The wind howled through the ragged peaks of the Cradle of Ice, a jagged spine of mountains far to the north where few dared tread. Snow drifted like ghostly whispers between the sheer cliffs, and the sun, pale and distant, barely kissed the earth with its light. Yet even here, where winter never ceased, a solitary figure moved with purpose—her cloak torn by the wind, her breath misting the frozen air.
Ais.
She was no longer a child. The years of running, of hiding, of surviving alone, had carved away the innocence of youth and left behind something harder. Colder. Her eyes—one glacial blue, the other smoldering amber—reflected the storm within her as much as the world around her. She had learned to live without comfort, without trust, without softness. The girl who once clutched a sword with trembling hands was gone. In her place stood a warrior who walked through snow like flame walks through paper.
Her boots crunched over ancient frost as she moved toward a distant shimmer—an old ruin carved into the side of the mountain, barely visible through the veil of mist and snow. It was said to be the remnants of the Temple of Scales, a place from the age before memory, long abandoned and nearly forgotten by the world. But Ais had heard the stories.
She had followed the whispers.
There were many things she needed—answers, training, power. But above all, she sought knowledge. If she was to reclaim her kingdom, to find her siblings, to uncover the truth of her parents' fate, she could not simply rely on brute strength. Her enemies were clever, ancient, and united by something more powerful than steel or fire: purpose.
She pressed her palm against the icy door of the temple. Runes etched deep into the stone flickered at her touch, glowing faintly. Heat pulsed beneath her skin, and the ice sizzled and hissed. Her power flared to life.
The door shuddered.
With a groan like a dying beast, the stone split open, revealing a narrow passage leading into darkness. Ais did not hesitate. The cold was her ally. The shadows, her cloak. She stepped inside.
The interior of the temple was a maze of ancient halls, each lined with crumbling statues and faded tapestries that spoke of a world now lost. Dragons soared in stitched silk, their scales shimmering faintly even in the gloom. Serpents of fire curled around mountains of ice. And in the center of it all, a figure stood crowned in both flame and frost.
Ais paused, studying the mural. That figure—it looked like her. Not in face, but in essence. A being balanced between two opposing forces, holding a staff that split into twin paths—one of fire, the other of ice.
"Who were you?" she whispered.
A voice echoed through the chamber, low and ancient. "A question asked by many, but answered by few."
Ais spun, hand going to her blade, flame crackling in her palm. "Show yourself."
From the shadows emerged a figure, cloaked in layered robes the color of stone and snow. Their face was weathered, marked with the lines of centuries, and their eyes gleamed silver like moonlight on ice.
"I am Kaelith," the figure said, bowing slightly. "The last Sentinel of the Scale."
Ais did not lower her blade. "What is this place?"
"A tomb. A sanctuary. A forge." Kaelith stepped closer. "And perhaps… a beginning."
"I don't need riddles."
"No," Kaelith said softly. "You need to become what you were meant to be."
The flames in her palm flickered. The temperature around her dipped. Her heart beat faster. "You know who I am?"
Kaelith smiled. "You are the daughter of flame and frost. The storm-born child. The echo of a forgotten prophecy. The world has feared your birth for generations."
"I didn't ask to be born."
"Nor did fire ask to burn. Nor did ice ask to freeze."
Ais's hands trembled, just slightly. "Why did you wait?"
"I waited for the one who could survive the collapse," Kaelith said, gesturing to the ruined walls. "For the one who lost everything, and still chose to walk forward."
Ais stepped closer. Her voice dropped. "I need power. Real power. Enough to take back what was mine. Enough to destroy those who betrayed me."
Kaelith nodded. "Then come. Let the trials begin."
The trials of the Temple of Scales were not trials of strength alone. They tested the mind, the soul, the will. Ais found herself in darkness, in heat, in crushing pressure. She faced illusions of her parents calling her to surrender. She battled shadows wearing her siblings' faces, demanding her to give up her power for peace.
She did not yield.
In one trial, she was locked in a chamber where the ceiling lowered steadily, threatening to crush her. The air turned to fire, searing her skin, while the floor turned to ice, freezing her feet. Screaming, bleeding, she called on both halves of her power—not to fight, but to balance. To hold both pain and clarity.
The ceiling halted. The fire faded. The trial passed.
Kaelith watched her progress with quiet awe. "Few survive all three," he said, as she emerged from the final test, breathing hard, blood on her lips.
"I'm not like the others," Ais said.
"No," Kaelith replied. "You are exactly what the world needs—and fears."
That night, by the flame of a single candle, Ais sat before the ancient map Kaelith unrolled. It showed all of Varthal and beyond—territories swallowed by war, marked by betrayal, stitched with old alliances and newer dangers.
"The ones who betrayed you," Kaelith said, pointing to the southern border, "have formed a pact. Dragevin and the Houses of the Black Fang. They now control most of your former kingdom."
"And my siblings?"
"Alive. But scattered. One in the Vault of Ember. One taken to the Howling Depths. Another hidden somewhere in the Whispering Wastes."
Ais's jaw tightened. "Then I will find them. One by one."
"You cannot go alone."
"I've always been alone."
Kaelith shook his head. "Not anymore."
He stepped aside, revealing two figures in the doorway.
One was a tall warrior with emerald tattoos and twin swords on his back. His expression was wary but respectful.
The other was a woman cloaked in feathers, her eyes dark and knowing. Magic shimmered around her like a second skin.
Kaelith smiled. "Meet Kaen and Mireya. They, too, have lost everything. But together, you may find what was taken."
Ais said nothing at first. She simply looked at them, searching for weakness, for deceit.
But she found only pain. And strength. And something else she couldn't name.
Maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to fight alone anymore.
Outside, the wind screamed across the cliffs.
The storm was not over.
And yet, as the storm howled its fury and the darkness deepened beyond the cliffs, Ais squared her shoulders and stepped forward. Not with the recklessness of the desperate, but with the resolve of someone who had nothing left to lose—and everything to reclaim. The wind tore at her cloak, but her gaze never wavered. Whatever lay ahead—betrayal, monsters, even death—she would face it. Alone if she must. But never powerless again.