, that he would never be like the others.

"Look at him," one of the boys murmured, barely loud enough for Ryuji to hear. "It's sad, really. He's the heir of the Frostborne clan and still doesn't have magic."

Ryuji's breath caught in his throat, but he said nothing. The words were familiar, like a constant drone that followed him everywhere. They made his skin crawl, but more than that, they made him feel small. Smaller than the sword in his hand. Smaller than the clan he was supposed to be a part of.

Daichi's eyes gleamed with malice as he approached. "You know, Ryuji," he began, his voice dripping with disdain, "a warrior without magic is just a joke. You'll never be one of us. You'll never carry the Frostborne name."

Ryuji's body stiffened. It felt like a slap to the face, each word worse than the last. His chest tightened, and he could feel his heart pounding harder, faster. His fists clenched so tightly around the wooden sword that his arms ached from the pressure.

"Enough."

The voice cut through the tension like a blade. Ryuji froze, blinking rapidly as he recognized the command. His grandfather's voice—strong, authoritative, and final. The old man's presence seemed to fill the space around them as he stepped forward, his face a mask of stoic disapproval.

Ryuji's eyes darted between his grandfather and Daichi, relief flooding through him like a wave. Daichi hesitated, the mocking smile faltering for just a second. But he quickly regained his composure, exchanging a glance with his friends.

"If you can't teach him, leave him be," his grandfather ordered, his tone unwavering. There was no argument in his voice—just a cold certainty that made Daichi think twice.

For a moment, Daichi's eyes flicked to Ryuji, a silent challenge lingering in the air. But with a final sneer, he turned, signaling to the others that it was time to go. The boys filed out one by one, leaving Ryuji alone with his grandfather.

The silence was deafening. Ryuji stood still, his heart still pounding in his chest, trying to steady his breath. He wasn't sure whether he should feel grateful or ashamed. Grateful that his grandfather had intervened, or ashamed that he had needed saving once again.

His grandfather stood beside him, his presence a solid pillar of unspoken authority. The old man's expression was unreadable, but Ryuji could sense the disappointment radiating off him. It stung more than any of Daichi's insults.

"You must learn to accept your limitations."

Ryuji's heart sank at his grandfather's words. The last thing he wanted to hear was that he had limitations. He wanted to be more than that. He wanted to prove that he was worthy of the Frostborne name. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much effort he poured into his training, he could never escape the truth. He wasn't like them. He was broken.

"Limitations?" Ryuji's voice cracked as he spoke, the frustration rising in his chest. "You don't understand. I'm supposed to be like them. I should be able to summon ice. I should be able to—"

"Enough, Ryuji." His grandfather's voice was sharp, cutting through the storm of words. "You are not like them. And that is not a weakness."

Ryuji looked at his grandfather, confusion clouding his thoughts. He had never heard the old man speak like this. "But why? Why can't I do what they can? Why can't I be—"

His grandfather's eyes softened, and he placed a weathered hand on Ryuji's shoulder. "Because you are not just Frostborne. You carry something more, something older, something that is not bound by the same rules. But you must find it for yourself. And when you do, you will understand what it means to carry our legacy."

Ryuji shook his head, his thoughts swirling in a whirlwind of confusion and doubt. "I don't understand. What do you mean? I have no magic. No power."

His grandfather's gaze turned distant, almost sorrowful. "You will. You just need to have faith."

Faith. The word echoed in Ryuji's mind. Faith was a luxury he couldn't afford. He had tried so hard, and yet, every time he fell short. Every time, he was reminded of the one thing he lacked—the thing that should have been his birthright.

But his grandfather's eyes held something that Ryuji couldn't ignore. A quiet conviction. A promise that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to him than the failure he felt himself to be.

Before Ryuji could speak again, his grandfather turned and walked away, his footsteps slow and deliberate. "Find your path, Ryuji. And when you do, you will awaken the power within you."

Ryuji stood there, the words ringing in his ears. What was he supposed to do with them? How could he trust in something he couldn't see? He couldn't even trust himself.

Nightfall settled over the village. The wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the weight of the world. Ryuji wandered outside the village's protective walls, seeking solace in the quiet isolation of the open field. The darkness seemed to swallow him whole, leaving him with nothing but his thoughts.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting its cold light over the land. Ryuji stared up at it, feeling a strange pull, as though something was calling to him from within the depths of the earth.

The wind whispered again, but this time, it wasn't just the wind.

"Ryuji…"

The voice was faint, a whisper that lingered on the edges of his consciousness. It wasn't his grandfather. It wasn't anyone he recognized.

"Ryuji…"

His heart skipped a beat. The wind carried the name again, each syllable spoken with a dark, almost haunting undertone. Ryuji's blood ran cold as a deep, primal shiver crawled up his spine.

He turned, his eyes scanning the empty darkness behind him. There was no one there. No figure, no sound, only the rustling of the trees in the wind.

Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that something—or someone—was watching him.

"Ryuji…"

This time, the voice seemed to draw closer, pulling him into the very heart of the darkness.

To be continued...