Chains That Burn Like Ice
Ryu jerked awake to the sound of his own teeth chattering.
His arms were stretched above him, wrists locked in crystalline shackles that pulsed with blue-white frost. Every breath he exhaled drifted out as a cloud of frozen mist.
The cold wasn't normal.
It wasn't weather.
It was engineered.
Ryu pulled against the bindings — but the moment he tried to summon fire, agony shot down his arms.
Agh—! Cold— too cold— what the hell is this place!?
His fingers were turning blue. His dreadlocks stiff with frost. Even his chest felt sluggish, as if every heartbeat had to punch through ice.
Internal monologue churned through him like a desperate furnace:
I can't ignite…
Why can't I ignite!?
Why am I freezing? This isn't normal cold.
That woman— how did I not sense her at all? And Cryos—
He replayed the moment in the shop:
Cryos showing off ice-katana tricks behind him.
The tremor.
The silence.
And then—
A tap to the neck.
A blur of blue hair.
A smile cold enough to stop a star.
He hadn't even seen her coming.
Ryu groaned. "This is the worst prison I've ever been in and I've been in like… four."
A voice drifted through the air.
"I expected you to put up more of a fight, Crownless Flame."
Ryu's head snapped up.
She stood in front of his cell like a winter goddess sculpted from moonlight and ego.
Lysandra Kryos.
Tall. Impossibly elegant. Hair like glacial silk.
Eyes cold enough to calcify the bloodstream.
And a smile that said she knew exactly how beautiful she was — and how dangerous.
She tapped a finger on her hip, leaning in.
"A cold woman like me needs a man who can keep up. I was hoping you'd burn a little brighter."
Her voice dipped into a playful mockery.
"Instead, you're shivering like a puppy in snow."
Ryu glared. "Release me and I'll show you bright."
She smirked. "Adorable."
With a flick of her hand, she tossed a small, limp body into a neighboring cell.
Cryos slid across the ice floor with a soft thud.
"CRYOS!" Ryu snapped, instinctively trying to rush forward—only to be yanked back by the frozen chains. Pain spiked through him again.
"Oh relax," Lysandra said lazily. "He's alive. I'm not in the habit of killing little boys."
Before Ryu could respond, soft footsteps echoed through the chamber.
Four figures entered.
Four silhouettes draped in ceremonial frost-silk.
The Elder Saints.
Their bodies were twisted by sacrifice — eyes sealed behind strips of opaque, holy cloth.
One had no arms.
Another's chest glowed where a heart should be.
All four radiated devotion so thick it felt suffocating.
They recited in perfect unison:
"In frost, we offer.
In breath, we give.
In silence, we ascend.
Praise the Winter God."
Ryu felt bile rise. These people are insane.
"Lady Kryos," one elder rasped.
"You have succeeded. The heavens must be pleased."
Lysandra raised a hand, stopping them mid-bow.
"No.
The mission isn't complete."
The elders stiffened.
"But— the Crownless Flame— we heard rumors that the Sentients killed the brothers long ago—"
"They didn't," Lysandra said, almost cheerfully.
She paced, boots clicking sharply against the froststone floor.
"When I arrived in Val Coris, I assumed the little uprising was that crazy old king's doing—"
Ryu blinked. King? Who—
Lysandra's tone sharpened.
"—but imagine my surprise when I walked into Frosted Relics and felt three enormous cosmic signatures, all trying way too hard to hide."
Ryu snarled, "Guess you can sense everything except personal boundaries."
She winked.
"And that's why I'm so good at my job."
The elders leaned forward eagerly.
"Lady Kryos… if all three brothers are here… what do you intend to do with them?"
The temperature dropped.
Frost crept across the walls.
Lysandra's smile widened—terrifyingly radiant.
"What else?" she purred.
"I'm going to use them."
Ryu's pulse spiked.
"For what?" he growled.
Lysandra stepped close to his cell, eyes burning with psychotic ambition.
"You three are going to help me ascend."
"To become the one thing this pathetic universe desperately needs…"
She spread her arms dramatically.
"A new.
True.
Goddess."
The chamber boomed with silence.
_____
The Ice Queen's Psychology Lesson
Ryu stared at Lysandra for a long, frozen second.
Then he laughed.
A raw, breathless laugh that broke through the cold.
"You? A goddess? Lady, you're pretty—sure. You've got the whole ice-queen-supermodel thing going. But you're also clearly insane."
Her smile didn't break.
It twitched.
Just slightly.
Enough to make the temperature plummet a full ten degrees.
"Oh, Ryu," she purred. "You really don't understand how this works."
Ryu smirked, ignoring the pain in his wrists. "Enlighten me, Elsa."
Her expression shattered.
"Rebels like you don't get to mock gods."
A weapon materialized in her hand—
a staff sculpted from translucent ice, sharp enough to fracture bone by proximity alone.
With a motion too fast for the eye, she thrust it through the bars.
The impact CRACKED against Ryu's ribs.
Suspended by chains, he jerked violently, coughing as pain tore across his chest.
Still—
he grinned.
"Aw. That your love tap?"
Lysandra stepped closer, eyes blazing with a fury that seemed older than she was.
"You think you're untouchable because you survived the Sentients.
Because people are whispering the name 'Crownless Flame.'"
She jabbed him again, harder.
Ryu's breath hitched—but he refused to scream.
"You three brothers," she hissed, voice dripping venom, "have no idea what real devotion means. What sacrifice means. You run around causing chaos like children with fireworks."
Another strike.
This one against his side, stealing the air from his lungs.
"You're nothing but rebels playing pretend.
Pretending you matter.
Pretending you deserve survival."
Ryu glared down at her, breath heavy.
"We don't pretend.
We just do things your gods are too scared to."
That was the first time her smile disappeared entirely.
For a heartbeat—
Lysandra looked monstrous.
Then she inhaled, smoothing her hair back, cold composure returning like frost reforming on glass.
"Elders," she said sharply, never taking her eyes off Ryu, "go summon the Guards of KT."
The elders bowed.
"As you command, Saint Kryos."
When they vanished in a swirl of frostlight, Lysandra leaned closer to Ryu.
"If I wanted you dead," she whispered, "you'd have died inside Frosted Relics before you even blinked. I could've frozen your bloodstream mid-laugh."
Ryu swallowed hard—not fear, but fury.
She tapped one cold finger against his chin.
"But that's not your purpose."
She turned away, coat flaring dramatically.
"Rest up, Ryu.
We begin the extraction soon."
Ryu's voice cracked through the cold:
"What extraction—"
She glanced back with a slow, chilling smirk.
"Why, your potential, of course."
And then she left.
Ryu hung there, chest heaving, breath frosting the air as Cryos whimpered softly in the next cell.
Ryu muttered under his breath:
"Luto, Onyx…
Hurry up."
⸻
War Council in Frosted Relics
The scene snapped back to the shop.
The Frosted Relics backroom had become a war bunker.
Weapons rolling out. Maps unfurled on ice-glass tables.
Saelara tightening bandages on her wrists, breath fast.
Dobo pulling on an ancient frost-coated coat — a relic of some lost kingdom — and reattaching his ice-carved arm with a grim click.
Onyx's hair was tied back low, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack.
Luto stood with arms folded, eyes locked onto Dobo like a man interrogating a ghost.
"Start talking," Luto said, voice cold. "Everything. Now."
Dobo exhaled, long and weary.
"Glais V wasn't always like this," he began. "For centuries, this planet worshiped the Winter God. And it was peaceful. Strict, but peaceful."
Luto, impatient, tapped a finger on the table. "Then the blackout happened."
Dobo nodded.
"A solar flare fried everything. Generators. Tech. Cryo-systems. Even the divine shrines. The whole planet nearly froze to death."
He looked away, jaw tightening.
"And the gods never answered."
Saelara stiffened.
"They abandoned an entire world?"
Dobo's smile was bitter.
"Wouldn't be the first time."
Onyx's fist tightened. "So what saved Glais V?"
Dobo hesitated… then spoke the name like a bruise resurfacing.
"A man showed up. With a team."
Onyx leaned forward.
"Arkann."
"Yeah." Dobo nodded. "I didn't know he was a rebel back then. Not at first. He just… appeared. Told stories about stars even my maps didn't know. Helped rebuild Val Coris. Protected it during a gang riot that almost took the city."
Luto's voice softened—not gently, but with a seriousness he rarely showed.
"He saved an entire civilization."
Dobo swallowed.
"The blackout lasted two years," Dobo said quietly.
"But you have to understand something—Arkann wasn't just keeping the city alive.
He was keeping the planet from dying."
Luto and Onyx exchanged a sharp look as Dobo continued:
"Val Coris survived while the rest of Glais V was swallowed in snow and monsters. Everything outside these walls?"
He gestured vaguely toward the city.
"…it froze into a graveyard."
Luto thought of the ice fields.
Onyx thought of the bears.
Both stiffened.
"Billions died," Dobo said, voice grave. "Whole nations buried in frost. Whole bloodlines erased.
But Arkann… he saved millions. Kept the heart of civilization beating when the sun went dark."
His gaze drifted, haunted.
"During those years, I ruled from my estate—my castle, really. Cryos was barely a baby then. Arkann and his team came and went as they pleased.
He rebuilt our generators, rerouted the geothermal vents, taught us how to reinforce the cryo-grid manually.
He fought beasts in the streets when the barriers failed.
He stopped riots when people lost hope."
Onyx swallowed.
"…He saved your kingdom."
Dobo nodded.
"Saved our lives. Saved our future."
He took a shaky breath.
"Then one day, he walked into my mansion, ruffled Cryos' hair, and told me he had to leave."
Luto frowned. "Did he explain why?"
"For our sake," Dobo whispered.
"He said if he stayed… we'd all be in danger. And then he left."
His fist tightened.
"And only a week later… her ship landed at Val Coris port."
Lysandra Kryos.
The Saint of Winter.
And the day everything changed.
The Fallen Crown
Onyx's voice cut through Dobo's story like a blade.
"Wait," he said slowly. "Cryos.
How was he there during all that…? He's a kid."
Luto blinked, startled — he hadn't even considered it.
Saelara's eyes sharpened as she turned to Dobo and saw it:
The old man's entire posture shifted.
His shoulders sank.
His jaw tightened.
His gaze found the floor like it weighed a thousand years.
Silence stretched, heavy and brittle.
Then—
"That boy," Dobo said quietly, "Cryos…"
He swallowed.
"…isn't my grandson."
The temperature in the backroom dropped a degree.
Onyx leaned forward. "Then who—?"
Dobo closed his eyes.
"He is my son."
The shock hit them in waves.
Saelara's hand flew to her mouth.
Luto froze mid-breath.
Onyx's pupils dilated, tension coiling in his posture.
Dobo—no, Thalric Vorcayne—lifted his head.
"I was the ruler of Val Coris.
Thalric Vorcayne, last heir of the Frostline Dynasty."
Silence.
Even the cryo-kegs seemed to stop humming.
Luto spoke first. "…You were a king?"
Thalric let out a brittle, humorless laugh.
"Not a very good one, apparently."
He exhaled, and the room seemed to dim as the past opened before him.
⸻
The Ten Days Before the Fall
"The four elder saints," Thalric said, voice distant, "were my clergymen at the time. Trusted advisors.
They were… devout to a fault."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, remembering the frustration.
"When they discovered Arkann was a rebel, they urged me—no, demanded—that I execute him and present his body to their winter god."
Saelara's brows knitted. "They wanted you to kill the man who saved the planet?"
Thalric nodded slowly.
"For the first time in all my years of ruling… I snapped.
I told them they'd lost their minds.
That Arkann was the only reason any of us were still breathing."
Luto murmured, "So what did they do?"
"They vanished," Thalric whispered.
"Disappeared into the storm without a trace.
I thought it was shame or anger."
His fists clenched.
"I was wrong."
He drew in a slow breath.
"Because that was the same day she arrived."
The room chilled instantly.
"No descent to the port. No diplomatic greeting."
His eyes darkened with memory.
"Ten identical ships hovered over the city.
Every screen. Every wall. Every shard of crystal-glass lit up with her face."
Lysandra's frostbitten beauty.
Her smile that promised nothing but ruin.
"She told my people Arkann was a rebel traitor.
That by sheltering him, I had doomed them all.
She called for my arrest. My execution.
And she promised:
'In ten days, I will return. And the king of Val Coris will answer for his crimes.'"
Saelara's blood ran cold.
"…She turned your entire kingdom against you."
Thalric nodded, jaw trembling.
"She knew I wouldn't raise a blade against my people.
She weaponized their grief. Their fear. Their faith."
Outside, the muffled bustle of Val Coris felt a thousand miles away.
And Thalric's voice broke just slightly.
"And that day…"
He closed his eyes.
"…Val Coris fell into chaos."
The betrayal had begun.