Understanding the concept of ice was not like understanding the concept of flames. Flames were alive. They were wild, hungry, driven by instinct and motion. They devoured everything in their path and blazed brighter the more they consumed. Ice was different. It had no hunger. It had no desire. It was stillness in its purest form, existence without need, motion without movement. It rejected everything that flame stood for.
Max's body trembled slightly as the contradiction deepened within him. His inner world was used to motion, to the flow of devouring flame that pulsed through his blood. Now that same blood felt heavy, sluggish, restrained by the frost that was creeping through his veins. His heart beat slower. His breathing grew shallower. Even the faintest spark of warmth inside him struggled to survive against the cold that pressed down upon him from all sides.
