When fire meets ice, someone always burns.
The storm screamed louder than the drums.
The air itself felt alive — sharp, metallic, and heavy with death.
Roy could barely see through the swirling snow. He stood among twenty giants, all armed with crude but deadly weapons — boulders, mammoth bones, iron clubs.
At the center was the chieftain Harl Snowbone, beard like a glacier and voice like thunder.
Beside him stood his lieutenants:
Bera Stoneskin, the fierce huntress, with eyes like molten amber.
Grumm the One-Eyed, loud, grumpy, and forever unimpressed.
Torr Bearblood, whose laughter was louder than his sense.
Edda Frosthair, old, wise, and angrier than the weather.
And then… there was Roy — a reincarnated human nurse who still couldn't figure out if this counted as unpaid overtime.
The storm howled, and the giants argued.
Grumm slammed his club into the ground. "This little one brings death to our doors! The dead follow his scent!"
Bera growled, "He walks from nowhere, speaks strange, and now the Whites come! Coincidence? Bah!"
Torr spat into the snow. "I say we crush him before the dead do!"
Roy raised both hands. "Okay, hold up — crushing the one guy with fire magic seems like bad strategy 101!"
Edda's voice rasped like snow over stone. "You play with frost-flame, boy. That is the magic of the old ones. How does a whelp like you wield it?"
Roy blinked. "Lady, I don't know! I just— slap my hands together and hope the world doesn't explode!"
Grumm grunted. "Then you are danger to us all."
Harl lifted his axe. "Enough! The dead come whether he stands or falls. We fight now — and if he lies, the snow will judge him after."
Roy muttered, "Great. Nothing like earning trust by dying for it."
---
The sound came first — crunch, crunch, crunch — hundreds of feet moving in unison.
Then, the dead appeared.
Men, women, children, beasts — all twisted, pale, lifeless.
And behind them, tall as nightmares — White Walkers, leading the army like cold kings.
"TO ARMS!" roared Harl.
The giants charged. The ground itself trembled.
Roy followed, panic and adrenaline fighting for control.
"Why am I running toward the zombies?!"
Grumm swung his club — CRACK! — three corpses exploded into snow.
Bera impaled a wight with a tree trunk and flung it over her shoulder.
Torr grabbed a dead horse by the neck and used it as a weapon.
Roy gagged. "Okay, that's… unhygienic!"
A wight leaped onto his leg. He screamed, kicked it into a bonfire, and accidentally set his fur cloak on fire.
"OH COME ON! Stop setting me on fire!"
Bera shouted, "You burn better than you fight!"
Roy snapped back, "That's called multitasking!"
---
He remembered — fire kills the undead.
He clapped his hands, and blue flame flickered weakly. Too small. Too cold.
"C'mon, anime rules, don't fail me now!"
He focused harder, thinking of every time he'd fought exhaustion at work, every patient he'd refused to give up on.
The blue light flared brighter.
Roy slammed his palms to the ground.
A shockwave of frostfire ripped through the battlefield — burning and freezing at once.
The nearest Whites shattered, others staggered back.
But the power drained him fast. His knees hit the snow.
Grumm saw it and sneered. "Pathetic trickster! Your fire fades already!"
Roy coughed, "You try shooting ice-fire after a twelve-hour shift!"
Harl roared, swinging his axe through three undead. "If you still breathe, stand and fight!"
Roy forced himself up, grabbing a flaming log.
He swung wildly, yelling, "This is for my unpaid overtime!"
THUD! CRACK! WHOOSH!
A wight's head flew, trailing sparks.
---
The battlefield fell strangely quiet.
From the storm, one White Walker stepped forward — armor glimmering like glass, spear of ice in hand.
Even the fire dimmed as it came.
Harl's eyes narrowed. "A commander of death."
Grumm growled. "That one kills and the rest fall."
Roy muttered, "Right. So, boss fight. Cool. Totally ready for that."
The Walker raised its spear and hurled it — faster than thought.
It struck Torr Bearblood square in the chest.
The giant froze mid-laugh, eyes turning blue, body turning to ice.
"TORR!" Bera screamed.
The other giants roared with fury, charging — but the Walker moved like wind. Its spear slashed through them, every hit freezing flesh and bone.
Roy's panic hit its peak. "Okay. Time for stupid plans!"
He sprinted through the snow, picked up the burning mammoth bone Torr dropped, and yelled,
"Hey, Elsa! Take your ice stick and shove it!"
The Walker turned — too late.
Roy threw the burning bone like a javelin.
It hit the Walker's chest — fire and frost clashed, screaming through the night.
The creature staggered, shrieking. Harl rushed in and split its head open with his axe.
The Walker shattered — and across the valley, every wight fell, motionless.
---
Only the wind remained.
Half the giants were gone. The fires burned low.
Harl leaned on his axe, breathing heavy.
Grumm spat in the snow. "We lose brothers. Because of him." He pointed at Roy. "He brought the curse."
Roy clenched his fists. "I didn't bring the curse. I brought the fight. You'd all be dead without that fire."
Bera stepped between them. "He fights like a fool… but he fights."
Edda nodded slowly. "Maybe fool's fire burns truest."
Harl finally spoke. "We lost much. But we stand. And this one's fire stands with us."
Roy sat down in the snow, exhausted. "So... that's a yes? I can stay?"
Grumm grunted. "Stay. But if dead come again, I throw you first."
Roy chuckled weakly. "Fair. Just aim me well."
Bera laughed — a sharp, broken laugh, but real.
And above them, the aurora shimmered across the night sky — green and blue, dancing over the burned valley.
> In that light, the Giants saw the start of something new.
A spark that might one day grow into a kingdom — born from the fire of one foolish man.
---
> The fires die. The dead are gone.
But grief lingers — and Roy faces the truth of what it means to lead.
From the ashes of a frozen war, the dream of a new Giant Kingdom begins.