Ancestral Lineage

Frosteria stands as a kingdom sculpted from ice, a realm untouched by time and unbothered by the world beyond its frozen borders. The air is crisp and pure, carrying the scent of eternal winter. The skies above are an endless expanse of pale blue, with drifting snowflakes that never touch the ground, suspended in the wind as if caught between moments.

The city is built from towering spires of crystalline ice, their edges glinting under the soft glow of twin moons that hover eternally above. Great bridges of frozen glass stretch between the peaks, arching over vast rivers locked in a state of never-melting frost. Streets paved with enchanted permafrost pulse with a faint luminescence, lighting the way for those who walk upon them.

The silence of Frosteria is not lifeless but instead filled with the quiet hum of ice shifting and wind whispering through the narrow corridors of the frozen city. Delicate frost blooms curl along the walls of grand halls, their petals frozen yet never breaking. The waters that run through the kingdom are not liquid but a strange, flowing ice, moving like a slow river encased in a translucent sheath of cold.

Above the city, ice-crusted peaks rise into the heavens, their jagged forms resembling the fangs of a sleeping beast. Glaciers loom in the distance, their deep chasms hiding mysteries that have remained undisturbed for centuries. The northernmost reaches of Frosteria are blanketed in an eternal blizzard, an endless storm that neither weakens nor strengthens, simply existing as a barrier between the realm of ice and whatever lies beyond.

In the lower districts, massive sculptures of frozen beasts and celestial beings stand, carved with meticulous detail, as if watching over the city. Some appear newly shaped, while others bear the marks of age, their edges softened by the gentle touch of time.

The wind moves differently here. It carries voices—not of the living, but echoes of the past, whispers frozen within the air, only heard by those who truly listen. In the dead of night, the snowfalls turn luminous, glowing faintly as if the stars themselves have descended upon the kingdom.

Yet, beneath the beauty, there is an unshakable stillness, a cold that goes beyond mere temperature. Frosteria is a place where time feels slower, where nothing ever truly changes, and where the ice itself seems to watch, waiting for something.

Beneath the frozen heart of Frosteria, something stirs.

For centuries, it has remained buried in the ice, locked away in a prison of its own making. The weight of time presses down, yet it does not wither. It does not age. It does not change. It only waits.

Frosteria thrives above, a kingdom sculpted from the essence of winter itself. Spires of crystalline ice stretch toward the pale sky, their surfaces reflecting the soft glow of an eternal frost. The bridges, delicate yet unyielding, shimmer beneath the feet of the frost spirits as they move with the grace of snowflakes drifting through a winter breeze. Their laughter rings through the cold air, a sound like the chime of distant ice, carefree and unaware.

They do not remember.

They have long forgotten the truth beneath their feet, buried beneath layers of history rewritten and myths softened by the passage of time. They speak of the Great Frost, of the spirits who shaped the land and carved their empire from the glaciers, but they do not speak of her. They do not know that their kingdom is built upon something far older than their bloodline, something that does not belong to them.

The ice shifts. Just slightly. A sound so faint that even the wind does not carry it.

Unlike them, she does not bear the traits of winter. She is winter.

Where their icicle-shaped horns gleam like polished frost, hers are jagged and ancient, formed from glaciers that have never known the touch of sunlight. Where their wings are white and feathery, hers are vast and crystalline, each frozen feather sharp enough to cut through the very air. Where their icy blue eyes shimmer like frozen lakes, hers are endless voids of winter, hollow and unfathomable, as if the cold itself had learned to see.

A crack forms in the deep ice. It is small, nearly imperceptible, a single fracture in the slumber of ages.

The frost spirits above do not hear it. They dance, they feast, they carve their histories into the walls of their frozen halls, never questioning the foundation upon which they stand.

But the foundation is shifting.

Slowly, steadily, the frost creeps deeper, colder, darker.

She is stirring.

And soon, Frosteria will remember.

...

The wind howled like a wounded beast, its icy fangs tearing at Ethan's coat as he stood atop the frozen peak. Snow whipped around him in a furious dance, blinding and relentless. The world was white—endless and merciless, the kind of cold that gnawed at the bones and sank deep into the soul.

Across from him, the yeti snarled.

It was a monstrous thing, towering over even the tallest of men, its thick, snow-caked fur rippling with raw muscle. Frost clung to its massive arms, and when it exhaled, a mist of pure ice billowed from its nostrils. Pale blue eyes, filled with primal rage, locked onto Ethan. Then, with a deafening roar, it charged.

Ethan didn't move.

The yeti barreled forward, each step shaking the mountain beneath them. It swung a claw the size of a man's torso, aiming to cleave him in half.

At the last second, Ethan tilted his head, the attack missing by a hair's breadth. The sheer force of the swing split the air apart, sending a shockwave through the ice and snow. Chunks of frozen rock broke off the mountain, plummeting into the abyss below.

Ethan sighed, stretching his neck lazily. "That all you got?"

The yeti roared again, this time slamming both fists into the ground. The ice trembled violently, forming jagged spikes that shot upward to skewer him.

Ethan took a step forward.

The moment his foot touched the ground, a surge of magic pulsed outward. The spikes shattered into a fine mist, dissolving into harmless flakes of snow. The yeti hesitated, confusion flickering in its pale eyes.

Smirking, Ethan vanished.

A split second later, he reappeared behind the beast, hands in his coat pockets. "Too slow."

The yeti barely had time to react before a wave of force slammed into its back, sending it crashing into the mountainside with a thunderous impact. The cliffside shattered, avalanches spilling down the peaks as the beast let out a bellow of pain.

Ethan strolled toward the crater where the yeti lay, groaning and half-buried in debris. He crouched, golden eyes gleaming with amusement. Find exclusive stories on My Virtual Library Empire

"Come on now," he murmured. "I know you're tougher than that."

The yeti's breath came in ragged huffs. It wasn't just in pain—it was afraid.

And that made Ethan smile.

The yeti's ragged breaths echoed through the frozen air, its massive chest rising and falling as it struggled to move. Fear flickered in its pale blue eyes, a realization dawning upon the beast—it was prey.

Ethan sighed, tilting his head as he stared down at the wounded creature. Snowflakes danced around him, the wind howling as if whispering secrets only he could understand. He exhaled, a misty breath curling in the icy air.

"Disappointing," he muttered. "I expected more from something that calls itself king of the peaks."

The yeti's ears twitched, and in that moment, something changed.

The air grew heavier, charged with a chilling power that made even Ethan's skin tingle. The yeti let out a guttural snarl, its muscles bulging as veins of frost-blue energy pulsed beneath its thick fur. Its wounds froze over instantly, sealed by a layer of shimmering ice.

Ethan's smirk widened. "Ah… there it is."

With a deafening roar, the yeti launched itself at him.

This time, it was faster—much faster.

A claw came streaking toward him, sharper than before, coated in condensed ice so cold it crackled through the air. Ethan leaned back, barely dodging as the claw passed within an inch of his face. The sheer force of the swing sent a violent gust blasting past him, slicing through a nearby mountain peak as if it were made of paper.

Ethan landed lightly on his feet, brushing off a few stray snowflakes from his shoulder. "Now that's more like it."

The yeti wasted no time. It stomped on the ground, and the mountain responded.

Pillars of ice erupted in a massive arc, cutting off Ethan's escape routes. The yeti followed through with another strike, bringing both of its colossal fists down in an earth-shattering slam.

Ethan, however, simply raised a single finger.

The moment the fists connected, an invisible force stopped them dead in their tracks. The air itself cracked and rippled under the weight of the impact, but Ethan stood motionless, his finger pressed lightly against the yeti's knuckles.

The beast's eyes widened in disbelief.

Ethan grinned. "Cute trick."

Then, with a flick of his finger, a shockwave exploded outward.

The yeti was hurled backward like a ragdoll, crashing through layers of thick ice and rock, tearing through the mountainside like a falling meteor. The entire peak trembled from the force, avalanches roaring in the distance.

Ethan exhaled slowly, watching the destruction unfold.

"Alright, big guy," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "You had your warm-up."

He took a step forward, the ice beneath his foot cracking apart from the sheer pressure of his presence. His golden eyes gleamed, the excitement in them unmistakable.

"Now, let's see how much you can really take."