TRISTAN'S POV
Tristan didn't recall many things about his mother. Over a decade after her death, the details turned fuzzy, leaving little fragments of memories of what their home had been like with her around.
But, despite the laspe in recollections and his tendency to avoid useless reminiscing, he was certain of one thing. His mother had been kind and loving, the calm that soothed the ruggedness of his father. They worked as a pair. Him, the stern perfectionist against her much jovial approach.
She'd contented herself with being the Luna of a territory, a prosperous one as Frostone at that. But his father, remember the perfectionistic egotistical bastard who almost choked the life out of him, wanted more. Something at the peak. To reach the very tip of the iceberg.
