Rise of the Icebound

The ice came first.

It spread across the northern ridge like a plague with no origin—thin, glittering frost racing down pine trunks and mountain roads, freezing riverbeds that should have still run with spring melt. But the cold wasn't natural. It didn't crawl—it seethed, pulsing with a hunger that had nothing to do with season or weather. It was the breath of something cursed.

Three towns were caught in its path.

Thornmere. Bastel's Reach. Volda's Pass.

Each one had pledged themselves to Aetherhold's cause in the early days of rebellion. Each had sworn to stand against the gods. And now, one by one, they were being punished for it.

The Icebound had returned.

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Selena stood over the war table in the strategy hall, her jaw tight, hands braced against the wood as report after report piled before her like silent accusations. The parchment still steamed with fresh ink—emergency relays from scattered outposts and retreating scouts.