Freezing: Frusthalia's Wake

While we speak of the sins of the Daryesian. Attributing to them the fall of a major house. Cursing them for all ills, their hand in it or nay. Yet, let us not be blind to the specters of our own making. For our acts of derision toward them but reveal our transgressions against the Nirians. Birthing the reproach House Ages has borne since the days of Lord Vashen the 'Bane of magic', concluding the 'Era of Elementals', and leading us into the 'Great Interregnum'.

Excerpt from 'The Study of Racial Conflicts' — Hierophant Jerema Husbee(deceased)

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The sun shone brightly, but its warmth found no place here. Gentle winds blew as snow fell, cloaking the land in a bleached white sheen.

Massive snow-capped mountains loomed across the horizon.

Amidst the frigid wilderness, a white-haired boy tugged a large block of ice the size of a carriage along with a rope.

His only protection against the elements was his linen pants.

A woman sat upon the block of ice with an uncanny balance holding a black book. She seemed relaxed in the dark leather fur coat hugging her feminine features.

"Are you tired, Troan?"

She inquired, eyes not leaving the book she read.

"Yes, Mother." He whizzed out, gasping heavily along.

She glanced down at him for a moment before returning to her book.

"You're awake, good. For a moment there I thought you had lost consciousness again while training."

Lowering the book, she sighed as vapor momentarily clouded her face.

Her focus shifted to Troan.

"Son, your break's over. Let me ask another question to quicken your mind... What led to our defeat during the Unification wars?"

With burning lungs and dry lips, Troan steadily pulled while he replied.

"This is different from the questions you usually ask."

She waved dismissively. "Yes, yes, the behavioral patterns and weaknesses of the navaric monsters generally found within the great caverns of Avalon."

Uncrossing her legs and leaning forward, she smiled slightly.

"You've learnt enough of that. Your mind would do with a different type of—stimulation."

Troan cast a weary glance back at her for a moment and sighed before looking ahead.

"It...wasn't a defeat but a concession. With bands of Nirians surging into our lands, and almost upon Bluestone's capital. We couldn't hold the south whilst protecting the north.

"So we conceded the gains Regis had made and returned north to defend our people.

"A year later, Lady Eskela, the then three weeks old Fifth Lord of Avalon signed the Dublin treaty with House Regista. Thus, ending 14 years of warring, leading to the formation of the Regulon Empire."

"Good." Her lips curled up into a content smile.

"An elemental warrior should always keep a focused mind. Regardless of the failings of the heart or body." She quoted in a soft tone.

She glanced down again and looked at Troan's small frame with sympathy in her eyes.

"Are you hungry, son?"

"Famished." Troan sighed in yearning.

His expression became thoughtful and he seemed to have something to say. He hesitated, bit his lips and let out a resigned sigh.

"I don't want to do this, Mother."

At his words, her gentle smile slowly vanished and her brows pulled down slightly.

Troan continued, "Allow me live my life as a dishonoured prince in a land far away...

"Avalon will only consume me, like many others who went before me. No matter how much you, or Master Virgo train me, the Mountain will not accept me. My fate there is settled."

"Foolishness!" She scolded harshly, gripping the book hard.

"Do you not know who you are?!"

Her ruby eyes bore down on him in a mix of anger and puzzlement.

"Mother, I was raised to be a ruler. I do not possess a knight's heart—"

Whu—

The book came hurtling at his head and for a moment it looked like he would dodge it even though he wasn't looking.

But it ended up hitting him, and bouncing harmlessly off his head. Putting a stop to whatever was about to leave his mouth.

"You are Troan!" She exclaimed, hitting the ice beneath her with her palm.

"In your veins flow the blood of The Seasults and The Ages. Two illustrious houses of this great kingdom!"

Her breaths became hurried and her hands clenched her cloak as if to guard against a feeling of apprehension that suddenly beset her.

"Avalon will surely put you to the test but you will prevail." She assured.

Sauraia shook her head and let out a small sigh, pulling her hood over her head.

"...You mustn't give in to fear, son. You know your condition. You can't afford to lose consciousness in that place. Don't forget my words. Fear—"

"Is death." Troan completed with a weary voice.

But then he saw something that made him stop for the first time in over half a day.

He found an animal. It looked like a malnourished cat with green fur. There were bite and scratch marks on it, and judging by the blood trails on the snow it appeared to have bled a lot.

It was small and looked juvenile but Troan sensed something strange about the creature.

"Hmm. This is no ordinary beast." Sauraia remarked. "No matter how starved you are, son. A carcass isn't—"

"It's not dead." Troan interjected and Sauraia furrowed her brows at the slight.

But then something else seemed to catch her attention and she gazed out distractedly into the distant wilderness.

Troan stared at the creature as if in a trance.

Then he released the rope and winced, feeling the sharp stings on his blistered palms upon contact with the frigid air.

But he steeled himself and reached out for the creature, picking it up by the neck.

Tilting his head in befuddlement, he looked at his hands gripping at its neck as if trying to choke what life was left out of the beast.

His eyes widened in shock. This wasn't how he intended to pick up the creature.

He didn't want to apply strength to his grip, he wanted to be gentle.

But that was just the beginning.

As if suddenly possessed, Troan further tightened his hold on its neck. He raised it above his head and squeezed until its head popped out, bathing in the blood that sprayed into the air.

At once everything turned dark and rows of large pointed teeth like a monstrous grin appeared behind him.

"Frusthalia!"

A loud, distant cry that sounded like a clap of thunder boomed beside his ear.

At once, he opened his eyes to a grey ceiling impassioned to his plight.

For a moment Troan's pupils appeared very colorful, taking on a myriad of celestial hues. Like a cocktail of nebulas within marble balls, shimmering in a visually stunning and enrapturing manner.

But this was only for an instant and they immediately returned to the bland, frosted blue eyes.

With one fluid motion, he rose from his lying position and sat in silence, his heart still racing.

Taking a minute to adjust his mental state, he recounted the previous events, contrasted them with his present circumstances and established the fact that he had been dreaming.

Troan glanced down at the rumpled blanket and felt the sweat-damped mattress below him.

He glanced to the left at the waldrobe beside the bed, and then to his luggage which was yet unpacked, left just as he kept it.

Troan surveyed the rather spartan-looking chamber. The side table and mirror in front of him appeared to have been dusted and cleaned. The place looked different from when he first arrived at the castle, cleaner.

He watched daylight stream through the window and soon judged that it was long into noon.

He let out a quick sigh and shook his head, before attempting to get off the bed.

Even the mere act of placing a foot on the floor felt abnormally strenuous, especially for an elemental warrior such as him.

Finally, he placed his feet on the ground and pushed himself up.

However, his head swarmed, gaze blurred, and for a moment he pictured himself crashing against the wardrobe, and then rebounding onto the edges of the bedframe.

But he closed his eyes and willed his mind back to a state of clarity, after a moment he felt better.

Troan went for his luggage, wondering whose idea it was to strip him naked.

But then an accident occurred, a foot got in front of the other, and he stumbled. His head slammed through the wardrobe door and got stuck within.

"Dratz!" His muffled curse rang out.

"What are these doors made of?!"

He pulled his head out with a grunt.

Ignoring the slight ache he knelt to fish out some clothing from his luggage, but something glinting within the hole he made in the wardrobe caught his eyes.

Curiously he reached out and opened the door.

Within, he found a black military ceremonial uniform having blue and silver decorations.

Troan tilted his head in confusion, then he remembered something and a sudden feeling of solemnity and sadness washed over him at the sight of the uniform.

'Ah, yes. Father died—and it seems like I fainted somehow. How embarrassing." He thought as he recalled a memory.

The ringing in his ears as his head hit the ground. His mother's panicked tear-streaked face and muffle voice.

"—oan! Troan! Oh! Guards!"

"Witch Queen!"

"Get him to his chambers! Gently! He needs some rest."

Troan lips twitched at the memory.

"Ah...Ervhen has done it again."