Deep within the Palace of Ice, where frost traced delicate lace-patterns along every carved pillar and cold light danced on crystalline walls, the king sat upon his ancient throne of blue ice. The air smelled faintly of winter, sharp and clean, and the only sound was his daughter's soft footsteps drifting across the polished floor. She glided forward with effortless grace. Her laughter chimed lightly in the silent hall, and the king's stern gaze softened, his heart stirring at the sight of her. She was the single warmth in that vast world of frost.
The peace ended in an instant. The towering doors burst open as a Frostmoon Guard rushed inside. His armor rattled and his breath spilled into the cold air like thin white smoke. "Your Majesty," he gasped. "An attack. The Flame Emperor leads the charge himself."
The king's expression hardened. The Frostmoon General stepped forward at once, his posture straight and unwavering. "I will rally the army," he said in a steady voice that barely hid the tension rising in the hall.
The king rose slowly, regal and composed despite the sudden alarm. "Ensure the princess is escorted to safety," he commanded.
Outside, the Frostmoon Army stirred. Soldiers marched in disciplined lines, their armor chiming like frozen bells under the pale moon. They moved toward the distant border with quiet determination. The king lingered for a moment, caught between duty and the fearful eyes of his daughter.
Byanka stepped in front of him, small yet trembling with resolve. "Father, please do not go," she whispered. Her voice quivered under the weight of her fear. Her fingers curled around his sleeve in a soft, desperate plea.
He cupped her face with gentle hands. His touch was cold, yet she felt a warmth meant only for her. "My child," he murmured. "A king must carry the burden of sacrifice. I go to protect our people, and I will always protect you."
Her breathing hitched as she leaned into his palm. "But why must it always be you?" she asked. Her voice was fragile and full of longing.
He gave a sorrowful smile, one touched with pride and heartbreak. Then he reached into a carved box beside the throne. He retrieved the Lunair Frost Necklace, a relic that glowed like moonlight trapped in ice. With careful reverence, he placed it around her neck.
"You are beautiful, my princess," he said softly. "Remember this moment."
It was his final blessing before the storm.
Byanka swallowed hard. "Promise me. If you ever leave this world, you will still guide me."
His eyes filled with a quiet sadness. "I promise," he said. "And you will guard our people and the Icelands with everything you are."
Her gaze drifted toward the throne. For the first time, she felt its weight settle on her shoulders, cold and heavy, yet strangely destined.
.
.
.
War raged on the distant plains. Dawn rose over scorched earth. Heat shimmered in the air as flames curled around the Flame Emperor like restless serpents. He waited at the battlefield's center, surrounded by crackling fire.
The Frostmoon King arrived soon after. His presence cut through the smoke like a shard of ice. He held the Steel of Polaris in his hand, the blade gleaming with cold light.
"Retreat now," the king warned, his voice calm but severe. "Leave at once, or I will freeze every corner of the Firelands."
For a heartbeat, the air fell silent. Then centuries of hatred erupted. The Flame Emperor lunged forward with a furious snarl. Steel clashed against flame. Frost collided with fire. They moved in a deadly rhythm as each blow sparked a storm of heat and cold.
Neither realized the truth. They had been led into a trap.
The explosion tore through the ground. Light burst across the battlefield, violent and blinding. Both rulers were thrown through the air, broken by the blast and exhausted by their battle.
As the smoke thinned, they lay on the ground, their crowns stained with ash and frost. Their eyes met. For the first time, hatred faded and regret appeared in its place.
"This should have been peace," the Flame Emperor whispered.
"Let our children learn what we never did," the Frostmoon King replied.
Silence claimed them both.
*
*
*
Five hundred years passed. Forests grew over old battlegrounds. Statues crumbled. Kingdoms changed. Yet the fragile peace born from their final words survived for centuries.
However, even a long peace can weaken.
Rumors turned into doubts. Doubts sank into the bones of both kingdoms. Within the palace of polished marble, Princess Byanka feared becoming nothing more than a ceremonial figure. She chose instead to serve. She became the Noble Ladyguard of the North, a title that brought purpose and responsibility. Her cousin, who shared the same title, reported to her each day.
One crisp morning her cousin approached with a troubled expression. "Your Royal Highness," he said calmly. "The young Flame Emperor's magic is growing stronger. If we are not careful, he may surpass you."
Byanka let out a quiet sigh. Sunlight reflected off her armor as she shook her head. "We cannot build peace on fear," she said. "Trust is the core of every alliance."
Her cousin fell silent, yet his worry did not fade. Byanka understood his concerns, especially with the approaching Ascension Ritual. The ritual would grant them their sacred weapons and awaken the next branch of their power.
Their truce had once grown from a moment of salvation. The Flame Emperor had saved a dear ally of hers from an assassination attempt. Later they learned that his own brother, the Flame Prince, had orchestrated it.
Months passed. At last, the day of the ceremonial ritual arrived.
The Temple of Two Kings opened its towering crystal gates. Light scattered across its marble floors. The two rulers entered with calm steps. There was no hostility in their eyes, only determination. They carried the same desire: to obtain their sacred weapons and protect the peace trembling between their two worlds.