The snow fell quietly over an endless white world.
Ruined houses dotted the land, the wind whipping shards of ice through the air as if nature itself was holding its breath before a greater storm. Through this frozen wasteland, heavy footsteps pressed deep into the snow.
A man in royal attire staggered forward—long black hair brushing his shoulders, a dark beard, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes. He was running, panting hard, clutching a small infant wrapped tightly in a thick blanket. His face was torn with wounds, and his eyes burned with a mix of terror and unyielding resolve.
The man (breath ragged): "I have to reach her… or everything will end!"
In the distance, a deafening scream split the sky.
The fog ripped apart, revealing a short figure—or perhaps he only looked small—surrounded by a heavy black aura, gripping a spear in one hand.
???: "Didn't I tell you… there is no escape?"
The man spun around, sweat freezing on his brow as the dark spear caught the moonlight. The enemy struck, but the man thrust out his free hand and unleashed a massive explosion of ice, freezing even the air around them.
Man: "I won't let you take him!"
Amid the chaos, the infant slipped from the man's grasp and tumbled gently onto the snow. His bright blue eyes reflected the moonlight, tears turning to crystals on his cheeks.
???: "The heir… I'll take him for his sake.
Stand aside, king."
The king was blasted backward by the stranger's aura, his body slamming into a frozen boulder. Blood dripped from his mouth, yet he smiled through the pain. Raising his hand, the ground beneath them began to tremble.
King: "If you want the child… then follow him into hell!"
The earth split open, collapsing into a massive pit filled with swirling mist and falling shards of ice. The infant slid toward the edge, then dropped into the darkness below, the drifting ice around him almost moving protectively.
Silence returned.
The king collapsed to his knees, still smiling as blood trailed down his face. The dark figure stared into the abyss, then vanished into the storm.
???, voice sharp with cold fury: "Noo... you'll You will pay the price, King.
You'll pay!
Inside a wooden room filled with the soft scent of pine, Shimoro slept soundly, curling deeper into his warm blankets to escape the pale, cold sunlight sneaking through the window. He was dreaming about a king,child and an Unknown person—but the smell of breakfast kept slipping through, tugging at him.
Then, suddenly, the warmth vanished.
Shimoro's blue eyes shot open in shock. His thick wool blanket had turned… solid? The entire thing had frozen into a sheet of ice over his body.
"AAAH! C–Cold! COLD!"
He kicked the frozen slab off the bed and leapt up shivering, his tan skin turning slightly blue from the chill.
At the door stood Grandma Kaina, holding a steaming cup of tea, a sly smile on her face.
Kaina, calmly: "Good morning, sleeping prince. I figured you were planning to hibernate like a bear, so I helped cool things down."
Shimoro, rubbing his arms: "Grandma! You can't use your abilities to wake me up every day! You almost turned me into a statue!"
Kaina sipped her tea. "If you woke up earlier, I wouldn't need to. Breakfast is ready. If you're late, I'll freeze your soup into cubes."
Minutes later, Shimoro stepped out of the cabin, munching on a big piece of bread. The village of Tatsuma bustled with life despite the thick snow. This isolated northern village knew no gloom; sturdy wooden homes lined its paths, and the villagers wore bright, colorful fur.
Shimoro—with his medium-length black hair that shimmered with a strange bluish glow under the sun—was known by everyone. Not because he was "special," but because he was the only kid who could cause trouble without ever meaning to.
"Hey! Shimorooo!"
Uncle Goro, the huge baker with the thick mustache, waved at him with a wooden tong.
Shimoro smiled nervously.
"Morning, Uncle Goro! I swear I didn't steal the bean bun yesterday!"
Goro burst out laughing, shaking snow from the roof. "I know you didn't steal it. I saw you eating it with your eyes closed in bliss! Here, take this—burned a bit at the bottom so no one will buy it."
He tossed a hot loaf into the air. Shimoro jumped with surprising agility for a twelve-year-old, snatching it before it hit the ground and landing with a proud grin.
"Thanks, uncle! You're the best!"
As he walked, excited shouts echoed nearby. A group of kids were locked in a fierce snowball battle.
"Shimoro! Join us!" cried Kenta, a chubby boy hiding behind a barrel.
Shimoro tucked the bread into his pocket. "Sure, but don't cry when you lose!"
He joined in. He was fast—too fast. Snowballs flew at him but he dodged them with fluid movements, almost like he was dancing. The kids' throws were weak compared to him.
Kenta, panting: "How… does nothing hit him? He's a ninja!"
Shimoro, laughing confidently: "That's because Grandma Kaina trains me! Watch this shot!"
He formed a snowball, pulled his arm back, and threw with all his might toward Kenta.
FWISH!
The snowball swerved at a perfect 90-degree angle—hitting Tetsu the blacksmith, who happened to be passing by with a bucket of water.
THUD!
It smacked right into the old man's face. Silence fell instantly.
Shimoro, pale: "…Oh no."
Tetsu, wiping snow off slowly, eyes burning: "Shimoooroo!!"
Shimoro: "Sorry! It was the wind! The wind did it!"
He bolted away as the blacksmith raised his hammer, and the kids burst into laughter behind him.
Once he ran far enough, Shimoro stopped at the forest edge to catch his breath. He chuckled at first—then the laughter faded as he glanced at his hands.
Everyone in the village could use ice abilities… except him.
He whispered: "Why am I different? And why does the cold always feel like it's… calling to me?"
He remembered Kaina's words: "You're special, Shimoro. Your power will awaken when it's time. Until then, just be a child."
Planning to gather some firewood to make up for his mess, he ventured deeper into the forest where tall trees intertwined, blocking most of the sunlight.
Suddenly—silence.
No wind. No birds. Even his footsteps stopped making sound.
Thump… Thump…
A faint heartbeat echoed inside his chest.
Shimoro looked around. "Hello? Anyone there?"
No response. But his feet moved on their own toward an old frozen oak. Beneath its roots, the snow melted oddly around a single point.
He knelt and dug with his bare hands.
He unearthed a strange pendant—a worn leather string holding a dark blue crystal, jagged like a piece carved from a glacier's heart.
The moment his fingers touched it, he felt a cold sting… warm and soothing at the same time.
Shimoro, amazed: "What… is this cold warmth?"
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
That voice froze the blood in Shimoro's veins. It wasn't Kaina, Goro, or anyone from the village. It was soft, cold… devoid of any human warmth.
Shimoro turned slowly.
A man stood just a few steps away.
He wore a long black coat that brushed his ankles, and a hat that hid half his face. But Shimoro saw the smile—one that never reached the eyes.
Shimoro stepped back, hiding the pendant behind him. "W-Who are you? Are you a merchant?"
The man chuckled, a pale mist drifting from his mouth. "Merchant? Perhaps. I deal in ancient legacies. And that piece you're holding… I've searched for it for a very long time."
He took a single step forward—and instantly, the warm forest air died. The sky darkened, heavy black clouds forming in seconds. A violent snowstorm whirled around them alone.
A primal terror surged through Shimoro. Every cell in his body screamed: Run.
The man extended a gloved hand. "Give it here, boy. And I'll make your death quick… and painless."
Shimoro backed up, tripped over a root, and fell on his back. The man approached, his shadow stretching over him.
Shimoro's voice cracked: "G-Grandma…"
The man: "No one is here to hear you."
He raised his hand, and a blade of ice materialized out of thin air.
In that moment, Shimoro understood:
the days of snowball fights and warm bread… were over forever.
End of Chapter 1