Frost's POV
My eyes blinked open, the room hazy around me, and for a moment, all I saw was my father's face, etched with worry. The memory of the children's cruel laughter clawed at me, the rocks, the mud, their mocking voices echoing in my mind. And him… the boy of fire, standing in that strange, impossible glow, watching me, unburned. My chest tightened, and I pulled the blanket closer—not from cold, never from cold—but from a shiver that crawled up my spine, sharp and unwelcome.
A part of me stiffened, hardened. I didn't want to leave this room again, didn't want the world outside to touch me. A new version of myself was forming—one who would stay here, behind these walls, safe and unseen. No more snow-strewn fields, no more cruel eyes, no more fire burning too close. Only quiet. Only control. Only the promise that, here, nothing could hurt me.
I looked at Papa, worry carved into his face. "Papa… it's too scary. Everything is scary," I whispered, icy tears already sliding down my cheeks.
He crouched beside me, his hands gentle on my shoulders. "It's alright, Icebud. Papa is here," he murmured, his voice steady and warm. I threw my arms around him, pressing my face to his chest, the cold tears seeping into his shirt like tiny shards of winter.
As I clung to Papa, the memory of the boy—the one wreathed in fire—crept uninvited into my mind, pricking at the edges of my thoughts. But the memory only made my chest tighten, my small hands trembling. It was all too much, too frightening, too wild. I didn't want to step outside anymore. The world beyond our door felt like a storm I could never survive.
Author's POV
Far away from the quiet village of Wisteria lay the blazing Kingdom of Emberon. Its ruler, King Valoric II, had a queen and two consorts. The first queen bore him three sons, the first consort two, and the third consort—Kira—gave birth to a strange boy. The room on the day he was born was scorching, flames licking at the curtains, the air heavy with heat, and water threatening to boil. Kira could not survive; she died the moment he drew his first breath.
The boy emerged with black hair tipped in fiery red and a body radiating an unnatural heat. The midwives called him a devil, and his own father did not so much as glance at him. His older brothers ignored him, leaving him in the care of the head maid, Samantha. Every day, she endured burns and blisters, yet she raised him with tender vigilance. He remained nameless until Samantha pleaded with the king. Finally, Valoric relented, and with a whisper that carried both reverence and defiance, she named him, "Ardor… that's exactly who you are."
Ardor's POV
"Ardor!" Sam called out, worry lacing her voice. I sighed, but the thought of the girl made a small smile tug at my lips. She is… interesting, I admitted silently.
"What has you smiling, my lord? Do you not realize how dangerous it was to wander into the woods alone? This is not a place for… foolishness—"
"It's fine. I came back, didn't I?" I cut her off, brushing a stray branch from my sleeve. She worries too much.
Then her eyes landed on the burn mark on my tunic. "Is that… a scorch? You used your flames out there again? Ardor!"
I froze. Well… so much for hiding it.
"Get into the tent, change, and then mount the chariot. Your father and brothers have already departed."
"I don't even know why I came on this journey," I muttered. "It's not like they cared whether I tagged along or not…"
"Now is not the time for tantrums," she replied firmly. "You know you must go on this journey. Royal blood runs in your veins. Make haste, and let us join the other chariots."
"Alright, alright…" I muttered, dragging my feet toward the tent to change.
"Make haste!" Sam shouted in her sternest voice.
Well… it had been a long time since she scolded me. Feels… refreshing, somehow.
I quickly changed and mounted the chariot, Sam climbing in beside me.
"What did you do in those woods? Did anyone see you? And what happened to your tunic?" she asked.
Ah… the questions already gave me a headache.
"Nothing much happened. You don't need to worry…" I said, the memory of the little girl making me smirk.
"That's what you said last time when you almost burned down a tree."
"That was three years ago, Sam," I replied, exasperated.
"That doesn't matter. You need to be more careful."
I sighed and stared out the carriage window. It didn't really matter—no one truly cared about me anyway.
The memory of finding my bed sheets and clothes ripped apart by my older brothers crept into my mind. "…Or maybe they just care differently…" I muttered.
"What did you say, young man?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing. Nothing at all," I said, turning my gaze firmly outside, cursing the day I was born.
After a while, as I looked out the window, something caught my eyes in the forest, it was a strange light, something... Unnatural. Suddenly the forest seemed to shiver around us. The horses snorted and pawed at the ground, sensing something unseen. I squinted toward the blur of white again—but this time, it surged forward, faster than anything that should have been possible.
The chariot jolted violently. I grabbed Sam's arm, shouting, "Hold on! Now!" The wheels hit a hidden root, throwing us sideways. Dust and leaves filled the air.
And then—without warning—the ground beneath the chariot cracked, a jagged fissure splitting the dirt like it had been waiting for us. My heart leapt into my throat as I realized we were sliding toward it.
Something cold and blinding shot across my vision, and a voice—soft, yet sharper than ice—whispered in my mind:
"You can't run from me, fire boy…"
I froze. Sam screamed. The chariot teetered on the edge. And then—
Everything went white.