Cold. It's cold. So terribly cold. The air weighs down on your body like an oppressive force, crushing your very being. It hurts. The wind cuts through your skin like a blade of paper, leaving wounds in its wake. The pain is relentless. The ground beneath you is rough and unforgiving, numbing your legs, making the mere act of standing a torture. The snow falls in delicate flakes, yet each one feels like it could tear holes in your skin. It hurts. It's cold.
But… was there ever warmth? Was there ever a time when the sun shone brightly upon you? Perhaps, once, long before this eternal frost, there was a fleeting glimpse of sunlight. Far away. Distant. And now, gone.
Now… only whispers and faint, echoing laughter in the endless dark. The cold air fills this place, freezing your very soul. Your body is frozen to the core, encased in a tomb of ice. Even if you open your eyes, it feels as though you are trapped in a never-ending nightmare. How long has it been? How many years have passed?
He doesn't know how long it has been. Time…? Time has become meaningless. It bends in this place, warps, curls around itself like an old, faded scroll left too long in winter.
And still, it hurts.
This coldness… it is all he knows now. It has become his only warmth. The only warmth left for him. Kindness? A jest. Helping others? A waste of time. Joy and happiness? All illusions. Just like the people who once surrounded him. People can praise you, can immortalise you in tales and songs. But one mistake. One fleeting error, and you become their greatest enemy.
"What a joke," he thought bitterly. Thinking was the only thing he could do now. Even opening his eyes was an ordeal, a sharp and searing pain. His body had long since lost the sensation of anything, but the pain remained, cutting deeper with every breath.
How much time had passed? He could not tell. But it was enough. Long enough to bury his heart, which had been lost long before he was sealed in this prison of ice.
A small, unconscious movement. A flick of his finger. The faint sound of ice cracking. Not enough to break free, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, not now. His thoughts fell silent, only to be replaced by a strange sound. A movement in the cave.
A bird? Perhaps. Though the thought of any creature surviving in this desolate place seemed laughable.
Another crack. His finger twitched again, muscles stiffening, the pain flooding through him. It hurt, but somehow, it was different. Pain felt like life, and life was something he had been denied for so long. Another crack. The coldness pressed in further, the air growing sharper with each passing moment. Could it be more painful? Surely.
There were cruelties worse than being trapped in an ice tomb for countless years. His mind grasped the truth of his punishment—this was no mere sentence. He was cursed to live while those around him could die. Criminals, even the most wretched, could find an end to their suffering. But not him. His punishment was worse than death.
The pain in his hand struck again, sharp and fierce, but he could not scream. The silence was his only companion. He waited, knowing that the day would come when he would rise again. And when he did, fear would once more grip the hearts of those who had once called him a hero, a saviour. He would finish what he had failed to do, uncover the truth he had been blind to. No more lies. No more words. Only one last sacrifice.
Only truth. Only retribution. Only one final offering—his last breath, if needed— to end the lie they called peace.
*
The man opened his eyes, slowly, painfully, as if dragging himself from the depths of a long, unending nightmare. It was cold. His limbs screamed in silence, seized by a cold so ancient, it no longer simply numbed—it devoured. The marrow in his bones had turned to ice. The blood in his veins moved like reluctant ink through cracked calligraphy.
His body ached with the weight of stillness, as if each joint had rusted over with sorrow. The very air was a breathless void, thick with the scent of stone and silence. The ceiling above loomed low, hewn from jagged slabs of dark blue crystal—frosted obsidian that bled a malevolent cold. Even the shadows seemed frozen in place. Wind moaned through the cavern like a mourning spirit, dragging with it dagger-thin snowflakes that sliced the air.
Days passed. Or perhaps lifetimes.
He could no longer tell. But eventually, with the slow agony as if dragging himself from the depths of a long, unending nightmare, he turned his body onto its back, away from the floor's merciless chill. And then he saw it.
That monstrous, looming monolith. The ice. The tomb that had once encased him. A translucent sarcophagus of punishment—framed like art, suffused with the blood he had bled in desperation. Crimson veins webbed through its depths, the bitter trace of all his failed attempts to escape. The blade of pain had been his only companion. The only proof he still lived.
As he gathered his bearings, he realised that his weapons and clothing were gone—no surprise, after so many years. He was dressed only in white inner robes, the simple attire worn for rest. A bitter smile curled on his lips. "How kind of them, leaving me with so much," he thought with mocking amusement.
He stumbled through the cave, searching for something to protect himself with, or perhaps something to wear. His only goal now was to escape this forsaken place—the Jue Shuang Ling, the Ridge of Ultimate Frost, a mountain so desolate and cursed that no one had ever survived its peak. Legends spoke of this mountain, once teeming with life, where lovers would come to stargaze. That was, until tragedy struck.
Centuries ago, a bride, fair and beloved, was to marry her true love atop this very mountain. But on the day of her ceremony, blood stained the earth. In the blink of an eye, the bride was gone, slain by the jealousy of her closest friend, who believed she deserved the bridegroom's love. Over time, the mountain grew colder, and the town below was abandoned. Whispers of haunted cries and sinister laughter filled the air. And soon, all that remained was a desolate ruin.
The man stood before the statue of Xue Yan Shen, the Goddess of Snow and Nightmares. Tall and solemn, carved of ice and moonstone, her expression unreadable, eyes half-closed in endless sorrow. He had often dreamed of death while trapped here, and now, in his waking world, those nightmares would begin anew.
With a trembling hand, he knelt before the statue, offering a bow as deep and respectful as his broken heart would allow. In his hand, he held a shard of ice sharp enough to draw blood. The other hand was already bleeding from a deep cut, the blood dripping slowly onto the cold stone beneath him. His thoughts swam with agony as the curse mark on his finger began to stir, sensing freshly spilled blood, a dark power that had been with him since childhood. He had killed with it before, and perhaps he would again, but not for vengeance. Not anymore.
"Great Mother," he whispered, his voice a soft, aching breath in the cold. "I beg of you, lend me your power. Take this blood as a sacrifice, a sign of my pact. I offer you my strength, knowing full well the punishment it will bring. I shall repay your kindness with all that remains of me. Please… Xue Yan Shen, grant me the strength to fulfil my will."
For a moment, nothing moved. Then, with a sudden, eerie stillness, the statue seemed to come to life. A jagged spear of ice shot forth from its form, piercing his chest with the cold finality of fate. He gasped. But made no sound. Pain—real pain—returned with such ferocity he thought he might shatter. But he did not resist. The price of this pact was clear. But he had already paid it. Long ago, when his heart had turned to ice.
The heart he no longer possessed.
He clutched the ice where it had struck him, eyes fluttering closed as a cold light spiralled through his veins. The seal on his heart began to fracture. The tomb inside him—the one no one else could see—began to thaw.
And in that moment, he did not cry. He did not scream. He simply bowed again. To the Goddess. To fate. To his final path.
Something colder had awakened.
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1. Jue Shuang Ling (绝霜令) - 'Frostbane Decree' (Ridge of Ultimate Frost). Abandoned mountain. Usually used to lock criminals.
2. Xue Yan Shen (雪焱神) - 'Snowfire Deity' (Goddess of Snow and Nightmares). A Goddess from legends, being able to free a person from the mountain, through sacrifice.