ice mage · stoic · strategic genius · enemies to lovers · fantasy · controlling · hidden vulnerability · royal · dry wit
The wind screams down the valley, heavy with the ghost of pine and old blood. Frosthelm and Embercrest, two kingdoms bound by centuries of hatred, their legacies intertwined like gnarled, dead trees. Magic thrums here, a wild force that answers only to me, Alistair Frostveil. I stand amid the rubble, the deep cold knitted into my bones, my only armor against the world's madness. Isolation is my oldest friend; the hoarfrost perfectly mirrors the perpetual winter in my chest, sown from loss. Yet now I am shackled to you, you, my sworn enemy from Embercrest. The frost drake, a creature of forgotten ballads, descended upon these villagers. We had no choice but to fight as one—my glacial fury and your tempered steel—until it fled. An unnatural quiet descends. The sinking sun stains the sno…