The air crackled with a tension that was both magical and deeply personal. Lord Frost, seeing Snowflake's unyielding gaze, sneered. "So, you wish to challenge me, little one? You, a mere child, with no power of your own?" He raised his staff, and a wave of pure, crystalline ice swept forward, creeping along the marble floor toward her. It moved with unnatural speed, encasing the ornate rugs and furniture in a thick, unyielding shell.
Snowflake held her ground. She felt a connection to the very castle itself, a pulse of warmth and life that defied the encroaching cold. With a deep breath, she extended her hands, and to her own astonishment, the cold was met with a gentle wave of warmth. The floor beneath her feet shimmered, and the ice that had started to crawl up the grand staircase halted, melting away into a delicate mist that smelled of fresh snow and pine. It was not a violent power, but a quiet, nurturing one—the very essence of her mother's magic.
Lord Frost's eyes widened with a flicker of something she couldn't quite place—was it surprise? Or was it rage? "Impossible," he growled, the word a plume of cold vapor in the chilled air. "Your mother's magic was never like this. She was a master of blizzards and ice storms. This… this is something else."
"My mother is a master of life," Snowflake declared, her voice now ringing with newfound confidence. "She taught me that true power is not about destruction, but about preservation. It's about bringing life to the frozen world." As she spoke, the frost on the nearby tapestries began to retreat, replaced by delicate, living blossoms of ice that glittered in the dim light.
Lord Frost's rage exploded. "Then you will learn the true nature of power!" he roared, bringing his staff down with a resounding crack on the marble floor. The castle trembled, and the blizzard outside intensified into a deafening roar. Walls of ice shot up, sealing them in the grand hall. The very air grew thin and painful to breathe. Bun Bun, huddled behind a fallen velvet curtain, squeaked in terror.
Snowflake looked at the towering, furious figure of Lord Frost and knew she couldn't win this with brute force. She had to use her mother's way—the way of compassion and understanding. "Why are you doing this?" she pleaded, her voice cutting through the raging storm. "Why do you hate my mother so much? What did she ever do to you?"
Lord Frost's fury faltered for a fraction of a second, his glowing eyes dimming as a memory seemed to flash across his face. He looked not at the defiant princess before him, but at a memory only he could see, a memory of Queen Frostina from long ago. The moment was a fragile one, a crack in his icy facade.
But the moment of vulnerability vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He scoffed, his gaze hardening once more. "She took everything from me," he said, his voice now a low, bitter hiss. "She promised me a place by her side, a place of honor, but she cast me aside for her so-called 'compassion.' Now, I will reclaim what is rightfully mine, and show this realm that there is only one true ruler of the winter." With a final, terrifying roar, he unleashed a barrage of sharp, icy spikes, sending them hurtling toward Snowflake.