At high noon, the clouds grew dark over the Winter Manor — not from the setting of the sun, but from the smoke of a fire. Servants rushed in and out of the manor as they tried their best to quench the flames that had taken hold of one of the rooms. Those with water-based gifts attempted to douse the blaze, but it only grew stronger, wilder, fiercer, and burned brighter.
An old servant attempted to get close and examine the strangeness of the fire, but mere inches away from the flame, his body caught ablaze. His agonized scream and the smell of sizzling flesh made the message clear.
No one was to get close — not if they valued their lives.
But even those who kept their distance could see the fire was odd. It didn't spread, but rather contained itself within the room it consumed. It twisted, turned, remained shapeless, but still refused to cross the four corners of the chamber.
Bam!
The door to the room burst open, and a body was thrown out. The figure was small and frail, unconscious from poisonous fumes, his face covered in soot.
The fire roared louder, heat bursting forth like a beast unchained.
The servants edged closer to check on the person, yet still kept their distance, the old man's screams etched vividly in their minds.
"It's Aildris," a female servant said softly as she leaned closer to the body. Most of the others rolled their eyes, while some pretended not to hear her.
The child wasn't worth their time. Their concern was how they would explain this to Alias.
The woman bent down and picked Aildris up, doing her best to avoid the flames. She heard him mumbling and brought her ear close to his lips.
"Mother… don't use your gift. You'll be trapped. It'll only make the fire stronger," he rambled unconsciously.
"There's someone else inside!" the woman shouted in panic. From his words, she already knew who it was.
"Who?" one of the servants asked, straining to hear her over the crackle of burning wood.
"Lady Isla!" the servant cried out.
"What's going on here? Why hasn't the fire been put out?"
The voice behind them froze their blood. Cold, commanding — and unmistakable. Alias had arrived.
The female servant, unaware of his presence, shouted again:
"Lady Isla is still inside the fire!"
Now everyone had heard it. The hallway fell into a tense silence. Alias's sapphire eyes widened in panic.
"What?" he roared.
Striding toward the room, he shoved a young servant aside. The man's body slammed into the wall and lay still — unconscious, or perhaps worse. No one dared check.
Alias didn't care. His mind was fixed on only one thing. He could see the blaze: bright, violent flames devouring all in their path. The heat licked at his body, but it couldn't touch him — he was far too cold for that.
He stepped forward. Frost spread from the soles of his feet, ice creeping across the floor, swallowing the untamed fire. In mere seconds, the entire room was covered in a sheet of glistening ice.
The fire was gone.
The smell of charred wood lingered, a grim testament to the chaos moments before. Alias's steps grew heavy as he walked deeper into the frozen room. There — he saw her.
Isla.
Her body lay motionless in a corner. Each step felt like walking through an endless tunnel, the light at the end always just out of reach. But finally, he reached her.
He dropped to his knees, hands trembling as they brushed her charred skin. No pulse.
He turned her gently, lifting her face. Once beautiful, now marred by soot. For a moment, her eyelids fluttered open.
Alias's voice cracked as he barked to the servants: "Get me a healer!"
The servants, still dazed by the sudden frozen domain, scrambled to obey. Healers were rare, their gifts extraordinary, sought after across the districts. The stronger their power, the greater the feats they could perform. But their rarity was a problem.
Alias turned back to Isla. Her eyes were wide now, locked with his sapphire gaze. Her lips moved, words strained by unbearable pain.
"Take… care of… him."
That was all. Her eyes shut, and with them the last sliver of life she clung to slipped away.
Alias felt it — something inside him broke. A part of him had died with her.
"Where is that damned healer?!" he roared.
The servants had never seen him like this — a breaking man, desperate to protect what was already lost.
A tear slid down his cheek, freezing into ice before it touched the ground.
There was no point in a healer now. They could heal, but they could not raise the dead.
Slowly, Alias rose, Isla's lifeless body cradled in his arms. His gaze shifted back to the servant woman still clutching Aildris's unconscious body.
"Get him to the healer. When he recovers, send him to me."
Nothing more was said. No one dared. The manor's hallways sank into silence, haunted by grief and flame.