Frozen in Frost

It feels... cold.

Caelvir sensed the cold in the air, and as he pushed his eyes open, he saw only snow. A blizzard ran wildly around, making it difficult to move forward.

He looked around and stepped forward simultaneously.

Where am I? he asked himself.

A vague image of mountains came into the view from afar. Caelvir felt the ground getting steeper as he moved up.

And then something, shrouded in ice and hidden beneath the blizzard of ice, started to become apparent before him: A blue frosty flame inside a huge crystal of ice.

He heard a voice echoing in his mind as the frosty flame's veil—the outer edges of the flame—twisted and bent around in a smooth, comforting fashion.

O' you, son of Dust. Beware. For. Your. Days. Are. Comin'. Into. an end. Death. Looms. Close. To. You.

It spoke with a female grace, gently and slowly, the words frozen in layers of ice coming in-between. And for strange reasons, Caelvir felt it was the voice of the frosty flame.

"Who are you?" Caelvir asked, demanding answers. "What do you mean by that? Am I going to die?"

Yes. You. Are. Going. To. Face. Death. Be. Warned. Dear. Knight.

"You didn't tell me who you are. Why would you warn me? How do you know me?" Caelvir sounded frustrated, speaking loudly, as if forcing his voice go beyond the blizzard of snow would help him be heard.

The voice answered, We. Watched. You. Closely. Son of Dust. Our. Power. Grows. Weak. Every. Day. I. Search. For. Knights. To. Help. Me. In. This. Dire. Times. There. Is. A. Dark. Ness. App. Roaching. This. Way. From. The. South. My. People. Are. In. Danger.

"From the south?" Caelvir shouted loudly, covering his eyes from the snowstorm. "Where are we?"

The. North. Is in. Danger. We. Need. A Great. Farr. But. A man. Must. Overcome. The. Trials. Of. Frost. To. Become. A Farr.

"A Farr? Trials of Frost? What are you talking about?" Caelvir exclaimed, looking confused.

The. First. Trial. You. Must. Surpass. Is. A. Question.

"A Question?"

Yes. You. Mus'. Ponde'. This: That. Which. Is. Naught. Separated. From. That. Which. Is. Naught. By. The. Void.

"What?" Caelvir screamed in the high wind of the storm.

We. Can. Not. Talk. More. Please. Don'. Die. We. Need. You.

"WHO ARE YOU?" Caelvir tried desperately to get more information. "What does all this mean?"

But despite his efforts, the voice no longer spoke to him. His vision grew dark and he fell on the snow.

******

The snow beneath him hardened.

Its softness disappeared beneath his back as a cold stone floor pushed up against him. Caelvir's eyes opened slowly again, this time to the familiar walls of the Iron Arena, cast in a still, grey light.

The sword of Seren rested across his arms. He shifted his hand toward the blade, but the moment his fingers met the steel, pain shot through his skin. He hissed, pulling back. The metal was freezing as cold as the snow he had just dreamed of.

"So it wasn't just a dream," he murmured to himself. His voice barely echoed. "That which is naught, separated from that which is naught... by the void."

The words didn't make sense. He had no answer to the riddle. The cold in the sword and the voice in the snow were both too real to be called hallucinations or simply an irrelevant dream.

He sat up slowly trying to gather his thoughts. As his vision cleared and the weight of the sword shifted slightly in his lap, he noticed a figure to his left—a man, round and thick, leaning against the stone wall.

For a moment, Caelvir doubted his eyes. The man looked far too heavy to be present in this place. His wide chest rose and fell with a slow breath, and his limbs looked unused to armor.

The man stirred. "Aah... that sword..." he muttered, his voice unsteady. He looked toward the blade, but didn't meet Caelvir's eyes. There was something strange in the way he looked at it; his hands trembled slightly, his breath caught between words. The fear showed through his body language.

Caelvir turned back to his sword. The edges were rimmed with white, ice forming sharp lines along the steel. The air around it seemed to swirl faintly, touched by a cold that didn't belong in the arena.

The man spoke again. "Sorry, brother. I took liberty to sleep here. You see... I don't have a place to sleep."

Caelvir was too occupied to listen to what the man said. His thoughts drifted back into the vision of the blizzard. The image of the frozen flame and the voice speaking through ice was still echoing in his mind.

But he came back into reality once the man raised his hand towards him.

"I am Ergon. I'm new here. What's your name...?" he attempted to start a communication.

Caelvir raised his hand also and shook Ergon's hand, trying to avoid getting into an awkward situation despite he feeling reluctant.

"I am Caelvir."

"Uh... Nice to meet you, big brother Caelvir!"

"Same."

Caelvir looked him over more carefully now. His judgment came quickly. Ergon's armor didn't fit him: chausses too tight and ending well above his knees, chainmail pinching around his sides, a sword sheathed at his belt so heavy that it pulled him off balance. The helmet sat crooked on his wide head, far too tall for the shape of his face.

This man had never seen a real fight. It was written on him.

******

Caelvir, huh...

Ergon leaned back slightly, sneaking a glance at the man's frame again. That body was chiselled like a statue, muscles tight like ropes pulled taut. His long dark hair fell down over his shoulders like they belonged to someone born from the bards' tales.

Man, I wish I had that body..

He let out a soft breath. I guess this is what a real gladiator looks like. They are powerful, dangerous, and still damn handsome. He swallowed down a strange sense of admiration.

There weren't even proper cells to sleep in here. He had grown tired wandering around and needed a spot to rest, so when he saw someone like Caelvir already lying down, he figured curling up nearby might keep him safe from the rest of the scum roaming the hall.

He cleared his throat and said aloud, "Ah... big bro Caelvir, you've got no cell either?"

Caelvir's eyes turned to him, sharp and hollow. Ergon looked away quickly. Those eyes weren't meant to be stared into. They looked strangely harsh and extremely scary to Ergon.

"No, I've not," Caelvir replied. His voice matched his stare. "I'm new here too."

New? Ergon blinked. Ah, so he's also a newcomer... but probably a warrior from the Dust. He had heard of the ones who clawed their way up through the pit, who won a hundred fights in the Dust Arena before reaching the Iron.

"Oh... so you're branded! There's no need for a cell, I guess. I saw that corridor earlier. The marked ones can go out and sleep in a better place."

Ergon felt a brief stab of irritation. Damn, I'm a noble. Son of Talen Drakmore. I should be given the same right, but I'm denied even that. His father hadn't even let him keep his own name without burden.

Ergon's eyes drifted down again scanning Caelvir's body. There were barely any garments on him, nowhere to hide a brand. He didn't see any markings on the chest, the shoulders, or arms.

Maybe it's branded... down there? The thought flashed, ridiculous and sudden. He turned red and quickly dismissed it. Yeah no, better not ask him to show that.

He chuckled awkwardly, trying to keep the air light. "So... which House you're fighting for?"

Caelvir's answer came flat. "None."

Ergon blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not branded by any House." Caelvir's voice was lower now. His expression grew darker.

Oh crap. Ergon stared at him, thoughts rushing. What did I say wrong? I shouldn't have brought that up. He looks like he's going to kill me. Think, Ergon, think—

"Ah, sorry big bro Caelvir," he said quickly. "They must be fools not to realize your worth."

He tried to smile and sound sincere. There came no answer from Caelvir. An awkward silence lingered between them.

Then finally, Caelvir's eyes closed, and he said calmly, "You can call me Cael."

"Uh... sure! Big bro Cael!" Ergon laughed nervously. "You don't mind me calling you big brother, right?"

Caelvir looked at him again, and something in his eyes seemed to loosen.

"It's…" he spoke, the edge in his voice gentler now, "fine."

A silence settled between them. The air turned still, like both were waiting for something else to break it.

Then a loud voice echoed from above, bouncing off the stone walls:

"Attention! Attention! Attention! All gladiators move to the main hall. All gladiators gather in the main hall. There is an important declaration to be made. ALL MUST BE PRESENT!"

Ergon frowned. What the heck is that for?

Caelvir stood and walked forward without a word. The sword of Seren stayed close by his side, the air around it still faintly cold.

Ergon sprang up immediately and stepped into stride beside him, trying to match his pace. "Hey! Big bro Cael! Wait for me!"

I have to follow him. Thank God. I was gonna tell him I'm a Drakmore and offer him gold, titles, anything. But it seems none of that was needed. He seems like a good guy.

I wonder though... what's this declaration all about?