The wind howled like a dying wolf through the Eclipse Peak Gorge. Snowflakes, sharp and cold as shards of glass, danced in the endless blizzard, burying the traces of hooves that struggled along the nearly invisible path. Upon a jet-black horse whose breath billowed in thick clouds sat a man who seemed woven from the darkness itself.
His name was Valerius.
A heavy cloak the color of soot draped his tall, broad-shouldered frame, its tattered hem whipping wildly in the wind. The hood was drawn low, concealing most of his face, but not enough to hide a pair of sharp blue eyes—blue like the heart of some ancient glacier, radiating a calm, deadly cold. Strands of jet-black hair slipped free now and then, stark against his pale northern skin.
They had traveled for weeks, leaving the warmth of civilization far behind. Their destination was the remote village of Oakhaven, a tiny dot on the map surrounded by savage wilderness. The rumors that had reached Valerius spoke of terror clutching the village—creatures of the night risen from their frozen graves, slaughtering livestock and dragging villagers into the darkness. Work like this was Valerius's specialty. Not as a hero, but as a professional—someone paid to face nightmares others dared not confront.
His horse, Boreas, snorted uneasily. Its ears flicked in agitation, and its steps grew hesitant. Valerius reached out and stroked the horse's neck, his gloved hand feeling the trembling beneath the hide.
"Easy, my friend," Valerius murmured, his voice deep and resonant, as though echoing from within a cavern of ice. "I feel it too."
The air around them grew unnaturally cold. This was no longer the chill of a mountain storm—this was a cold that gnawed at the soul, carrying the scent of death and grave dust. From behind the thick curtain of snow, shapes began to form. They moved wrong, lurching forward like puppets whose strings had been half-severed.
Valerius pulled the reins, halting Boreas. His eyes narrowed, searching the blizzard. Three, four, then a dozen hunched figures emerged from the darkness. Their skin stretched tight and grey over bones, eyes glowing with a hungry, pale blue light. Long, filthy ice claws jutted from their fingers. Frost-ghouls. Lowly creatures—but deadly in numbers.
With calm, practiced motions, Valerius dismounted. He did not reach for the steel sword sheathed at his hip. That weapon was only a contingency. His true power required no forge.
He raised his bare right hand, the air around it crackling with energy. Tiny ice crystals began to form, spinning around him in a silent orbit.
"Exaudi me, gelu aeternum..." he whispered, ancient words heavy on his tongue. "...forma ensem."(Hear me, eternal frost... shape a sword.)
The air in his palm condensed. Moisture froze in an instant, forming a long, slender blade of transparent ice. A faint blue glow pulsed from its core. This was no ordinary ice—it was the substance of his will, harder than steel, colder than death itself. The Eternal Blizzard.
The first ghoul lunged with a rasping shriek. Valerius met it with a single stroke of the blade. There was no clash of steel—only a sharp crack, like a tree splitting in the dead of winter. The ghoul's arm shattered into splinters of ice at the touch of the blade, and the next swing cleaved it from shoulder to hip, freezing it solid before it fell apart in shards.
Two more rushed him from the flanks. Valerius did not turn.
"Celeritas crystalli, sagitta frigoris."(Speed of crystal, arrow of frost.)
From the back of his free hand, three razor-edged ice projectiles burst forth like arrows, each piercing a ghoul's skull with pitiless precision. They dropped silently, gaping holes in their heads already frosting over.
But the swarm pressed closer, encircling him. Valerius thrust the ice sword into the snow at his feet.
"Vincula hiemis, surgite de terra!"(Chains of winter, rise from the earth!)
The ground beneath the ghouls erupted. Thick, barbed tendrils of ice shot up, coiling around limbs and torsos. The creatures thrashed and snarled, but the bonds only tightened, icy spikes driving into their frozen flesh. For a moment, the battlefield fell still, filled only by the creak of straining ice and the ghouls' frustrated growls.
From the center of the trapped horde, a larger shape emerged. This ghoul stood nearly twice the height of the others, jagged ice protruding from its spine like a second row of bones. It released an ear-splitting roar as a ball of crackling, blackish-blue energy formed between its claws.
The creature hurled the orb at Valerius. This was no physical blow—it was a freezing curse, raw magic meant to snuff out life itself.
Valerius did not flinch. He raised his hand, palm open.
"Aegis crystallina, scutum animae meae."(Crystal aegis, shield of my soul.)
A hexagonal, transparent shield flared into existence before him, shimmering with pure icy energy. Its shape resembled a colossal snowflake. The dark orb struck it with a dull explosion. Webs of fractures spread across the shield's surface, but it held fast, absorbing and neutralizing the foul magic before dissolving into a glittering haze.
The leader ghoul's eyes widened in shock. That instant was enough.
"Spiritus montis, custodi glaciali, excitare!"(Spirit of the mountain, glacial warden, awaken!)
The snow and ice around Valerius churned violently. The ground trembled as massive chunks of frozen earth rose and fused, taking the shape of a towering humanoid. An ice golem, three meters tall, its eyes glowing the same cold blue as its master's, loomed over the battlefield.
With a silent command, Valerius sent it forward. One huge arm swung down, crushing the ensnared ghouls like dry twigs. The leader tried to resist, but the golem seized it in a giant hand and squeezed. The crunch of bones and ice echoed briefly through the gorge before silence reclaimed the night.
The golem stood motionless a moment before collapsing back into lifeless snow. The sword in Valerius's hand dissolved into cold mist. Complete quiet settled over the gorge once more, broken only by the eternal howl of the wind.
Valerius drew a long breath, feeling a tightness in his chest. Every spell, every manifestation of the Eternal Blizzard, demanded a price. A cold fatigue crept through his veins—not muscle exhaustion, but a draining of the spirit itself. He looked down at his trembling hand, then slowly curled it into a fist.
He walked to Boreas, now calm again, and swung into the saddle. His gaze turned to the narrow path vanishing among jagged peaks. Oakhaven still lay far ahead.
Without thinking, his gloved fingers touched a simple pendant hidden beneath his tunic—a silver locket, cold against his skin. A memory flickered in his mind—a warm smile, laughter in a sunlit royal garden, a promise spoken under a summer sky. Memories of another life, of a world that had long since slipped away.
His expression hardened. That warmth was a luxury he no longer possessed. Now, there was only the eternal winter. And he was its master.
Drawing his cloak tighter, Valerius nudged the horse forward, riding on into the frozen heart of darkness. This battle was only the beginning—the first echo of the storm yet to come.