In the Village of Ice ❄️, where rooftops glittered like frozen crowns 👑 and every breath drifted like a pale ghost 💨, a sacred ceremony stirred the frozen morning. Today was not an ordinary day.
Today, the god's blood would choose a hero. 🩸✨
A single drop, drawn once every century, would decide the protector of the North.
A hundred candidates circled the ritual grounds 🔵. Voices rose like cracking firewood 🔥, the entire village humming with cold excitement ❄️⚡.
Among them stood King.
Only fifteen.
Seven feet tall.
Shoulders broad enough to block the wind itself 🗻.
A walking glacier shaped by discipline and relentless training 💪❄️.
For years, whispers had followed him 👂. Everyone believed the blood would choose him. Destiny already felt carved in ice 🧊.
Then—
silence fell like snowfall 🌨️.
The priest entered. Hood low 🧙♂️. Steps slow. He knelt, closed his eyes, and breathed in the frost ❄️. His hands trembled… then steadied.
A single drop of crimson bloomed on his palm 🩸.
It hovered ✨
It glowed 🔴
Every soul held its breath 😶.
King lifted his chin, utterly certain 😌.
But the drop drifted away.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
It floated toward a skinny fifteen-year-old boy no one had noticed before 😕. A boy with wrists thin as reeds 🌾, wrapped in ragged fur, standing as if the wind itself might tug him away 💨.
The drop sank into the boy's chest.
FLASH ⚡
The air trembled 🌬️
Then the priest spoke, voice shaking.
"Bow to your hero. Your chosen saviour. 🙏
All candidates… you are now his subordinates."
One by one, the candidates knelt 🧎♂️🧎♀️. Even the strongest lowered their heads before the newly chosen boy.
Except King.
He did not move.
His breath steamed ❄️.
His shadow stretched long across the snow 🌑.
The priest turned.
"King," he said softly, "kneel before your hero."
King stepped forward.
In one motion—
his hand wrapped around the priest's neck ✋🫂
and lifted him into the frozen air.
Gasps cracked through the crowd like shattering glass 😱💥.
"You told me since childhood the blood wanted me," King said, voice quiet but burning 🔥.
"All of you believed it."
He threw the priest aside.
The man hit the snow with a dull thud 💥❄️.
King turned away.
A brave candidate shouted, trembling,
"How dare you walk away?!"
King paused.
Tilted his head 😐.
His gaze cut back like a blade of winter 🗡️❄️.
Silence melted into fear 😨.
Every candidate knew a truth heavier than mountains 🏔️:
even if all of them attacked together, they would fall before the boy who was not chosen.
And the Ice Village felt it.
A storm had begun—
inside a single boy's heart 🌪️🖤.
King stormed through the village like a thunderclap wrapped in flesh ⚡. The ceremony still buzzed behind him, but he heard none of it. His fists curled 👊. Every step cracked the snow beneath his boots ❄️💥.
He reached his house 🏠.
Villagers followed at a distance, whispering 🤫, sensing the danger inside him. None dared come close.
King threw the door open 🚪💥.
Then the rage hit.
He tore his home apart with the violence of a collapsing mountain 🗻🔥. Shelves shattered. The table flew across the room. Pots burst against the walls. He punched the support beam—
CRACK 💥
It snapped like dry bone.
Snow sifted down through the broken roof like ashes ❄️🫧.
A crowd gathered outside, silent 👁️👁️. They had admired him all their lives.
Today, they witnessed what it meant to disappoint a titan.
King grabbed the only untouched things left:
His massive war-axe 🪓, forged for his hands alone.
A broad shield marked with the northern crest 🛡️.
He strapped the shield on. The leather groaned 😤.
He swung the axe once.
Even the wind flinched 🌬️😨.
He planted the axe into the ground and tore apart the rest of his home with bare hands until nothing remained but wreckage and dust 🪵💨.
His breath shook.
His eyes burned 🔥.
Without a word, he kicked the broken wood into a pile, pulled a sparkstone from his pocket ✨, and struck it.
FLAMES ROARED 🔥🔥🔥
Villagers stepped back as the fire painted King's silhouette in orange and red. He looked like a young war-god abandoned by fate ⚔️🔥.
He turned toward the cliff.
Everyone watched 👀.
No one dared speak.
King climbed the high ridge overlooking the village 🏔️. Smoke from his burning home rose behind him like a banner of rebellion 🚩🔥.
He glared down at the place that raised him.
The place that betrayed him 💔.
His voice cracked across the valley 📢❄️:
"Let this fire remind you of your choice.
And may your chosen hero bear the burden meant for me."
The wind carried the words like a curse 🌬️🩸.
Then King hefted his axe 🪓, tightened his shield 🛡️, and walked into the endless white wilderness ❄️🌫️—
Leaving behind fear 😨, fire 🔥,
and a village too stunned to breathe.