Bound by Frost, Chained by Memory

One by one, the families stepped forward, presenting relics and weapons imbued with frost and mana, proof of their loyalty. Each offering was a symbol, chosen to embody what their house stood for. Ardyn Kael presented a blade, sharp and unyielding, a reflection of the Kaels' dominance on the battlefield. Nienna Varyn offered a crystal glowing faintly with earthy warmth, a tribute to her family's bond with the riches of the land.

The crowd reacted politely, murmuring approval with faint nods, but I could feel the weight behind their gestures. Each family stepped back with visible relief once their role was complete, as if casting off a burden.

And then Thall family stepped forward for their turn

A ripple passed through the gathering, murmurs rising subtly as Kaedric Thall stepped forward. His frostwood cloak hung heavily around his shoulders, his expression set but weary. There was a stiffness in his movements, a weight that seemed to press him down even before he knelt. Behind him, his two children followed.

The older one, his daughter, walked tall, her posture straight and determined. But her hands betrayed her, clenched too tightly at her sides, the trembling visible even from where I stood. The younger one, a boy, clung to the edge of her cloak, his small fists twisting the fabric as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. His wide eyes darted between his father and the frost curling faintly over the ground.

Kaedric's offering was small, barely glimmering in the pale light. It was a shard of frostglass, fractured, jagged, but elegant in its own way. Beautiful, perhaps, but beauty wasn't enough here.

A ripple passed through the crowd as they took in the offering, their murmurs this time sharper, less restrained. This wasn't just another relic to be admired for its craftsmanship or its power. This was insufficient. I could see it in their expressions, in the way eyes narrowed and shifted toward one another, lips curling faintly in disapproval.

Even I couldn't help but wonder. Why this? Of all the things Kaedric could have brought forward, why a simple shard of frostglass? It was practically an admission of defeat. Did his family have nothing left? Was this offering meant to say something deeper, something only a handful of us would understand, or was it simply all he had to give?

It fascinated me. A man brought to kneel, not just by frost, but perhaps by his own limitations.

"For the Noctis," Kaedric said, bending one knee. His voice was steady, but it lacked the weight carried by the words of others. "This shard represents the resilience of Thall's family. May our loyalty endure where strength has faltered."

Resilience. I almost smiled at the bitter irony. The shard itself was fractured, fragile, its faint light sputtering weakly in the cold air. It didn't look like it could endure much of anything. The frostglass sparked again, briefly flaring with light, though even that felt half-hearted, as if the frostglass doubted its own ability to live up to Kaedric's words.

The crowd's silence was damning.

Kaedric didn't look up. The frost of the ritual began to stir.

His daughter shifted uneasily behind him, her lips parting as though to speak. Her hand twitched upward, a half-formed gesture of defiance or hesitation, though I couldn't tell. But Kaedric raised his free hand faintly, the motion calm, unshakable. It wasn't an order. It was something quieter. Acceptance? I wasn't sure.

And then my father stepped forward.

His boots carved fractals in the frost with every deliberate step. He carried no weapon, no offering, only his presence. But that was enough. He was power, cold and unyielding, and his silence carried the weight of a storm waiting to break.

The frost on the ground shifted in response, shimmering faintly before it began its climb.

I watched as the frost coiled around Kaedric's hands and wrists, slow and deliberate. He was a lucky man, chosen to remind the families presented here what happens when you fail to do things right. The frost did not just bind him. It displayed him, making him an example for everyone to see. It climbed with purpose, as if issuing a silent warning to the other families, a message that could not be ignored.

This was not just punishment. It was a reminder to everyone watching of the price of weakness or mistakes. Every movement of the frost seemed calculated to deliver its message. Kaedric was no longer important in himself. He was a tool, nothing more than a quiet warning meant to teach the rest of the families here to stay on the right path.

Kaedric's shoulders stiffened, his breath escaping in visible clouds, shallow and uneven. But he didn't flinch. He didn't cry out. He simply knelt there, enduring.

It wasn't strength that kept him still. It was something quieter. Resignation? I wasn't sure, but I could see it in the slight sag of his shoulders, in the way his breath escaped in shallow clouds, as though he had already accepted the outcome before the frost had even begun its climb.

The frost was beautiful in its precision. It moved without hesitation, without care for the shard dimming in Kaedric's hands or the trembling of his children behind him. I found myself wondering how far it would climb. Would it stop at his elbows? His shoulders? Did it sting as it bound itself to his skin, or did it simply leave him numb?

It didn't matter. The frost wasn't cruel. It wasn't kind. It simply existed, indifferent and unavoidable.

My gaze drifted to his children.

The girl stood rigid, her trembling fists clenched so tight that her knuckles were ghost-white. Her brother pressed himself into her side, his small fingers digging into her cloak. His lip trembled faintly, but he didn't cry. He simply watched, frozen in place, his wide eyes locked on the frost swallowing his father's arms.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

Their stillness fascinated me.

They wanted to act. I could see it in the faint quiver of her shoulders, in the way his lips pressed together to stifle a sob. But they didn't. They couldn't. The frost didn't care. It would make no difference whether they screamed, cried, or begged.

The frost had no mercy. And neither did tradition.

Kaedric could kneel there, trembling silently beneath the frost, and nothing would change. His children could scream, cry, beg, and it still wouldn't matter.

I was only observing, but something was shifting. The frost climbed higher, sharp and unrelenting, and it wasn't just Kaedric it was crushing. I could feel it now, pressing down on me like an iron grip, cold and heavy, curling tighter with every breath.

The frost shimmered, beautiful and merciless, but it wasn't just frost anymore. It was weight. It was silence. It was inevitability.

My breath quickened, visible in short bursts, as though the chill had found its way inside me. I wanted to look away, to turn back to the safety of observation, but I couldn't.

There was no escape from it. The weight, the helplessness, the powerlessness seeped into my chest, twisting tighter and tighter with every shallow breath, until the frost blurred. It wasn't Kaedric's anymore.

The frost shimmered, but it no longer climbed Kaedric's arms. The scene around me bent and twisted, the cold giving way to a different kind of suffocation. My vision darkened at the edges, and for a moment, I couldn't tell where I was anymore.

It wasn't Kaedric kneeling before my father.

It was me.

I was back there again, reliving my past life.