The courtyard of the Elven Palace shimmered like an emerald dream. Vines coiled around marble arches; petals glowed faintly under the moonlight.
Elven guards lined the edges, their armor blending with the trees. And at the far end, Princess Ilyndra waited, seated gracefully on a throne of living roots.
Ryn stepped forward, his boots sinking into moss that felt unnaturally soft. He could feel every eye on him — dozens of elves whispering behind their calm faces.
"Well," he muttered under his breath, "no pressure. Just an immortal audience and one potentially angry goddess of plants."
Lysandra's voice echoed faintly behind him. "Be careful, Ryn."
He flashed her a grin beneath his mask. "When am I not?"
"You really want me to answer that?"
Before he could respond, Ilyndra raised a hand. The vines along the walls stirred, curling like serpents in anticipation.
"Show me," she said softly. "Show me the frost that defied Solvane's flame."
Ryn opened his mouth to make a joke—
—but the world vanished.
In an instant, everything dissolved into darkness.
The courtyard, the elves, the trees — gone. Only endless night remained, stretching in all directions.
Ryn staggered, heart racing. "Okay. Definitely didn't sign up for a magic blackout. Lysandra? Anyone?"
His voice echoed into the void. No answer.
Then — a sound.
Soft. Fragile.
A flutter.
He turned.
A small bird, glowing pale blue, drifted through the darkness. Its wings shimmered like frost and moonlight, leaving trails of snowflakes that hung weightless in the air.
It circled him once, twice, then descended gently — landing on his head.
"Uh… hi?" Ryn said carefully. "You're… on me. Which is fine, but, uh, personal space?"
The bird tilted its head, unbothered.
He raised a hand slowly. "Okay, little ice pigeon, off you go."
The bird fluttered down to perch on his fingers.
Its eyes glowed faintly — twin drops of winter sky.
"Right," Ryn muttered. "Talking to birds now. Totally normal. Absolutely not losing my mind."
He peered at it. "So, are you, like, a magical omen? A cute hallucination? Or just lost?"
No reply.
"Great," he sighed. "I can summon sarcasm, not answers."
He looked up, trying to spot anything beyond the void — and froze.
Far ahead, the darkness rippled.
A shape moved — vast, ancient, and colder than death.
From the black mist emerged a fox.
Not a normal one — but a titanic creature made of ice and moonlight, fur like shattered glass reflecting galaxies. Its eyes burned with faint blue fire, and every step froze the air itself.
The Ice Fox.
The spirit older than the dragons. The beast that once made even gods tremble.
Ryn's breath caught.
"...Oh," he whispered. "So that's why everyone keeps calling me that."
The fox's eyes locked onto him.
A voice filled the void — not heard, but felt.
Smooth. Cold. Feminine.
"You."
Ryn flinched. "Uh… me?"
The massive creature leaned closer, lowering her muzzle until her gaze filled his world.
"Are you the one they call the Ice Fox?"
Ryn swallowed. "Technically, yes. Though I didn't pick the name, and honestly, it's a bit misleading, because—"
Her eyes narrowed. "You're weak."
He blinked. "Okay, rude."
"The one who bears my essence should be the strongest of frost. Yet I see a fool who hides behind masks and jokes."
Ryn folded his arms defensively. "Hey, humor's how I cope with not dying!"
The fox's massive tail curled around him like a glacier storm. "Pathetic."
He winced. "You sound just like my old team leader."
She exhaled — a slow gust that glittered like a thousand shards of glass. "You're about to be killed by that woman."
Ryn blinked. "Wait — the elf queen? I mean, she's intimidating, sure, but—"
"If you die, I die."
The void trembled with her voice.
"I will not fade again."
Ryn stared. "What do you mean, 'again'?"
Her eyes glowed brighter, like dying stars reigniting.
"Centuries ago, the empires of men, elves, and dragons united to destroy me. They feared what I could become. They shattered my body, scattered my soul. Only a single fragment remained — the last breath of my will. That fragment… is inside you."
The words sank into him like cold iron.
"You mean… I've been walking around with a ghost fox in my head?"
"A goddess," she corrected sharply. "Do not mistake me for a spirit. I am the frost before creation — the silence after death."
Ryn rubbed his temples. "Right. Great. Totally sane."
Her gaze softened slightly, almost — almost — amused.
"You're strange, mortal."
"I get that a lot."
Then her voice deepened, serious again.
"Listen. That elven woman seeks to test your power. She'll unleash the Greenery's wrath upon you. If she wins, your body will fall, and with it, my last fragment will perish. I cannot allow that."
Ryn frowned. "So… what's the plan?"
"You will lend me your body — for five minutes."
He blinked. "That sounds… invasive."
"I will use only three percent of my strength," she continued, ignoring him, "enough to defeat her, not to kill. That is my promise."
"Three percent?" Ryn said skeptically. "You talk like you've done math with gods."
Her eyes flared. "Do you refuse me?"
He hesitated. The void seemed to grow colder.
Images flickered in his mind — Lysandra's worried face, the elven guards, the threat hanging over them.
He exhaled. "You really think you can handle her without… y'know, turning the whole forest into an ice cube?"
"You underestimate control," the fox replied. "Power is not chaos. It's purpose."
Ryn scratched the back of his head. "You talk like my grandmother. Fine. Five minutes. Three percent. No killing, no world-ending, no ice apocalypse. Deal?"
Her massive form leaned closer, eyes glimmering with ancient amusement. "Deal."
"Wait, do I need to—"
Before he could finish, she touched her nose to his forehead.
Cold fire exploded through him.
The void shattered.
The darkness peeled away like mist. The courtyard snapped back into existence — elves, vines, moonlight, all frozen mid-motion.
Ryn gasped, clutching his chest. Frost bloomed across his arm in luminous patterns, veins of blue-white light pulsing beneath his skin. His eyes flickered — for an instant, twin flames of ice-blue fire burned where human warmth should be.
Somewhere deep within, a voice whispered, soft and satisfied:
"Let us show them why the world once feared the Ice Fox."
Ryn smirked faintly beneath his mask.
"Well," he murmured, "guess it's showtime."