Snow fell as it always did on Frostwind Peak—soft, endless, and quiet.
It blanketed the winding stone paths of the Northern Star Sect, curled gently over curved rooftops, and caught on the branches of silver-leafed trees that lined the mountain ridge. The snow never truly stopped here. It slowed sometimes. It drifted lazily in summer. But it never melted.
At the peak's highest tower, a young man lay flat on the rooftop tiles, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed, mouth slightly open as if speaking to the clouds.
His name was Kai Duskthorn.
The wind toyed with the ends of his long, white hair, tied in a warrior's knot. One eye opened lazily—icy blue. The other remained shut, hiding the strange black hue of the right eye, the one he rarely let anyone see.
Below him, the sect bustled to life. The morning bell had rung minutes ago, but Kai remained where he was.
"Morning frost, early rise… daily lie," he mumbled to himself, stretching.
The snow was cold against his back, but not unpleasant. He was used to it. Born to it.
Then came the voice—firm and familiar.
"Kai!"
He sighed. "So much for peace."
He turned his head just enough to see her—Naomi, standing at the edge of the courtyard in her perfectly layered robes, her silver sash fluttering in the breeze. She stood tall, proud, and already annoyed.
"You're late for formations. Again."
Kai yawned. "I'm cultivating my inner silence."
"On the roof?"
"Exactly. The closer to the sky, the closer to enlightenment."
"You sound like Elder Borin."
"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
She threw a snowball at him. He didn't dodge.
It hit his forehead with a soft puff.
Naomi smirked. "Two minutes, or I'm telling Father."
That did it.
Kai groaned, rolled up to his feet, and leapt gracefully from the rooftop, landing beside her with barely a crunch in the snow.
"You know," he said, brushing flakes from his shoulders, "I liked you better when you still ate dirt and followed me around."
"I was six."
"And adorable."
She elbowed him in the ribs. He didn't block.
As they walked toward the training grounds, side by side, Kai's expression softened. These mornings—these ordinary, frozen moments—they mattered more than anyone in the sect realized. And he knew, somewhere in the quiet corner of his gut, that they wouldn't last.
Nothing ever did.
The North Courtyard was filled with disciples practicing sword forms in synchronized motion. Their breath misted in the air, their boots slid over polished frost-stone, and their weapons flashed silver beneath the morning light.
Kai took his place beside Naomi at the front. He didn't bother hiding his laziness anymore.
"Stances," called a voice behind them—Instructor Tovan, stern and stiff as always.
Everyone dropped into the first form. All except Kai, who adjusted his posture slightly out of alignment on purpose.
Naomi jabbed him with her elbow again.
"I said stances!" Tovan snapped.
Kai stepped into proper form, expression neutral.
After an hour of repetition, sweat freezing on his brow and his limbs beginning to ache, the instructor finally released them.
As the crowd dispersed, Naomi pulled Kai aside.
"Try this," she said, handing him a wrapped bundle of dumplings from her sleeve.
"You really are the best sibling."
"I'm the only sibling."
"And still the best."
They sat on a low stone wall, watching the rest of the sect scatter into their daily routines. Kai chewed slowly, staring up at the clouds.
"You ever wonder what's beyond the Umbra's edge?" he asked suddenly.
Naomi tilted her head. "What brought that up?"
He shrugged. "The wind feels wrong. Like it's… whispering."
Naomi narrowed her eyes. "That's just your imagination again."
"Maybe."
But he didn't believe it. Not really.
That afternoon, they gathered in the lecture hall carved deep into the mountain itself. The walls were etched with frost runes that glowed faintly with stored Qi. Inside, warmth radiated from the ground, a gift from the geomancers of old.
Seated on a fur-padded bench, half-masked and humming tunelessly, was Elder Borin.
He looked up as the disciples filed in and clapped his hands once.
"Good! You're all here. Let's talk about frost... and fear."
The room quieted instantly.
Borin grinned beneath his crooked mask. He was older than he looked—if anyone really knew his age. Beneath the laughter and flourishes was a depth none of the students had ever dared probe too deeply.
"Fear," Borin began, pacing in front of the ice-runed wall, "is not something you conquer. That's a lie we tell children. Fear is something you listen to. And frost is the oldest listener."
Kai leaned forward slightly, intrigued despite himself.
"When frost comes, it doesn't scream. It doesn't roar like flame or crash like storms. It waits. It studies. It endures. And when you're dead and gone, frost is still there."
He turned to the room.
"Who here understands that kind of silence?"
No one raised a hand.
Not even Kai.
That night, back in their family courtyard, Kai sat alone under the withered tree their mother had planted before she died.
His father—Arden Duskthorn, head of the outer wardens—was gone on border duty again. As always. The man was more froststeel than flesh, and even colder in expression than Kai on a bad day.
Naomi came out holding two steaming cups of pine tea.
"Thinking again?" she asked.
"Dangerous habit."
They sat side by side under the branches.
"You ever feel like none of this is real?" Kai murmured. "Like we're living in someone else's story."
Naomi looked at him sideways. "You're not going to go brooding and mysterious on me, are you?"
"I'm just saying… The mountain's quiet. Too quiet."
She sipped her tea. "It always is."
He didn't reply.
Far off, hidden from both their sight, a black wind stirred the snow along the southern ridges. The old boundary stones hummed faintly with dark resonance.
And something passed through them unnoticed.