Prophecy of the Forsaken Beast.
"From frost-bound chains, a beast shall rise,
His howl will tear the heavens wide,
His wrath will drown the world in tide.
No mercy lingers in his tread,
No heart remains—just rage instead.
A ruin none shall hope to wield.
A fleeting whisper hides within.
If ever touched, his heart shall wake.
Who would dare to face his fangs?
What fool will tread where death still hangs?
Once broken, lost, and left to rot,
Shall heal again—after the frost."
_________
A storm raged across the battlefield. The frozen tundra stretched endlessly, its once-pristine snow now stained with blood and shards of ice. Winds howled like dying souls, carrying the echoes of the two titans locked in mortal combat.
Fenrir, the monstrous wolf, stood on a jagged ice-covered cliff, his fur bristling with rage. His golden eyes burned with fury, his breath hot as embers despite the biting cold. He lunged forward, claws carving through the frozen earth, his snarl shaking the heavens.
Opposite him stood the Ice King, a being sculpted from winter's wrath. His silver armor gleamed under the storm's fury, frost clinging to his flowing white cloak. In one hand, he wielded the Glacial Spear, an ancient weapon forged from the heart of an eternal glacier.
His pale blue eyes, once filled with cold indifference, now blazed with the desperation of a man who had no choice but to end this once and for all.
"You are a mistake, Fenrir," the Ice King said, his voice calm but laced with deadly intent.
Fenrir let out a thunderous growl, his muscles tensing. "And you should have never sought to control the will of the wild. I will tear down your frozen throne, just as I tore through your armies."
Then, the storm itself seemed to pause, as if nature itself feared what was to come.
Fenrir struck first, a blur of shadow and fury. He lunged, his colossal jaws snapping toward the Ice King's throat. The monarch dodged, spinning his spear with supernatural grace, striking Fenrir's side. The spear's icy touch burned like frostbite, but the wolf only howled in defiance, shaking the very mountains.
The Ice King raised his free hand. Instantly, the air crackled with power. A wall of jagged ice erupted from the ground, seeking to impale the beast. But Fenrir was faster. With a mighty leap, he shattered the ice with a swipe of his claws, lunging again, his fangs inches from the king's throat.
The Ice King twisted, ice forming at his feet, propelling him back. He raised his hand again, and the very skies answered his call. A massive glacier, formed from the heavens themselves, plummeted downward toward Fenrir.
But Fenrir would not be caged again.
Summoning the last of his strength, the great wolf let out a roar that split the earth itself. The ground trembled, and the glacier cracked mid-fall. A surge of dark smokey, untamed energy burst from within Fenrir. The energy exploded outward, swallowing both warriors in an avalanche of ice and smoke.
When the storm settled, silence reigned.
All that remained was a wasteland of shattered ice and ruins. No sign of the Ice King. No sign of Fenrir.
Only the cold wind whispering across the battlefield, carrying with it the last echoes of their war.
HUNDREDS OF YEARS LATER.
The night was silent, the crescent moon casting a pale glow over the forest.
The wind howled through the trees as Blaze took a slow, deep breath, crouched on a thick branch.
Her sharp eyes locked onto the campfire below. A lone man sat beside the flames, turning a spit with roasted meat—rabbit, from the smell of it.
He was the one she had been tracking for days—the deserter who betrayed his pack and slaughtered his own for a handful of coin.
This time, he would not escape.
The flickering fire cast long shadows on the forest floor, illuminating the rough scars on her knuckles.
Once, six years ago, she had sat by a fire like that—hungry, alone, and banished from everything she had ever known.
The memory surfaced unbidden. Her clan had stood in a tight circle, their faces a mix of worry and cold indifference, as her own father pronounced her fate.
"As a shame to the royals, you are cast out. No longer one of us."
She had been young, too young—but she understood. She was only ten years old.
Stripped of her name and her home, she had been left to fend for herself in the wilderness. She had survived—not because she was strong, but because she had no other choice.
Blaze forced the memory back where it belonged. That girl was gone.
She dropped soundlessly from the branch and crept forward, her dagger gleaming as she closed in.
The man lifted his head, sensing something—but he was too late.
Blaze's blade pressed against his throat.
"You should have known better than to run," she whispered.
---
His eyes widened in fear. In them, she saw herself—the fear she had felt when she was abandoned.
Her grip tightened on the dagger.
"Who… who are you?" he rasped, his voice rough with terror.
Blaze tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "I'm the one who makes sure people like you don't get second chances."
Then, without hesitation, she struck—not with the dagger but with a thin pin, piercing a precise spot on his neck. His body stiffened, then collapsed soundlessly onto the dirt.
She exhaled, shoving him aside before lowering herself onto the log he had been sitting on. The warmth of the fire licked at her skin as she reached for the roasted meat, lifting it to her nose. A quick sniff confirmed it wasn't poisoned. Satisfied, she tore off a piece and chewed slowly, the rich, smoky flavor grounding her in the present.
She had always worked alone, never craving company. Somehow, she had convinced herself that was how it was meant to be.
And yet… she longed to see her mother. The only one who had ever tried to stand up for her.
The memory of her last day in the clan surged forward, sharp and unrelenting.
They had been in her father's office—a lavish space of cold grandeur. Towering glass windows stretched from floor to ceiling, framed in polished gold.
A massive mahogany desk sat at the center, its surface pristine, save for a few scattered scrolls and an ornate dagger glinting under the chandelier's light. Velvet drapes, deep crimson in color, cascaded like flowing blood, and the air smelled of aged books and power.
"Hector, Hector, what do you think you're doing?!" Her mother's voice trembled with desperation as she clutched Blaze tightly in her arms.
"Don't do this, Hector. Please," she begged, her grip tightening protectively around her child.
Her father stood near the desk, his gaze cold and unyielding. He scoffed, folding his arms. "She is nothing more than a mere human," he said dismissively. "Do you know how other men—other fathers—look down on me because of her?" He shook his head, disgust twisting his features.
"Hector, she is your child! Your blood!" her mother cried, tears spilling down her face.
"A fat, unyielding child. A useless firstborn."
Her mother gasped.
Her twin sister laughed.
Blaze's throat tightened as she met her father's eyes, searching for something—remorse, guilt, even the slightest flicker of regret.
But there was nothing.
Only indifference.
Her vision blurred as tears welled up.