The air in the cove remained still, but the oppressive silence of the aftermath cracked as frost began creeping along the shattered dock. A low hum vibrated through the snow-laden air, almost imperceptible at first–a whisper of winter's wrath. The spectral figure of the Yuki Onna emerged from the swirling snow, her flowing robes of white and baby blue gliding over the frozen ground. Her dark hair cascaded in a river of ink, and her pale skin shimmered faintly, luminous against the dim morning light. Her presence was an embodiment of winter itself–beautiful, unforgiving, and eternal.
From the sea, faint at first, came the distant tolling of a ship’s bell. The Yuki Onna’s gaze sharpened, drawn toward the faint silhouette of a vessel breaking through the morning mist. The frigate’s black sails loomed like a phantom on the horizon, its mast a skeletal finger pointing skyward. Robert’s ship had returned to the cove.
The Yuki Onna tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing. A chilling serenity settled over her expression, but the air around her grew colder with every passing second. Snow swirled at her command, forming tendrils that snaked along the frozen ground. With each step she took, the cold deepened, frost spreading faster and faster, consuming everything in its path. The cove became a crystalline wasteland, each flake of snow shimmering in the pale dawn light.
The frigate anchored just beyond the ice-choked shore, its crew tense and wary. They had heard the stories, the murmurs carried on the wind about the ghostly figure in the snowstorm. Superstition had already begun to take root among the sailors, but Robert had dismissed their fears as nonsense. His desire to reclaim the cove–and to erase the memory of his humiliation–had driven him back here.
Her lips curved into a faint smile, her expression chilling in its calmness. She raised one pale hand, her fingers tracing an invisible sigil in the icy air. A sharp gust of wind roared across the cove, whipping through the frigate’s rigging and scattering ice shards that clattered against the hull. The ship creaked and groaned as if protesting the intrusion.
Onboard, Robert barked orders, his voice strained and brittle. “Bring us in closer!” he commanded, ignoring the nervous glances of his crew. “We’ll take what’s left of this damn place.”
The wind howled in response, nearly drowning his words. Frost began forming on the ship’s railings, the once-polished wood splintering under the freezing grip. The crew scrambled to obey, their movements frantic as the unnatural cold seeped into their bones.
From the deck, a young sailor cried out, pointing toward the shore. “There! On the ice!”
Every head turned, and a collective shudder rippled through the crew. The Yuki Onna stood on the frozen dock, her figure wreathed in swirling snow. Her robes billowed around her, untouched by the wind, and her dark hair flowed like a shadow. Her gaze pierced the distance between them, unblinking and merciless.
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“It’s her,” someone whispered, their voice trembling. “The ghost… the Yuki Onna.”
The name rippled through the crew like a death knell. Fear took hold, but Robert’s fury burned hotter. He pushed his way to the rail, his breath fogging in the frigid air. He gripped the frosted wood with white-knuckled hands, glaring at the apparition below.
“Enough of this!” he snarled. “You’re nothing but a shadow. You think you can frighten me with parlour tricks?”
The Yuki Onna tilted her head slightly, her serene expression unchanging. She raised her other hand, and the snowstorm intensified. The frigate rocked violently as waves of ice surged toward it, the water below freezing solid in jagged patches that locked the ship in place. The men scrambled for footing, curses and prayers spilling from their lips.
Robert’s bravado faltered as the temperature plummeted further. His breath came in shallow gasps, the cold biting at his skin despite his heavy coat. He tried to shout another command, but his voice cracked, the sound lost in the roar of the storm.
The Yuki Onna began to move. She glided across the ice, her figure cutting a stark contrast against the swirling snow. As she approached the frigate, the frost beneath her feet radiated outward, spreading like veins across the frozen cove. Her presence was a tide of inevitability, an unstoppable force of nature.
The crew watched in horrified silence as she stopped at the edge of the ice, her gaze locking onto Robert. Her voice, soft yet carrying the weight of the storm, echoed across the distance.
“You sought to bury love beneath cruelty, to claim power at the cost of humanity. But winter remembers. And now, so shall you.”
Her words struck like a hammer blow. Robert’s legs buckled, and he clung to the railing as the weight of her presence bore down on him. His bravado shattered, replaced by a cold, suffocating fear.
The Yuki Onna’s voice softened, but her tone carried an even greater weight. “Once, I had a name. Once, I was mortal. But death has freed me from such frailties. I am vengeance. I am the frost that clings to your soul.”
She paused, her dark eyes meeting his with an intensity that burned cold. “I was Miura.”
Robert's breath hitched, his legs buckling under the weight of Miura's voice. Her words, laced with a fury colder than the storm itself, sliced through the fragile facade of his arrogance. The world spun around him as her spectral form loomed closer, her eyes piercing his very soul. A strangled gasp escaped his lips before darkness claimed him, and he collapsed onto the frost-laden deck.
Willoughby, his own terror eclipsed momentarily by concern, rushed forward from obscurity. He hesitated for a heartbeat, staring at the unconscious Lieutenant sprawled on the planks, then gritted his teeth and acted. With surprising strength for his slight frame, he hoisted Robert onto his shoulder, grunting under the weight. The wind tore at his hair, and snow stung his eyes, but he pressed on, his desperation lending him resolve.
Busy cackling hysterically, the spectre allowed the retreat.
Dragging Robert down the narrow ladder, Willoughby stumbled into the dimly lit belly of the ship. His boots clanged against the steps as he half-carried, half-dragged the Lieutenant towards the captain's quarters. The storm's unrelenting howls seemed to echo inside the vessel, a haunting reminder of the chaos above.
Willoughby shoved the door open, almost collapsing under Robert's weight as he crossed the threshold. Once inside, he laid the unconscious man on the captain's bunk with a roughness born of urgency, then turned and bolted the door. His trembling fingers fumbled with the lock, but he managed to secure it with a sharp click. He leaned against the door, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.