The last thing he remembered was heat—scorching, suffocating, dragging him down into darkness. And then… silence.
When his eyes opened again, the world was blue. Not sky-blue, not ocean-blue, but the sharp, biting blue of frozen air. His breath rose in plumes that shimmered like misted glass. He staggered to his feet, crunching across an endless field of ice.
Then he saw it.
A crown, wrought from jagged crystal, half-buried in the frost. It glowed faintly, as though it recognized him. His hand reached out on its own, and the moment his skin touched the frozen metal, power surged through his veins like liquid winter. The ice didn't burn him—it accepted him.