We Freeze

Far North of Viles — Inside the Crystal Sanctum

The chamber pulsed with cold.

Not the kind that numbs the skin—but the ancient chill of untouched time, the kind that lives beneath glaciers and in the bones of long-dead giants. Lord Achy sat upon his throne of frozen spires, his form cloaked in a flowing robe of silver-stitched furs. His skin was pale as polished ivory, faint blue veins glowing beneath it. Upon his brow rested a jagged crown of ice—grown, not forged.

He had not moved in hours.

He didn't need to.

Seated to his right and left were the A-Rank Masters:

Master Cotell.

Master Riding.

Master Flero.

Master Zard—Ulma's father.

All sat in silence.

The Sanctum's vast dome, a translucent shell of ever-forming ice, trembled with the echoes of distant war. Cold mist clung to the walls like breath held in waiting.

Then, a whisper stirred the frost.

"They've left."

Achy's eyes opened—pale blue, luminous, and inhuman.

A figure approached, robed in white. One of the Shardbound, the priest-knights sworn to the throne. His breath misted in the air, and frost trailed behind every footstep.

Master Flero leaned forward slightly. "Shardbound," he said. "What news do you bring to the Council of Chiefs?"

"They ride east, my lord," the knight replied, bowing. "Toward the King's kingdom."

Achy's voice was soft, but it rang through the chamber like bells cracking glass.

"And Veth?"

The Shardbound swallowed. "He destroyed Thruans, as you predicted. Zidion invoked the Rite. It failed."

Achy stood.

The ice beneath his feet did not crack—it simply shifted to support him.

"I felt it," he murmured. "The flame died… but it scorched Veth's skin. That is worth remembering."

He walked to the center of the Sanctum, where a circular basin of deep ice shimmered like still water. It did not reflect the present world, but distant ones. His hand hovered above its surface.

The ice awoke.

Swirling images danced within: Kalamari mid-battle, Nylok tearing through a frost wolf, Unomi folding into shadow, Lakrima shaping blizzards into razors.

Achy's gaze lingered on Kalamari.

"So," he whispered, "you fight monsters through the night without sleep. Just like your ancestors. The past Overlords."

His eyes rose to one of the glowing runes etched high on the northern wall—a sigil of the Deep Cold, pulsing now with warning.

"Veth knows they walk the Circle," he said. "He will come for them soon... but we will buy them time."

The Shardbound lowered his head. "Shall we mobilize, my lord? We can send frostwyrms to aid them."

Achy turned.

"Not yet. We prepare Viles."

The chamber trembled again—but this time, not from distant chaos.

This came from within.

Hairline cracks spread across the inner dome. A tremor shook the sanctum. Something moved inside the walls.

Achy narrowed his eyes and raised one hand. Instantly, the dome surged with power—frozen runes ignited, and the cracks sealed with a thunderclap of ice.

A wisp of shadow hissed, momentarily visible before it was locked within frost.

"He's already testing my boundaries," Achy said coldly.

Then, louder: "Send word to the Snow Guard. Triple patrol routes. Unleash the Hollow Sentinels from the Vault. And activate the Celestial Mirrors. I want to see every inch of Viles."

The Shardbound hesitated. "And the girl? Ulma?"

Achy's jaw tensed.

"He stays under my protection," he said. "Veth will not touch that child."

Master Zard nodded silently.

Achy returned to his throne, wind swirling around him in solemn arcs. As he sat, the dome dimmed again, and the ice silenced—listening.

"We are not like the firelords of Thruans," Achy said, voice steady.

"Viles does not burn."

He looked down once more at the storm gathering in the basin's reflection.

"We freeze."

---

The Inner Keep, Beneath the Sanctum

Ulma sat alone in a high chamber carved from crystal ice, the walls humming softly with ancient magic. Her fingers traced the patterns on the frost-covered window, watching the snow spiral beyond it like slow-falling stars. The cold didn't bite her—not anymore. She had been here long enough, and something inside her had begun to change.

Not even the guards called her "child" anymore.

She wore a pale blue cloak lined with fur, a gift from Lord Achy himself. Her boots, too, were from the Deep Loom—crafted by the Icebinders of Viles. But despite her fine robes and warm hearth, she felt the weight of the world pressing on her chest.

Ulma missed them—Kalamari, Unomi, Tozi, and Lakrima. Her family now. The ones who carried the fight forward while she… waited.

A soft knock came at the door.

She turned. "Enter."

Master Zard, her father, stepped in quietly. His beard held frost, and his eyes, though tired, sparkled when they met hers.

"I thought you'd be resting."

"I can't sleep," she said. "Something's wrong. I can feel it."

Zard crossed the chamber and sat beside her. "You're sensitive. Like your mother was. Your magic… it's waking."

Ulma looked down at her hands. "I don't want it to."

He smiled sadly. "We don't always choose when. But what we do with it? That's up to us."

Outside the window, the sky shimmered faintly—waves of aurora slithering above the dome of the Sanctum. For a moment, the two sat in silence.

Then Ulma whispered, "He's coming, isn't he?"

Zard stiffened.

"You all talk in quiet voices, but I hear things," she said. "I'm not stupid. Veth's getting closer."

Zard let out a long breath. "Yes. And we will stop him."

"But what if you don't?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached into his robe and pulled out a pendant—crystal shaped like a tear, humming with faint warmth. "Your mother wore this. It channels protective magic. It won't make you invincible… but if the time comes, it will protect you from one strike. Just one."

Ulma took it, slowly curling her fingers around it. "I don't want to hide."

Zard smiled. "I know."

Just then, the lights in the crystal sconces flickered—and a low hum passed through the floor.

Ulma stood, alert. "That's not a normal tremor."

Zard's eyes narrowed. "Stay here. Do not open this door unless it's me."

Before she could argue, he vanished down the hall, ice cloak sweeping behind him.

Ulma stared at the door for a long moment. Then she turned back to the window.

Far in the distance, beyond the city's walls, a storm brewed—thicker than snow, darker than night.

And in it… she swore she saw a shape. A massive shadow with eyes like dying suns.

"Veth…" she whispered.

She clutched the pendant tight—and somewhere, deep in her soul, something ancient stirred.

---