THE NORTHERN SEA STRETCHED ENDLESSLY, A VAST AND MERCILESS EXPANSE OF ICE AND WATER. THE PROMETHEUS, A STURDY BRIG BUILT FOR VOYAGES INTO THE UNKNOWN, GROANED UNDER THE WEIGHT OF THE COLD AS IT CUT THROUGH THE DARK WAVES. ITS SAILS BILLOWED AGAINST THE BITING WIND, AND THE WOOD BENEATH THE CREW’S FEET CREAKED AS IF PROTESTING THE JOURNEY. THE SKY ABOVE WAS A DULL GRAY, THICK WITH THE PROMISE OF SNOW, AND THE WATER BELOW WAS AN ABYSS OF FRIGID BLACK.
Winter had sunk its claws deep into the world, and the Prometheus was trapped in its grasp.
Below deck, warmth still lingered, held at bay by flickering lanterns and the bodies of sailors packed into the dimly lit hall. Laughter and drunken boasts filled the air, accompanied by the raucous clatter of wooden tankards slamming onto tables. The scent of ale, sweat, and salt mixed together, creating an almost suffocating thickness in the air.
Among them moved Mary, a girl who had long since grown used to the rowdy ways of sailors. She wove through the crowd with practiced ease, balancing a tray of drinks with thinly veiled irritation.
"Watch it, damn you!" she snapped as a burly sailor nearly sent her tray flying.
The man, already deep in his cups, grinned. "Aw, c’mon, lass, don’t be so cold! Sit, drink with us!"
Mary scowled. "If I sat with every idiot who asked, I’d be drunker than all of you combined!"
The surrounding men erupted in laughter. The sailor gave a sheepish shrug before returning to his drink. Mary huffed and continued her work, dodging grasping hands and the occasional thrown object. She barely managed to sidestep a wooden spoon that clattered against the wall behind her.
"I swear, I’ll talk to the captain about this," she muttered under her breath. "This is the last damn time I—"
CRACK!
The entire ship lurched violently. Tankards slid off tables, chairs scraped against the floor, and a few unlucky men toppled over entirely. The raucous atmosphere turned to stunned silence.
Then, chaos erupted.
"What the hell was that?" someone shouted.
"Did we hit something?"
Mary’s heart pounded as she scrambled to keep her footing. The ship groaned ominously. Above them, heavy footsteps thundered across the deck, followed by a sharp, commanding voice.
"ALL HANDS ABOVE DECK! NOW!"
The crew didn’t hesitate. One by one, they surged toward the stairs, shoving past Mary as they rushed topside. She hesitated only a moment before following, her breath misting in the freezing air as she emerged into the night.
And then she saw it.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
A massive slab of ice, nearly as large as the Prometheus itself, loomed in the dark waters. It jutted from the sea like a jagged monument, pale beneath the moonlight. But that wasn’t what had turned the crew to stone.
No, it was him.
Frozen within the ice, perfectly preserved, was a man.
The captain was the first to break the silence. "By the gods..." His voice was barely more than a whisper, lost in the howl of the wind. He gripped the railing and leaned forward, his expression unreadable. "Is that... a person?"
Mary swallowed hard, unable to look away.
The frozen figure was beautiful in a way that seemed unnatural—his form was muscular and sculpted, his features sharp as if carved from marble. His long, dark hair hung around his face, trapped in icy strands. His limbs were perfectly proportioned, though marked with scars and strange stitch-like lines that ran along his torso and arms. Yet, despite the imperfections, there was something almost divine about him.
He looked untouched by time. A relic from a forgotten age.
"Orders, Captain?" one of the men asked hesitantly.
The captain exhaled, his breath a thin mist in the cold air. "Get the pickaxes. Wake the mage. And bring blankets—if this man wakes up, I don’t want him freezing to death."
The crew scrambled to obey. Some moved quickly, eager for orders, while others hesitated, casting wary glances at the frozen figure. Mary found herself stepping closer, drawn forward despite the unease prickling at her spine.
"Do you think he’s alive?" she asked.
"Doesn’t matter," the captain replied. "We’ll find out soon enough."
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It took nearly an hour to free him.
The pickaxes shattered the outer layers of ice while the mages chanted incantations, melting the rest. Bit by bit, the prison of frost fell away, revealing more of the man beneath. When the final pieces crumbled, his body slumped forward and hit the deck with a dull thud.
He didn’t move.
One of the sailors sighed. "I told you. Whatever he was, he’s long dead. You can’t just wake something up after gods know how long frozen in ice."
Then—
A twitch.
Mary saw it first. Her breath caught in her throat. "Wait—look!"
Another twitch. Then, his fingers flexed, sluggish and unsure. The sailors leaned in, whispering hurriedly. One of them hesitated, then reached out and pried open an eyelid—
Dull, yellow eyes stared back at them.
The sailor yelped and stumbled backward. The crew collectively stiffened.
Mary’s pulse quickened. There was something wrong about those eyes—clouded and unfocused, yet eerily aware. He was alive. But how?
Then, the man’s mouth opened. His chest rose and fell, taking in deep, rattling breaths. The sound scraped against the silence.
And then—
He screamed.
"ARGHHHHHH!!!"
The sound tore through the night like a thunderclap—raw, agonized, filled with something ancient and broken. Sparks of electricity crackled from his fingertips, flickering like dying embers before vanishing entirely.
The crew flinched. Several reached for weapons.
"Hold!" the captain ordered.
The man gasped for air, clutching his head. His entire body trembled, his muscles locking and releasing as though they had never moved before. Slowly—painfully slow—he forced himself upright. His gaze flickered over the crew before settling on the captain.
Then, with great effort, he spoke.
"M-my… apologies… for my… outburst…"
His voice was deep, rich, but hoarse from disuse.
Silence fell again. The crew exchanged wary glances. How could he speak their language? And so fluently?
Mary swallowed, then hesitantly stepped closer. "What… is your name?"
The man looked at her. His expression shifted—confusion, hesitation. He seemed lost in thought, as if grasping for something just out of reach.
Then, at last, he answered.
"Victor… My name is Victor."
The wind howled through the sails.
And in the vast emptiness of the northern sea, the Prometheus sailed on, carrying a man who should not have been alive.