Cold. It was all he could feel for many years. An eternity, it seemed.

It brought a numbness, one which he clung to for the mere thought that what became were things he didn’t wish to recall. He remembered screams. Terrible, choking sobs. Pleading. Broken souls aching for mercy.

His sword moved without his awareness. He felt slithering snakes coil about his heart, squeezing his soul until he couldn’t breathe.

Then the cold. The numbness.

It could have been an hour or merely an eternity when a hint of warmth seemed to ease the cold. It felt too hot, nearly scalding. But it was barely a hint, as if the sun was breaking through a fog to reach him in the midst of a tundra. If he wasn't so cold, perhaps it would even feel delightful.

A mind touched his: soft, warm, and innocent.

He remembered the child. Her soft, silken blonde hair and blue eyes. His firstborn. His warrior.

He had hoped for a boy to carry on his blade, and told his wife so years after his girl was born. But he said it in jest, since the child was determined to carry on his legacy, whether she was boy-child or girl-child.

The wonderful girl once told him she would be the son he never had. It nearly broke him.

His child was perfect. Kind, brave, strong, forgiving, intelligent, loving to a fault, and worthy of every accolade, in his opinion.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

But the kid had ceased to believe it, and he knew his words had hurt her in ways he couldn’t fathom. He showered her in praise, taught her the ways of the warrior, and prayed he had done right by her when he was forced to leave her much too soon.

For a mere moment of clarity, he sought the warmth of that soul shimmering like a sun far into the distance. And felt a whisper of what was coming. A tear turned to crystal ice on his cheek.

Beware, little cub. Times are coming when what was will seem easy, and what will be seem unbearable. Take heart, for you will overcome.

He suspected he couldn’t say much more, or else he risked changing the future, one his mother had shown him long ago and urged him to leave untampered or risk the termination of the worlds.

Who are you? asked a voice which made his soul quiver with joy. His little cub had grown, and she sounded more beautiful than he could’ve ever imagined and braver than he dared to hope.

You know who I am, little cub. My time is up, but yours is upon you. Prepare yourself and know I will always be with you, even to the ends of the worlds. And he would be. In life or in death, he prayed The King would grant this one wish and bring them together again.

Wait! Don’t—

But he felt the cold descend and the numbness take hold, cutting the light from his soul. But a shimmer at the edge of his vision grew into the outline of a flaming bird which speared him with one unseeing eye that had a jagged scar through the center. Although the eye was blind, he felt seen to the depths of his quivering soul, which was slithering with guilt as if the snakes about him had become him.

But the voice was kind, as if it had seen the guilt and saw fit to give mercy where the man had been forced to show none. Take heart, son of my servant and servant of my heart. You will see her again, in the time she needs you most.

And as the outline dissipated and the cold seemed more bitter than ever before, he felt a flickering flame burn within his heart.

He would endure.

A smile turned his blue lips as the crystal tear fell from his cheek to land on pristine snow.