Cristhalis's throne room was a monument to the very essence of winter. Massive ice columns rose like crystalline blades, reflecting the bluish light emanating from the ceiling—a frozen aurora, motionless and eternal. The sound of footsteps echoed across the mirrored floor, each step resonating like the distant crackling of a lake about to break apart.

In the center, seated on a throne carved from pure crystal, sat the Ice Monarch.

She was not merely beautiful—she was immaculate, almost divine, with a presence that made the air around her bow in reverence and fear. Her skin was pale as freshly fallen snow, her long, silver hair flowed in subtle waves that seemed to reflect the very light of the stars. Each strand shimmered with an icy hue, and her eyes—cold, a blue so deep they seemed made of living sapphire—observed the world without emotion, without haste, and without mercy.

The cloak that covered her shoulders was made of translucent fabric, like a veil of ice blown by the wind, fastened by sparkling crystal brooches. Beneath it, her armor gleamed in silvery metallic tones, molded with cruel elegance. Each plate was thin, precise, perfectly fitted to her body—an art that combined beauty and threat. On top of her head, a circle of ice blades formed something between a crown and a halo—a symbol of her sovereignty and her icy divinity.

She held a long, thin sword, made of the same material as her city: a translucent blade that exhaled cold vapor. There was no mark of rust on it, no crack, only the sharp perfection of one who never needed to use it more than once to kill.

One of the guards entered hastily, kneeling before her. "Your Highness... the visitor who requested an audience... he has just passed through the gates of Cristhalis." Her eyes slowly moved to the soldier, and the air in the room seemed to harden.

"Visitor…" she repeated, her voice low, cold as the crackle of ice breaking under the weight of snow. "Tell me… did he come alone?"

The guard hesitated for a moment, the vapor of his breath forming before his face. "N-no, Majesty. He brought a woman… a red-haired warrior, very powerful. And… a white tiger."

A deadly silence fell. The temperature plummeted so quickly that the sound of freezing chains echoed from the walls. The Monarch's eyes narrowed, and a brief flicker of emotion—contempt, perhaps—crossed her expression before disappearing.

"A white tiger…" she murmured, almost to herself. "Truly interesting… especially after all the Snow Tigers left my Kingdom."

She rose from the throne. The movement was smooth, almost ethereal, but the sound that accompanied it—the faint crunch of ice beneath her steps—was enough to make the soldier shudder.

She walked slowly to the center of the hall, the sword in her hand reflecting the cold light. "I invited Strax, the ruler of this so-called Asgard. Not an entourage… and certainly not a living relic of the past."

"M-my lady… should I order them to be… removed?" the guard asked, afraid to even breathe.

An almost imperceptible smile touched her lips—beautiful, yet cruel.

"No. I summoned them after all… even though… I doubted he would come…"

She flicked her wrist, and the air around her vibrated, condensing into suspended crystals that fell like snow.

"Bring them to me. All three."

The guard bowed, but before he could withdraw, her voice cut him off like a blade.

"And tell the sentinels to remain at their posts." Her eyes gleamed, intense. "If the tiger makes a false move… I want to see him freeze before he breathes again. That is, if he is who I think he is…"

The man nodded quickly and hurried out, the sound of his boots echoing down the corridor.

Alone again, the Monarch turned towards the main window—an entire wall of transparent ice that overlooked the icy abyss surrounding the city. The distant towers of Cristhalis rose under the bluish mist, and snowflakes fell slowly, as if time there moved at a different pace.

She touched the cold glass with her fingertips.

"Strax of Asgard…" she murmured, in a low, impassive tone. "The man who dared to dethrone the Monarch of Beasts."

Her eyes narrowed, and for an instant, the light in the hall seemed to react to her presence—the crystals shone brighter, the wind outside intensified.

"I am truly interested in this man… what a strange feeling."

She returned to the throne, sitting down again with the elegance of one who rules without contestation. Silence once again dominated the hall, only the distant sound of the wind echoing like a funeral dirge.

…

The rhythmic sound of Shura's paws broke the sepulchral silence of Cristhalis's streets. The white tiger advanced slowly, its claws leaving deep tracks in the hardened ice, and the steam from its breath mingled with the cold mist that hung in the air. Above him, Strax kept his gaze fixed ahead, his dark cloak contrasting with the shimmering white of the place. Behind him, Scarlet stayed close, her arms wrapped around the dragon's waist, more out of a need for warmth than affection.

The soldier guiding them walked silently ahead, his footsteps echoing on the frozen stones. The streets were almost deserted, and the few figures that appeared seemed like shadows—men and women wrapped in tattered cloaks, moving slowly, as if each step were a burden. The wind blew through the alleys, carrying snowflakes that accumulated on fragile bodies, and the eyes that watched them were empty, colorless, hopeless.

Strax felt the weight of that place. The cold there wasn't just physical—it was something that consumed the spirit, that drained the life from everything it touched. There was too much silence. Even for a city made of ice, it seemed… dead.

Scarlet looked around, frowning. "I thought a city like this would be a spectacle," she murmured, her voice muffled against the wind. "But it looks like a cemetery."

Shura let out a low growl. "It doesn't just look like it, girl. It is."

Strax leaned forward, his expression grim. "Soldier."

The man ahead, clad in silver armor covered in frost, looked over his shoulder. "Sir?"

"What happened here?" Strax asked, his voice grave and controlled. "These people… they're dying. And not just from the cold." The soldier hesitated, the sound of his heavy breathing echoing under his helmet. He looked around, as if fearing to be overheard by the very ice walls.

"It's not a secret, but… it's also not something we talk about openly, my lord."

Scarlet raised an eyebrow. "Why? Is the ice going to tell the queen?"

He didn't answer immediately. The wind blew harder, carrying his voice in broken fragments. "About a year ago, the cold worsened. The storms started lasting for entire days, and the ice… began to swallow the nearby lands. The rivers froze, the lakes disappeared. No animal survived for long. Hunting became useless."

"And farming?" Strax asked.

"We have the greenhouses… protected by the Monarch's magic." The soldier's voice sounded bitter, although he tried to hide it. "But there are few of them, and they only produce enough for the guards and the high council. The people… survive as best they can."

Scarlet tightened her arms around Strax, muttering. "So she sits on a crystal throne while her people starve? How charming."

The soldier looked back, alarmed. "Watch what you say, foreigner! Here, even the wind can carry unwanted words."

Scarlet gave a provocative smile. "Oh, how frightening. Are you going to freeze me with a look?"

"Scarlet," Strax interrupted, his voice firm, without raising his tone. She understood the message and fell silent, but her gaze still burned like embers amidst the white snow.

Shura snorted, steam coming from his nostrils in long clouds. "That explains the smell of death. No kingdom survives when the very air becomes an enemy."

Strax kept his gaze fixed ahead, observing the buildings—beautiful, but cracked, covered in layers of ice that seemed to devour the structures from within. The blue glow of the towers was no longer pure, but dull, sickly. He could feel the magical energy permeating everything—strong, but... unbalanced. As if the city itself were feeding on the vitality of its inhabitants to keep itself standing.

"How long has this been happening?" he asked, his voice low.

The soldier hesitated. "Since the Monarch lost control of the Northern currents."

Scarlet looked up, intrigued. "Northern currents?"

"They are the winds that protect Cristhalis from the creatures of the Eternal Arctic," the soldier explained. "But there is a price. They also maintain the temperature... and when something disturbs them, the balance is broken. Since then, the cold has increased, and even the ancient runes are no longer enough."

Shura growled. "And she did nothing?"

The man bit his lip. "She did... but the more power she uses, the more the ice spreads. They say she is trying to contain a force that even she cannot control."

Strax's gaze narrowed. "Or perhaps she has stopped trying."

The silence that followed was cutting.

As they walked, they passed rows of houses carved into the ice—broken doors, windows covered in thick layers of crystal. Skinny children watched from inside, their eyes wide and pale. An elderly woman, wrapped in rags, reached out to them, but the soldier looked away and quickened his pace.

Scarlet looked back, her heart aching. "Did you see that?"

"I did," Strax replied. "And I felt it."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and the air around him seemed to vibrate. A gentle warmth escaped from his body, subtle, almost imperceptible—just enough to melt the thin layer of ice covering the road just below Shura. The soldier looked back, startled, and stammered:

"Sir, please, don't use magic here. The walls have eyes."

Strax ignored him. "People are dying and she pretends not to see. Or perhaps she sees and simply doesn't care."

"Watch your words," the soldier said in a trembling voice. "The Ice Monarch protects Cristhalis. Without her, this kingdom would have already been swallowed by the eternal snow."

"Protects?" Scarlet scoffed. "It looks more like she's letting the ice devour everything while she admires herself in the mirror."

Shura let out a low growl of approval.

The soldier didn't reply. He simply quickened his pace, clearly wanting to reach the castle as soon as possible.

The path narrowed, and gradually the streets transformed into a suspension bridge over an abyss covered in bluish mist. Below, it was possible to see blocks of ice moving slowly, like sleeping creatures under the ice. The structure trembled under Shura's weight, but the tiger continued confidently.

Strax observed everything attentively—the broken towers, the decaying splendor, the heavy air of sadness. Cristhalis was beautiful, but it was rotting from within. It was like a cracked jewel: it still shone, but each day it lost a little more of its soul.

He took a deep breath, the cold air burning his lungs.

"How long has the Monarch reigned here?"

"Since the first ice formed," the soldier replied, in a reverent tone. "She is eternal. No one knows her true age."

Scarlet grumbled. "Eternity and solitude... a perfect combination for losing one's sanity."

The soldier pretended not to hear, but Strax noticed the fear in his eyes. Not fear of Scarlet—fear of the Monarch herself.

In the distance, the palace doors began to reveal themselves—immense, carved from layers of translucent crystal and decorated with glowing runes that pulsed slowly, like a frozen heart. Before them, rows of guards stood motionless, their spears covered in ice, and the ground before them gleamed with complex runic patterns.

Strax paused for a moment, observing the monument before him.

Scarlet whispered: "And this is the woman who summoned you here... why, exactly?"

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze distant, thoughtful.

"I don't know," he finally replied. "But looking at all this... I'm starting to think she's going to ask me for something."

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