Chapter 2 – The Wild Empress of Frost

Skadi ran.

The ground beneath her paws was a stretch of endless frost, the ice unyielding yet never slick, carrying the weight of her steps like it had been carved just for her. Wind howled across the vast tundras of the Spirit Realm, a sound that should have been deafening but instead felt like a song written just for her.

She howled back.

Her voice rang through the endless, silver-lit sky—wordless, fearless, free.

From the moment she had taken her first steps in this world, Skadi had known only one thing: She was born to be wild.

She wasn't like the other spirits that lurked in the distance, whispering in soft, wordless voices. She didn't sit and meditate like the ancient divine beasts, waiting for some summoner to claim them. She had no patience for stillness, no desire for silence.

She moved.

She fought.

She conquered.

Every day in the Spirit Realm was a test, a challenge, an opportunity for her to stretch her claws, to bare her fangs, to chase and fight and live.

And she loved every second of it.

By the time she was a year old, she had claimed a vast hunting ground in the Frozen Glades, a region of eternal winter where lesser spirits drifted like snowflakes. She didn't just survive there—she ruled it.

By the time she was three, she had toppled a storm wyvern twice her size, its thunderous wings reduced to nothing beneath her relentless onslaught. Her fangs had sunk into its throat, her claws had torn through lightning-forged scales, and when it finally collapsed beneath her, she had thrown back her head and laughed—a wild, victorious sound that echoed through the storm-choked peaks.

She was untamed.

Unrivaled.

By five, she had fought and chased off every spirit beast that dared to wander into her domain. Snow leopards made of mist and ice, saber-toothed specters that howled in the dead of night, titanic shadow hounds that roamed in packs—she faced them all and never backed down.

She had the scars to prove it.

And yet, despite all the fighting, all the hunting, all the endless proving of her strength… there was one thing she had never truly found.

An equal.

Her fangs had sunk into countless beasts. Her claws had carved through more spirits than she could remember. But not once had she found a creature that could match her, challenge her, drive her into a battle so exhilarating that she lost herself in it.

The thought of it made her restless.

Was there no one? No beast, no spirit, no creature that could stand beside her, keep up with her?

The elders of the Spirit Realm sometimes whispered about her. She caught fragments of their voices when they thought she wasn't listening.

"She is wild.""No reverence for the laws of spirits.""An Empress-Class Fenrir should be more… composed."

They didn't understand. She wasn't meant to be tame. She wasn't meant to sit in some sacred grove and wait for a summoner to bow before her.

She wanted to run. To fight. To feel her blood pound as she pushed past her limits, as she grew stronger.

And so, she did.

And that was how she spent the first eight years of her life in the Spirit Realm.

Hunting. Fighting. Living.

Until the day everything changed.

The wind howled through the Frozen Glades, thick with the scent of frost and freshly fallen snow. It was a place of quiet death, where weaker spirits faded into ice and stronger beasts carved out their dominions in silence.

But silence had never suited Skadi.

She padded across the snow, silver fur gleaming under the shifting lights of the sky above, her breath misting in the air. The cold had never bothered her. If anything, it empowered her, made her feel alive.

Her ears twitched, catching the faintest disturbance in the air—movement.

Not the sluggish drift of lower spirits or the cautious prowl of scavengers. Something bigger. Something hunting.

A grin spread across her maw.

Finally.

Her claws flexed against the ice, her body tensing with anticipation. She had been searching for a challenge, a fight to sink her fangs into. Something stronger than the usual fleeting wraiths or snow-born phantoms.

A presence lurked at the edges of her awareness—just beyond sight, moving with a predator's patience.

Then, the snow exploded.

A blur of dark-furred muscle and glowing amber eyes lunged from the frost, a deep snarl splitting the air.

Skadi reacted on instinct.

Her body twisted, sharp reflexes pulling her just out of reach as claws raked through the space where she had stood. The ground cracked beneath the force of the attack, sending up a spray of ice and mist.

She landed lightly, head tilting as she took in her opponent.

It was a Fenrir, like her—though lesser in every way.

Its fur was a dull, frost-bitten gray, its body lean but lacking the overwhelming presence that she knew she carried. Its stance was defensive, muscles coiled tightly as it sized her up. It was fast, but not fast enough. Strong, but not strong enough.

Still, she grinned.

"You're bold," she mused, her voice like ice crackling over a frozen river. "Attacking without warning. I like it."

The lesser Fenrir did not speak, only let out a low growl as it began to circle her. Its amber eyes burned with wariness—it knew it had made a mistake.

Skadi didn't wait for it to retreat.

She lunged, claws carving through the snow as she closed the distance in a single heartbeat.

The Fenrir barely had time to react before she was on top of it, her momentum crashing into its side like an avalanche. It yelped as it was thrown off balance, paws skidding across the ice.

It tried to retaliate—fangs flashing, claws swiping at her throat.

She met the attack head-on, biting down on its foreleg before it could connect. Her jaws snapped shut with a sickening crunch, and the Fenrir howled in pain.

It struggled, twisting and snapping at her, but she was stronger.

The moment she realized it, something clicked.

This wasn't an even fight. It never had been.

She had faced storm wyverns. Hunted thunder beasts. Chased off spirits that should have ended her, only to come out victorious.

And this Fenrir?

It was nothing.

A lesser thing. A weaker version of herself.

The thought sent a thrill through her.

She released its leg, letting it stumble back. It panted, lowering its head in a desperate attempt to appear larger, more threatening—but the tremor in its stance betrayed it.

It knew.

It knew it couldn't win.

Skadi could end it right now if she wanted to. The realization made her heart pound, not with fear, but exhilaration.

She licked the blood from her fangs and took a slow step forward.

The Fenrir flinched.

It wasn't worth her time.

She huffed, shaking out her fur, and turned away. A fight that wasn't a challenge was just a waste.

The lesser Fenrir didn't chase after her. It limped away, tail low, vanishing into the snow.

Skadi stood there for a long moment, watching it disappear.

She had always been strong. But this? This was something else.

She wasn't just another spirit beast.

She was above them.

For two years, Skadi hunted.

Her claws carved paths through the frozen wilderness, her fangs tasted the essence of spirits that had roamed the Spirit Realm for centuries. She did not fight to survive—she fought because she could. Because it was fun.

The lesser Fenrir had been her first real test, the moment she had realized her difference from the other beasts in this world. And after that?

She wanted more.

She sought stronger prey.

The Frozen Glades had once been her hunting ground, a place filled with lesser spirits and beasts, but they weren't enough anymore. The moment she realized she was stronger, she outgrew them. The same way a wolf outgrew the playful scuffles of its siblings.

So she pushed beyond her borders.

She traveled to the Shattered Peaks, where sky serpents slithered between jagged cliffs of ice. Their bodies coiled like living storms, their fangs dripped with venom that could freeze a lesser spirit solid. She fought them without hesitation.

Their speed was greater than hers. Their strikes were like lightning.

But Skadi was relentless.

She didn't just fight them head-on—she learned. She watched the way they moved, the way their bodies twisted mid-air, the way they coiled before a strike. And then?

She became faster.

Her movements sharpened. She dodged, weaved, countered. She fought them on their own terms and crushed them. Tore through their scales. Left their frozen remains scattered across the peaks.

And when the serpents were no longer a challenge?

She moved on.

To the Blackwood Depths, where shadow hounds prowled in endless packs. Spirits that hunted as one, never alone, never isolated. Even powerful beasts hesitated to face them, for where there was one, there were many.

Skadi ran into their midst alone.

Their fangs snapped at her from every angle. Their claws raked her fur, their bodies moved like liquid darkness, twisting and reforming as they attacked.

It should have been impossible.

But Skadi was not normal.

She did not fear the pack.

She became the storm that tore through them.

Her icy claws slashed through shadows like they were solid, her movements ruthless and unrelenting. She did not wait for them to strike—she struck first. Again and again, breaking them apart before they could overwhelm her.

The more she fought, the more she grew.

Her claws, once sharp, became razor-edged.

Her fangs, once powerful, became lethal.

Her instincts, once wild, became unstoppable.

And when the shadow hounds became nothing more than another defeated enemy?

She left.

She wandered through the Winter Veil, an endless tundra where ancient spirits whispered through the winds. She tore through blizzard wraiths, glacial titans, beasts so large they made mountains tremble.

She didn't stop. She couldn't stop.

Because she was always looking for something greater.

Something that could make her heart race, her blood burn.

But no matter how far she searched, how many foes she hunted, how many spirits fell before her claws—

None of them were enough.

And that was how she found herself, on the eve of her tenth year, sitting atop a lonely mountain, bored.