The news spread faster than anyone could have anticipated. From the moment dawn broke over the Glacius estate, whispers rippled through the halls, courtyards, and servants chambers. It was as if the very air carried the rumor—an echo that refused to fade.
By morning, the entire estate was abuzz.
"It's just a rumor," some whispered, dismissing it as idle gossip. Others paid it no mind, returning to their routines. But no one dared to speak of it openly—no one wanted to tempt fate by acknowledging what was happening.
Yet, rumors didn't need permission.
"…the child reacted to ice?"
"Impossible."
"I heard his skin burned."
"Burned? From ice?"
"That's what I was told," came hushed voices among the servants.
Guards exchanged wary glances, but said nothing. Even the maids who had been present that night avoided discussing it openly. Because no matter how strange or frightening, it still involved the Glacius family.
The Glacius name—though smaller when compared to the great noble houses of the Aetherion Kingdom—remained a pillar of strength and influence. Their mastery over ice magic was legendary, their bloodline descended from the ancient mage who had once faced the Great Demon Invasion. They had built their reputation on power, not politics—a house forged in the cold, unyielding as the glaciers they commanded.
But now—
Inside a quiet room, the atmosphere was different.
Lady Mara sat beside her bed, gently cradling Kai in her arms. The room was warmer than usual—windows sealed tight, thick curtains drawn to keep out the biting winter air.
Kai slept peacefully. To an outsider, he appeared completely normal—peaceful, fragile, just a newborn. His delicate features, the soft glow of his icy blue eyes, and the faint shimmer of frost on his tiny skin betrayed nothing.
Mara's fingers brushed softly against his cheek, her face soft with maternal warmth.
"…you'll be fine," she whispered, voice trembling.
But even she didn't truly believe it.
The door swung open silently.
Lucien Glacius stepped inside, his presence immediately filling the room with a chilling aura. Mara looked up, her expression tense.
"You're back," she said softly.
His gaze fell on the child in her arms. He paused, studying Kai with a calculated calm, then approached without touching him, eyes narrowing as he observed the faint frost and the redness beneath his skin.
"Any change?" Lucien asked.
Mara hesitated, then shook her head. "He hasn't reacted again."
Lucien's expression was unreadable. He moved closer, analyzing the boy's form carefully—trying to grasp what defied his logic.
"Have you tested him again?" he asked.
She hesitated, then shook her head. "I didn't want to risk it. What if something happens to him?"
Lucien remained silent for a moment, then spoke quietly. "We need to understand what's wrong. We can't afford to ignore this."
Mara's grip on Kai tightened. "He was just born," she whispered desperately.
"And that is precisely why we must test now," Lucien said calmly. "Before anything worse happens."
He gestured softly. "The physician is researching this. Meanwhile, we must do what we can."
Mara looked down at her son, her face a mixture of fear and resolve. After a pause, she nodded.
"…just once," she whispered.
Moments later, a maid entered with a small basin. Inside, a thin layer of ice floated on the surface, shimmering faintly.
Lucien stood beside the bed, watching intently. Mara carefully cradled Kai, her hands trembling.
"Be gentle," she urged.
Lucien reached forward and broke a tiny fragment from the ice. Gently, he moved it toward Kai's tiny hand.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
The moment the ice made contact, Kai flinched violently. His small fingers curled instantly, and the spot where the ice touched turned red—almost as if burned. A sharp cry tore from his throat.
Mara pulled him back immediately. "Stop!"
Kai's cries grew louder, his tiny body trembling with distress. Mara held him close, rocking him desperately.
"It's confirmed," Lucien said, voice low.
Mara's eyes filled with tears. "What does that mean?"
Lucien hesitated, studying the boy again. Then he spoke, voice calm but heavy with implication.
"It means he cannot use ice magic."
The words struck Mara like a blow. Her face crumpled, tears spilling freely. "No… that's impossible," she choked out, clutching her son tighter.
Lucien's expression remained composed.
"He is our child. His bloodline is intact. But this… this anomaly is undeniable."
Kai's eyelids fluttered open. His icy gaze locked onto his father's face, sharp and unwavering. A sense of unease settled over the room.
Lucien regarded the boy with a quiet understanding. His eyes flickered with secrets—secrets he chose not to reveal.
Gently, he returned Kai to the cradle. "Look after him."
Without another word, Lucien left, his icy presence lingering in the cold air.
Mara sank to her knees, clutching her son, tears flowing freely now.
"My baby… don't worry," she whispered through her tears.
The room fell into a heavy silence.
This was only the beginning.
Dark truths lurked in the shadows, and the cold, unyielding world outside was waiting for what would come next.
Far from the estate, in a dimly lit chamber lined with strange symbols, a man sat silently. Candles flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. He listened intently as another figure spoke.
"…the child reacted to ice itself, my Lord."
The man's lips curled into a faint smile. "Interesting."
The other hesitated. "It could be nothing."
He shook his head slowly. "Perhaps… we'll see."
Back at the estate, Kai had fallen asleep again, as if nothing had happened. But the redness on his skin hadn't fully faded.
Lucien stood by the window, gazing out at the snow-covered grounds. The winter season was at its peak—cold, relentless.
It was fitting, given the house's dominion over ice.
And yet—
His gaze lingered on the sleeping child.
His son, who should have inherited the power of the glaciers, could not endure the cold.
A flaw? Or a curse?
Lucien's eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. Something he couldn't quite grasp.
His mind raced, trying to find an answer, but the pieces refused to align.
"Perhaps," he murmured softly, "this child is… special. He'll need extra care."
But one thing was certain—
"His eyes..."
the boy's eyes—were not normal.