Frostwoven Souls

Frostwoven Souls

The wind howled, slashing through the fabric of Lirael’s cloak, and her breath appeared in sharp, ragged clouds, disappearing into the vast white wilderness. The cold gnawed at her, but it wasn’t just physical. It was something deeper, something relentless, clawing its way into her soul. Every step she took felt like it was pulling her down. The weight of the curse binding her to the eternal winter was a heavy burden, one that had long ago stolen the warmth from her body. She couldn’t remember what it was like to feel heat, to feel alive.

But she couldn’t stop. The storm wasn’t just weather anymore. It was as though the blizzard had a mind of its own, a force that wanted to consume her whole. Lirael’s boots sank into the deep snow, her legs shaking with the effort to keep moving. She could feel the frost creeping inside her chest, like ice spreading through her veins.

She needed to get to the lair. She needed to find him.

But the wind didn’t care. It cut deeper, sharp like glass, and with every step, it felt like her strength was evaporating. She staggered forward, tripping on something unseen, her foot caught on a root. She fell face-first into the snow, her body heavy and stiff.

Just when she thought she couldn’t go any further, her eyes caught a glimpse of something. Through the curtain of snow, a dark shape was an opening in the mountainside. A cave, barely visible against the white wasteland. With a final, desperate push, Lirael dragged herself toward it, every movement painful, every breath a struggle. She crawled into the cave just as the storm reached a deafening crescendo.

The moment the icy wind died away, a thick silence swallowed her whole. She shivered uncontrollably, trembling not only from the cold but from the weight of the curse hanging over her. But then, in the soft flicker of the fire she managed to kindle, she saw something that made her heart stop.

A relic. Old, ancient, but unmistakable, a map. Faded and torn at the edges, but clear enough to see. It marked the way to the Frost King’s fortress. It was the answer to everything.

Lirael could feel a flicker of hope, the kind that had long been absent, crawl up her spine. But even as her fingers brushed the fraying edges of the map, she knew this wasn’t just a map. It was a warning. The path to the Frost King would be as much a reckoning as it was a journey.

And yet, she had no choice.

The next day, Lirael met up with Kalen and Thessia at the cave’s entrance. They stood in the snow, their breath billowing in the air like ghosts. Kalen, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, scanned the horizon. There was no warmth in his posture. Thessia, on the other hand, was fidgeting, kicking at the snow with her boots, her face marked by a mix of impatience and uncertainty.

“Ready to freeze to death?” Thessia asked, trying to sound lighthearted, but there was a nervous edge in her voice.

Lirael didn’t respond immediately. Her focus was elsewhere, on the map, on the way forward. The cold was unbearable, gnawing at the last remnants of warmth in her body.

Kalen broke the silence. “We don’t have time for jokes.” His voice was gruff, rough from too many days without rest. He was used to battle, not to this. Not to the cold.

Lirael glanced at him. His face was a mask of tension, his jaw tight. There was more to him, more to all of them, than what met the eye, but now wasn’t the time for that. “We move,” she said, her voice low but firm.

They set off toward the mountains. The wind picked up again, howling louder with every step. Lirael could feel the curse tightening around her chest like a vice. She pulled her cloak tighter, the fur-lined edges scratching against her skin. The air tasted like metal, cold and sterile.

Thessia hummed something to herself, trying to fill the silence with noise, but it only made the stillness worse. Every step they took seemed to drag them further into the storm, further away from everything they knew.

Hours passed, but time felt irrelevant. The cold was a constant presence, like a shadow that hung over them, waiting for its chance to consume. Kalen’s sharp eyes were constantly scanning the horizon, looking for danger. Thessia’s voice, usually full of life and mischief, had quieted as they moved forward.

They stopped for a brief rest, sitting huddled against the cliffs, the wind howling around them. Lirael could feel the weight of the curse more strongly now. Her limbs were stiff, her skin more fragile than ever, and she knew she couldn’t go on much longer without consequences.

“You don’t look so good,” Thessia remarked, her voice cutting through the stillness.

“I’m fine,” Lirael said, though the words tasted bitter in her mouth. She could feel the frost eating away at her curling around her fingers, freezing her blood. But she didn’t have time to rest. “We need to keep moving.”

The words had no sooner left her mouth than Kalen stood up, his hand instinctively going to his sword. The sudden movement startled Lirael, but she was quick to follow his lead.

A snow beast appeared out of the swirling storm a massive, snarling creature made of ice and snow, its eyes glowing a pale blue. Its jagged teeth were sharp enough to pierce steel.

They fought, and it was brutal. The creature’s claws scraped against Kalen’s armor, but his sword found its mark, slicing through the creature’s icy hide.

Lirael wasn’t sure if she was fighting the beast or just struggling to keep herself from falling apart. She swung her own dagger, the cold steel slipping through the air like it was weighed down by a thousand pounds of snow.

Finally, the beast fell, its body dissolving into a pile of ice shards. The snow was stained with blood.

“That was too close,” Kalen muttered, his voice gruff but filled with relief.

“We need to rest,” Lirael said, collapsing to the snow. “We don’t have much time.”

They reached the valley just as the storm picked up again. The air was thicker here, suffocating, and Lirael could feel the curse strangling her, tightening around her chest. She couldn’t breathe properly.

They found shelter between two cliffs, a narrow gap barely wide enough for all of them. But it was enough. They built a fire, though it was weak and flickered in the harsh wind. The warmth was only temporary, just enough to keep the worst of the cold at bay.

As they sat around the fire, Lirael watched Kalen. There was something different about him. His eyes were distant, lost in thought. And Thessia, who had been so energetic earlier, was now silent, her gaze fixed on the flames.

“What is this place?” Lirael asked suddenly, her voice low.

Kalen looked up, his face pale. “It’s where it all began.” He didn’t elaborate, but Lirael could see the pain in his eyes.

The fire crackled between them, the only sound in the cold silence. And then, as the wind began to howl again, Lirael realized the truth: this wasn’t just a journey to defeat the Frost King. It was a journey into Kalen’s past.

By the time they reached the fortress, the world felt suffocating. The cold was a constant, and the oppressive silence of the ice palace pressed down on them like a weight. They moved through the palace’s halls, the air thick with the scent of old stone and decay. The sounds of cracking ice echoed through the walls, reminding them that time was running out.

At the heart of the palace stood the throne icy, jagged, and formidable.

Kalen stopped, his eyes fixed on it, his breath shallow. “This is where he sits,” he murmured. “This is where my brother…”

The words hit Lirael like a punch to the gut.

Kalen’s brother. The Frost King. She stared at him, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. The Frost King, the one they’d come to destroy, the one who had cursed her was Kalen’s brother.

The realization struck Kalen like a blow. He gripped his sword tighter, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his weakness. “I failed him,” Kalen said, his voice raw. “I couldn’t save him. I thought I could… but now, I’m just as much a prisoner of this curse as he is.”

The battle was fierce. The Frost King rose from his icy throne, his form more monstrous than human. He was a shadow of what Kalen had once known, twisted by the curse that bound him to the frost. His voice echoed through the halls, cold and mocking.

Lirael fought with all she had, but her body was giving in to the cold. The frost was eating at her from the inside. She could feel it in her chest, tightening, suffocating. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight anymore.

She had to end it.

With the last of her strength, Lirael plunged the relic into the Frost King’s chest. A wave of heat exploded from the artifact, melting the ice and shattering the fortress around them. The world seemed to breathe again as the storm began to die down.

Lirael fell to her knees in the snow, the weight of everything the journey, the battle, the curse finally taking its toll. Her breath was shallow, her heart slow.

Kalen knelt beside her, his face stricken with grief. “You did it,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Lirael smiled, her lips cracked and pale. “I’m free,” she said softly.

The world was no longer frozen.