The sun rose, but its warmth never touched Frosthelm. The first pale light stretched over the jagged peaks, its feeble glow swallowed by thick gray clouds that loomed above. It was the snowstrider antlers, not the sun that woke the village. Their soft blue glow pulsed lightly along the rooftops, scattered like stars in the ice. They filled the air with a low hum, a song that had guided Frosthelm through a hundred winters.
The homes of Frosthelm were not built for beauty: low, short structures built to withstand the cold. Their wooden walls weathered by time and reinforced after every storm, were patched with whatever could be salvaged. The oldest among them had been reboarded dozens of times. Most homes stood no taller than a single story, roofs sloped sharply to keep the weight of the snow from caving them in. Some on the farthest ends of Frosthelm, had vanished beneath the snow entirely, their doorways little more than tunnels dug into the ice, their chimneys the only sign of life left. Yet despite the cold, Frosthelm was not a place without joy.
Because within the open spaces between the homes, children darted forming paths and footprints in the snow, Their laughter always consistent at the first sight of dawn, some were already locked in a deadly battle, Pelting each other with quickly packed snowballs, screaming and running between alleys, carts, or whatever they could fit behind. While others worked together to create walls of snow, before blindly launching their snowballs, often missing, or hitting someone who found their fun a little less amusing.
The Frostfoxes were never far from the games, Small and agile, they ran between children's feet, their silver fur reflecting the morning light, one jumped high to try to snatch a snowball mid-air, shaking its head to remove the snow that covered its face and whiskers, another tackled a young girl to the ground, nipping playfully at her hood, as she wrestled and shrieked with laughter.
Near the market, a large crowd formed, as the first Snowstrider races were beginning. The long legged creatures were sleek and fast and at first glance they looked like large elks. They had massive antlers that were glowing with a subtle blue, Their thick fur making them seem thicker than they really were. They stamped impatiently as riders adjusted their grips on the reins pulling them back in line. The crowd lined the market, their voices rising with cheers. Many enjoyed betting on these races, it wasn't a race of status, anyone bold enough could compete, and anyone foolish enough to challenge Jorn the current Snowstrider champion, would probably end up dismounted, their head buried in the snow and their legs the only sign of them left.
The market was always the first to come to life, traders shaking the frost from their stalls, using thick hides to stop the snow from destroying their wares. Bundles of tanned hides, meats, tools, and carved trinkets were laid out across the entire market. A woman was hunched over a block of wood, using a knife to carve delicate patterns along the grain, shaping the curve of a new bow, beside her a boy no older than 10 was turning a bone in his hand, carving, chipping and making arrow heads for the hunters when they came.
Because beyond the market, the hunters were already moving. Some returned from the Forests, exhausted and injured, pulling heavy sleds with fresh kills, deer, frosthares, the occasional tusked snow boar. Others were just setting out, fastening cloaks, sharpening blades, purchasing anything they may need while in the forest. As the hunters left they would say a prayer with their loved ones, hoping for food and a safe return. As they stood watching them disappear into the tree line.
Frosthelm always watched, They survived too much to be careless, They lived through the Great Divide, When half its people traveled beyond the mountains, seeking warmth and never returning. They fought through the First Blizzard of Frosthelm, When the wind tore homes apart, ripped trees from their very roots, and buried countless under the snow to be lost forever. And it had won against the Frostwolf war, The night the wolves came, their eyes glowing in the dark like a torrent of fireflies. While no one who is alive today lived through these events, they were recorded and passed down stored in the great halls of Frosthelm, The tales to remember and tell the kids "The north can not kill man"
And beneath the shadow of the Great hall, the training grounds awaited. The snow there was not fresh, it was hardened and packed down by countless footsteps, some areas tinted red with the endless duels and spars. This is where boys became hunters, Where girls became warriors, And where the weak learned their place.
And now the sparring grounds were alive with motion, blades clashed, boots slid over ice and snow, shouts and orders were given in urgent voices. Some fought with iron swords, others held long hunting spears, learning how to brace themselves against charging beasts, struggling to hold their place on the ice.
One figure stood apart from the rest, watching with a gaze of stone. Eryndor OakHart. He was the north made flesh, tall, broad shouldered, unshaken by fear, his Frostwolf cloak barely shifted in the wind, His Steel gray eyes sharp as a sword cut through the training grounds, None could match him. He had tracked beasts through blizzards, felled creatures twice his size, and walked away from battles where lesser men would die. He did not offer praise lightly, nor did he hold back.
One of the older boys who challenged Eryndor lunged forward with a spear held outright, he was fast, precise, but too predictable. A single step to the side, hand gliding down the wooden shaft of the spear guiding it, a sudden pull, Eryndor pulled the spear from the boy's grip causing him to shift forward and fall in the snow. As the boy looked up, a wooden sword was halted between his eyes. The boy looked to the side and admitted defeat.
Eryndor stepped back. "You were too eager, don't let your own mind push your body forward" The lesson was over, another would begin.
As the wind swept across the training ground, Eryndor turned his gaze toward the Great Hall. There in its walls awaited those who had yet to start the hunters path, They did not hold blades or bows, But their battle had already begun.
Built at the heart of Frosthelm, it towered over the village like a giant. This was where Frosthlem's history lived, within hides, carvings, books of the old world, but also in those who gathered in its walls, where futures were created, paths were chosen. Inside young children sat cross legged on leathers and pelts, listening and retelling stories of their ancestors. The older ones, Those nearing their seventeenth year were expected to choose their path. Seventeen was the age you prove yourself in Frosthelm.
Some followed their families, learning the forge, tanning, trading. Others chose the path of the hunter, training to hold a bow, to wield a sword, and to track in the endless white. And when the day came that they left the village to hunt, the village would wait to see if they would return.
As the world stirred, the clash of swords in the distance, howls of frostwolves deep in the woods, the hammering of hooves on the ice as the Snowstriders reached the finish line. In one home, beneath the glow of an antler's light, the world remained still. A boy lay beneath thick blankets, shifting between waking and dreams. His name was Thalos. And today, like every other day, he would wake to the sound of the world.
Thalos shifted beneath heavy furs, laying in the stillness of the morning. The cold was already there. It clung against the walls of the houses, stretched its fingers through the narrow streets, and turned every moment brittle with its touch.
Above the door an antler pulsed faintly in a stone cradle, casting streaks of blue across the floor and ceiling. The hum was always there, a low steady sound that was almost comforting. His breath turned into soft white mist above him. Outside the village was waking. He could hear the crunch of boots against the snow, the creaking of wagon wheels struggling with their weight. For a long moment he did not move.
The warmth of the blanket was the only thing stopping the cold from engulfing him, but the day had begun and it would not wait. He exhaled and shoved back the furs, wincing as the cold wrapped around him. His feet hit the stone floor with a sting, sending shivers up his spine. He moved quickly, grabbing his clothing that lay in a small woven basket, The wool of his tunic was rough against his skin, the cold seeping through small holes that have been mended over countless times. It carried the scent of pine and smoke.
As he pulled the ties of his cloak into place, he caught his reflection in a shard of polished metal hanging by the door. His gray eyes, the color of smoked ice, stared back at him beneath dark, tangled hair that never seemed to lie flat. His face was still lean and unblemished by youth, though the angles had begun to sharpen as he neared his fifteenth year. He was slim and agile, he was never broad like Orin or tall like Garrick, but he was quick. And he was happy with that.
He slung his satchel over his shoulder, his fingers brushed on the worn leather strap that was about to break. His gaze drifted to the window. Well the closest thing Frosthelm had to one. Glass was a luxury of the old world, something that never made it here. Instead, stretched hides covered most openings, just thick enough to block the wind but thin enough to let in small rays of sunlight. Others like this one, were made from the translucent threads of the Frostwidow spider, woven into delicate sheets of ice-silk. The material shimmered faintly, catching the light and filtering it through in light blue streaks, it was thin but durable and it did surprisingly well at holding back the wind and the cold.
He watched through the window as a small group of hunters passed by, bows slung across their backs, and further back a group of children darting between the houses, Frostfoxes in toe. Obviously up to no good. Thalos smiled, as he turned back to the door. Today will be another lesson, another story of the past. Before we lived in the north, when we lived alongside the other races. And how the other races tried to kill us. Mistress Elwen would tell it the same way she always did, like she was daring anyone to look away from her.
A voice called from the other side of the doorway, toward the main room. "Thalos!"
His mother. She always calls when he sleeps in. He pushed through the hanging furs of the doorway and into the warmth of the common room. Smoke was rising from the fire on the other end of the room, with the scent of meat and fresh herbs. The entire common area was lit up by small antlers that were hung up by leather straps.
Liriel stood at the table, slicing dried meat into strips, her hands moving with the motions of someone who has done this thousands of mornings before. A few strands of hair fell from her dark braid, streaked with silver that shone under the soft blue light. She glanced up as he stepped in. Her hazel eyes pressing on him for an answer.
"S..sorry I slept in again" Thalos always felt embarrassed, recently he hasn't felt as motivated as he usually did. He would sleep in, and end up late to class. Worst of all, he would avoid his father and not help cutting the wood for the fire.
Without a word she reached for a leather pouch, She wrapped the meat inside, then added a small round of hunters loaf, packed with dried fish, root mash, and just enough fat to hold it together. It wasn't pleasant but it was filling. She folded a cloth, and placed it into his satchel.
"For later" she then sighed "please try not to cause trouble again today, your father needs help with the fletching" Thalos avoided eye contact "I know. I know, I promise" she gave him a knowing look "at least try to help your father today" He ducked out avoiding the conversation, it was making him uncomfortable, but only because he knew he should be helping.
He felt the cold the moment he stepped outside, the wind stung against his face as he pulled his cloak tighter. In the distance, the wilds surrounded Frosthelm, their green fading to black where the light could no longer reach. And beyond that the mountains stood tall, Their jagged peaks reaching into the sky. His father warned him again last night. The wolves had been acting strange recently, not just the single wolf creeping to the village's border or the hunting packs stalking the hunters in the forest. Rumors were spreading, men spoke in low voices about strange sightings, and unusual animal activity. He tried to ignore it and to move on, but he couldn't take his eyes away from the forest.
As he walked down the streets thick smoke came from chimneys in homes, nearby rows of traders set up their stalls, their voices calling to those who walked by. "You there! You look cold, want a Frostwolf cloak?" He walked past "Hey! Thalos, we just got a supply of fresh meat! Come have a look" He smiled and wished the man a good day "Hey young man you look like you are in need of a fine sword" His gaze hovered on that sword a moment longer than he meant to, and now the trader was presenting him with swords, knives, daggers, and anything else Thalos might look at. "No thank you!" Thalos said as he sped up. He knew most of them, and sometimes he caved, and bought items from them. Usually he would fight against the urges and ignore them.
Thalos watched as he passed an artisans stand, a middle aged man was working on carving a small antler, Its glow flickered and died. "Bad omen when the light fades" He whispered to himself. A pair of tamed Frostfoxes darted out from under the stand. One came to a stop near Thalos's feet, its pale blue eyes tracked his every move, it flicked its ears and bounded off again. He always found them amazing, skittish and cunning, but extremely loyal, for him it was their eyes, he always thought there was something extremely intelligent behind their eyes, and one day he wanted a Frostfox of his own.
Ahead a team of Snowstriders moved through the square, their long legs moving on the icy ground with ease. They carried piles of logs and stone behind them on sleds and wagons, their antlers glowing blue and pulsing with every step they took. Thalos didn't think much of the blue glow, it was with him since he was born, it was just another part of Frosthelm. One of the drivers walking beside them gave a low command, tapping the lead Snowstrider's side, and it responded immediately. They were docile creatures, easy to command and teach, but Thalos had seen them refuse to move when people mistreated them, their black eyes just watching the handlers every move.
As the caravan passed, he heard their hushed voices "More have gone missing." "Can't we do anything?" Thalos slowed his walking as the two hunters guarding the caravan went by. "The elders need to give us the order to do something." "Yeah... more people are going missing. To think Snowfairies would show up here." "This is..." The hunters were too far away for him to hear now.
snowfaries? This wasn't the first time he had heard that name. What was going on in Frosthelm? He was still lost in thought, slowly watching the glowing antlers of the Snowstriders passing. "You're walking like an old man! No wonder your always late!"
Thalos turned just as Garrick jogged up beside him nudging his shoulder hard enough to make Thalos stumble, his usual grin wide across his face. His dark blonde hair was a tangled mess that started to freeze at the edges, and his green eyes were always filled with mischief. He was taller than Thalos by a little more than a hand's length, his frame was still wiry and lean, a young boy who hasn't yet grown into his full strength.
"I'm pretty sure you miss more classes than i do" Thalos mostly said it to himself, he didn't think Garrick heard. "Anyway, why are you up so early?"
"I didn't have a choice" Garrick shrugged his shoulders over dramatically "My father had me stacking leather and hides all morning. You'd think we were selling them to a king the way he scolded me over every mistake" He rubbed his hands together "I can still smell the tannin"
"I am pretty sure that's just how you always smell," Thalos smirked. Garrick pushed him lightly "Yeah, yeah keep talking and I'll tell Brynn. Oh Brynn, the great Thalos begged me to ask you to go on another one of your amazing adventures maybe we ca" Thalos checked his shoulder against Garricks "That's enough I actually need to stay out of trouble today"
"Okay whatever you say, but don't come complaining to me when we discover a super cool amazing hideout and your not invited" Thalos just smiled and shook his head. While walking in silence he heard Garrick humming a tune he didn't recognize. This was common, anytime Garrick didn't know what to say, or was just bored he would start humming, Thalos stopped asking a long time ago.
As the Great hall loomed ahead, rising above the smaller buildings, its large double wooden doors were already ajar, light passed through the doors as people moved in and out. Just before they reached the entrance, two more figures appeared from the side street leading in from the western side of the great hall. Brynn and Orin, Already in conversation.
Brynn, as usual, was speaking with her hands, making large wild gestures, her bright red hair catching in the wind adding to the chaotic scene, as Orin walked beside her, his hood from his cloak over his head. Brynn spotted them first, raised her hand straight in the air, and then brought it down quickly with one finger pointing at Thalos and Garrick. "They are here Orin!" Orin looked as though Brynn already dragged him through a pack of snow boars. "Of course they are here Brynn, we all go to school here." Brynn grabbed Orin's shoulders and shook him "You are so boring!! can't you at least pretend to be excited" Orin sighed "Oh wow. Look our friends, exactly where they are every morning" Brynn stopped shaking him "Fine you are never any fun"
Thalos walked up, seeing Brynn with her arms crossed obviously looking away from Orin, twirling a strand of red hair around one of her fingers, a clear sign she was upset. "What did you do to him now?" "I didn't do anything, because he WON'T do anything" Garrick started laughing "we can always just bring the fun to him" Before anyone could answer Elara Stepped out from the doors of the Great hall her dark braids neatly tucked inside her cloak, her eyes narrowing at the group. "You all are so loud. Are you all going in? Or is everyone just going to stand outside like idiots?"
"Oh yes the only non-idiot is here" Brynn smirked. The group followed her inside. The lesson was about to begin.
The Great hall was more than just a place of learning. It was the heart of Frosthelm. It kept scripts and books that the humans had long before the march north. Its thick walls were strong enough to resist even the worst of storms, braced by massive wooden beams that went straight up and arched overhead. At the center of it all, Sitting above the main chamber was the carved antler of a massive Snowstrider. Legends often read that this one came from a mythical creature that the old heroes hunted in the forest long ago. It hung high on the ceiling, mounted in place by iron brackets, Its smooth ivory surface held old runes and carvings that even the elders no longer knew their meanings. Unlike the smaller antlers, this one pulsed with a deep blue glow, stronger than any others in the village, Its light streaking along the wooden beams like icicles across the sky.
The glow from the antler met the firelight below, creating an unsettling contrast, the warm golden rays of the fire, clashing with the cold blue above, the result was something otherworldly. Thalos and his friends walked into the main hall and headed to the western wall, where the doors to the classrooms awaited them. As Elara pushed open the wooden door, rows of wooden benches lined the rooms, students sat on furs and leathers placed on the floor. The small braziers that lined the walls made the cold more bearable, but their breath was still faintly visible in the air.
Thalos sat on a pile of Frostfox fur, and ran his fingers on the old carvings and runes on the wooden bench. Garrick took a seat beside him, sitting crossed-legged and crossed armed. The voices of the other children talking, interrupted his thoughts.
"I can't wait till we are older and we can start using a sword" Garrick's voice sounded distracted, lost in thought.
Thalos didn't reply, he thought of what he would do once he turned seventeen. He thought about spending the rest of his life cutting wood, and leaving to hunt like his father. He thought about whether he would be stuck in Frosthelm all his life. Then Mistress Elwen entered and walked to the front of the room. She was a thin woman, dark hair pulled back tightly, with fur and beads that rattled softly every time she moved. Her gaze was known for silencing even the loudest students.
She clapped her hands twice. It was something she did, it was her way of saying the class was about to begin, the murmurs and voices slowly fell into silence as she scanned the room looking each student in the eye before starting. "Now then everyone, are we ready to begin?" She turned and walked to the front of the class. "Today I have a surprise, so we are going to talk about the other races" Everyone shifted at the thought. While fascinating, history lessons were more frustrating than anything. Frustrating because we lost so much. And history of the other races were even rarer.
Mistress Elwen folded her arms "Who here knows the other races ?" A girl near the front of the class blurted out. "Elves, Small people, And beast people!" small chuckles made their way through the class. Thalos saw Elara shaking her head at the answer. "Close lyra, Elves, Dwarves, and Beastmen, though beast people aren't wrong. We have come to call them Beastmen" Mistress Elwen turned and pulled back rows of hanging furs that were put up before they arrived. Behind them was a large map carved in tanned hide. She picked up a small bone that was shaped into a fine point at the end. "As everyone knows our world is called Beloria. We were pushed away from the main lands, and forced to live in endless winters." Her hands started in the middle of the map that read Beloria, and slowly trailed up to the top middle of the map, just under drawings of mountains with the text Frosthelm. "From the last time we heard about them, the dwarves took over the eastern fields and kept going east, our tales tell us that there are massive mountains that the dwarves carved into, living inside the stone."
The bone pointer drifted back down to the middle right, as she moved her hand until the pointer was off of the map. Thalos followed the pointer. He had heard of the other races, but no one talked about them. Why did they attack us? Why hasn't any other race come looking for us? A sharp crackling of bone to hide brought Thalos back to the lesson.
Mistress Elwen struck the hide with the bone pointer, right at the center of the map. "The middle fields and south once belonged to us and the Beastmen, and to the far west past the Vyrath river the elves used their magic to seal themselves off from the rest of the world." Her hand moved from the far right, to the far left of the map, then tracing the massive river that circled around the entire continent, streams and rivers cutting far into land. She turned back to the class "any questions?"
A few hands shot up into the air. She picked a young boy near the back. "Why did they hate us?" "Good question. We don't know the exact answer, but there was a large war that drove us here" Brynn's voice came next, loud, her arms crossed with an annoyed look on her face." Then why didn't we just fight back? We could've pummeled those weaklings!" Mistress Elwen smiled softly. "You should really raise your hand Brynn, But we did fight back, and we lost, as you all know humans can't use magic. And that was our biggest weakness." The class fell silent, they didn't often talk about magic, or the wonders of the world. But compared to the other races, humans were the least gifted, and they all knew that.
Mistress Elwen reached for a book that was behind her wooden table. Its deep emerald cover absorbed the blue glow from above and the orange flames lining the walls, making the silver text shimmer like untouched ice under the sun. The letters along its spine, unlike the sloppy, and crude human text, seemed etched not on, but within the book itself. It was an elven script.
"This", She said, opening the cover to reveal the first pages. "It is one of the only Elven books that made it with us. With this, even if we can't use magic the same way the elves did, we can see it." As the first pages opened, lights danced around the book, green, blue, purple, orbs that were creating an image. The image came into view, elven text came to life, the colors changed once more, and in the pictures there was a massive river, elves were gathered on either side of it, holding some sort of festival.
"Elven books are much different then ours, as you can see, instead of text, the elves weave magic into their pages in an art form called Lumiscription, Using this, images can be projected instead. We are still studying the elven language, but this book is titled, The Tales Of The Vyrath"
A murmur spread through the students, as they watched the images in fascination, Thalos felt a pull toward it. Something about the book, the images, sparked his curiosity more than anything could in Frosthelm. "What is the Vyrath?" Thalos meant to think it, but he must have mistakenly said it loud enough for others to hear.
"That is what we all want to know about Thalos" Thalos broke his gaze from the book, and looked up at Mistress Elwen. She had a soft, almost sad expression, "All we know is that the Vyrath played a pivotal role in creation. It's a river that touches the furthest reaches of Beloria, it is said the Vyrath is the reason for all life, even to this day we keep old sayings such as, By The Grace Of The Vyrath. Sadly we may never recover the true stories"
The lesson continued, but Thalos barely heard the rest, His eyes remained on the elven book, his imagination spawning to life old wars, magical beings, celebrations, all centered around the Vyrath. He imagined himself a mighty warrior, capable of using the strongest of magic, whatever that may be. Protecting the innocent, And defeating evil. His imagination only deepened as every time the light touched the letters on the book they shimmered and seemed to shift as he watched them. But this was all in a young boy's head. The lesson ended and Garrick nudged him to get up. The world disappeared, the warrior he was vanished, and he was once again sitting on the cold floor. A young boy who will be forever stuck in the snow.
End of Chapter 1 - A Boy in The Cold