Five years later,
A malnourished boy with short white hair and deep blue eyes sat at his desk. Isfrid hadn't had a single person to call a friend, or even an acquaintance, since he was born.
The only thing to ever break the silence in his room was the gentle knock of a maid at the door. The maid always wore a black and white uniform. She had brown hair, brown eyes, and looked to be in her mid-twenties.
She would come three times a day, each time bringing food.
Sometimes she brought plates with meat and vegetables, and other times only a single loaf of bread. It was as if she were sneaking him leftovers — and sometimes she couldn't even find enough.
After overhearing conversations from the other maids, Isfrid learned that she was the head maid, Eliza. She had taught him everything he knew — how to bathe first thing in the morning and last thing before bed, how to brush his teeth twice a day, and how to do some basic exercises, even if it was only in his room.
Isfrid went to sleep and woke up hungry almost every day; however, he understood that without Eliza, he would probably be dead.
He knew it was a debt he would someday repay.
He once asked her how to spell her name, and she wrote it down for him. He practiced writing it over and over so he wouldn't forget.
He figured that if she ever went away, he could use her name to find her — and repay her kindness.
When she came back and saw all his practice, she let out a short sigh and palmed her face.
"Idiot," she said, "you need to learn to write your own name first."
She scolded him, but there was only warmth in her tone.
She then wrote down "Isfrid" and told him to practice the same way he did with hers.
It didn't take him long to realize that his appearance was different from the rest of his family. He noticed it in the brief glimpses he caught of them, or in the portraits hanging on the walls.
He could tell that not everyone looked the same — the maids, cooks, and guards all had different hair and eye colors than his family — yet none of them were treated nearly as badly as he was.
Sure, it annoyed him, but more than that, it made him curious.
Isfrid wanted nothing more than to learn about the world outside this house — and to understand what was so terrible about his white hair and blue eyes.
He also wanted to understand the freezing power that constantly radiated from him. The temperature in his room was always colder than the rest of the mansion.
He would often wake up with frost covering his sheets, and if he stayed in the bath too long, the water would literally freeze over.
Isfrid knew this wasn't normal.
When he focused on the cold feeling in his hands, he could even create things from nothing. When he asked Eliza about it, she told him it was called magic — and that, with practice, he could make it stronger.
So every day during his free time, he sat at his desk, creating little ice cubes in his palm.
Because he practiced so often, he began to notice that his ice changed depending on his thoughts.
Sometimes, when he thought about certain things, it grew colder, denser, and stronger.
Mostly when he thought about his family, but it wasn't anger that fueled it — it was the lack of it.
Whenever he thought about how little he cared for them, or how little their opinions mattered, that's when his ice grew coldest.
Do my emotions somehow strengthen my magic?
As he pondered this, his thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.
He quickly sat up and opened it. What greeted him was Eliza, a soft smile lighting her face.
"Look, Isfrid! Dinner's a bit better tonight," she said, lifting a full plate for him to see.
After glancing at the food, Isfrid gave her a small smile of his own and replied softly, "Thanks, Eliza."
Eliza walked in and gently placed the plate on his desk along with a napkin, fork, and knife. She gave him one last look, accompanied by a lingering smile, and said, "I'll be back shortly to pick up the plate, alright?"
Before she could turn to leave, Isfrid spoke up.
"Eliza."
"Yes? What is it, Isfrid?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
"I was wondering... what's a library?" he asked, his tone filled with curiosity.
"Hmm, a library," she repeated with a thoughtful hum. "It's a place where you can learn about almost anything. It holds knowledge on countless subjects — all written down in books. And the one in this mansion," she added with a hint of pride, "is one of the finest in the entire kingdom."
Isfrid's eyes widened slightly. A place where I can learn about anything? That sounded almost too good to be true.
At first, he was skeptical. How could a place like that even exist? But Eliza had never once lied to him — not about anything.
And truthfully, she was the only person he could call family.
"Thank you for telling me, Eliza," he said, bowing his head.
"Of course. Now hurry and eat before the food gets cold," she said with a gentle laugh.
With that, she turned and left the room, leaving Isfrid to ponder her words.
A place where I can learn anything…
'I must visit the library.'