It was a warm spring day in Silvardor. Birds chirped from trees with a full green plumage and the air bore with it the scent of flowers and a taste of summer’s warmth. Ni’aad was the site of bustling activity and construction as the elves worked together to rebuild their city and the same scene could be seen anywhere in Silvardor and everywhere around Dargon.

  The Winter palace was comparatively quiet, where it stood in the silent shadows of a large tree. The room that was formerly Dethemina’s study had been redecorated with a large, beautifully carved stone desk and the removal of the paintings she had hung up—paintings made by her son as a child. The room had previously had a warm and inviting feel to it, but now it felt stripped down and bare and cold.

  At the desk sat Aranel Aegivyl, the young winter king. He’d grown out of both his childish mannerisms and appearance and had lost the youthful charm he once had. He was a good ruler—cold and meticulous, but not unfeeling. He wore a thick cape of soft white fur and a simple white tunic, as well as an ice-blue crown that lay heavily on his head.

  It was a day like any other and it passed swiftly into a cold night like any other, but for some reason, Aranel Aegivyl felt a strange sense of foreboding. He brushed off the feeling as well as he could and told himself to focus on the things that were real rather than dwell on feelings that might not be, but it lingered in the back of his mind as he tried to sleep that night.

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  That night he dreamt of death and the world beyond. Aranel woke up with a gasp, feeling a strange, foreign yet familiar, energy swirling within him. Unable to control the energy, Aranel watched in horror as the duvet that touched his fingertips froze, and the thin ice spread.

  As the horrifying revelation set in, Aranel raised a shaky hand up to his brow and felt, instead of the soft skin beneath his fingertips, the cold surface of a guardian circlet. His whole body now trembling and his breathing harsh and uneven, he tried to reign in this new power. He sat up and tried to control his breathing, his mind in turmoil. Taryn Aegivyl was dead. Aranel clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms and the thin ice cracking as the duvet shifted.

  Somehow, sleep found him that night. But the dreams that came with it were hardly pleasant.

  How did Taryn Aegivyl die?

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  The morning came with whispers that spread like wildfire as Aranel passed others in the corridor. He was dressed in pale mourning green and to onlookers, he must’ve looked like a ghost. He felt numb and his face showed no emotion, though his eyes were red-rimmed and glassy.

  As he rounded the corner into the airy dining room where his father sat, Taeriel stood up and inclined his head to Aranel, then his eyes widened.

  “Aranel-” He began, taking a step towards the young king.

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  “I am the new silver guardian, Father,” Aranel said quietly.

  Taeriel wordlessly moved over and wrapped his son in a hug.

  “Father… you won’t leave me, right?” Aranel whispered, gripping Taeriel’s shirt a little tighter.

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  The day passed in a blur. Aranel couldn’t remember most of it. It was just an endless cycle of paperwork and pitying glances and hushed questions that he didn’t want to keep answering. Every time he said the words, it felt a little more real. As if there was no going back and no other truth. As if Taryn couldn’t be alive somewhere, somehow.

  He’d wanted to avoid announcing it, but every questioning glance made him more irate and he eventually sent for a Speaker. The Speaker had listened to the words Aranel wanted to relay and made sure that all of Ni’aad knew of the guardian power shift.

  Aranel shrugged off the long and heavy tunic he wore and let it drop to the ground in a crumpled pile. He stepped over it and reached into his wardrobe and changed into a more comfortable shirt. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders now that he was alone. He moved over to his bed and flopped down onto it, staring listlessly at the ceiling.

  I have to be strong again tomorrow, He thought, But for now…

  His mind brought back memories of his mother and his uncle—happy memories, overridden by vivid images of their cold bodies in glass caskets. Aranel rolled over on his side as he felt the tingling, uncomfortable feeling in his nose that always heralded tears. He felt his eyes tear up and he sniffled quietly.

  Mother and uncle left me, then Taryn left me… they’re all leaving me! He thought, his breathing uneven.

  As his thoughts wandered, his powers grew increasingly turbulent within him and all around him, ice began to spread from his body. But Aranel was too far gone to notice, his eyes glassy and his mind elsewhere.

  I can’t lose Father too! I’ll protect him, Aranel thought—his last conscious thought before he blacked out.

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  The temperature in Aranel’s room plummeted and the ice thickened and spread, racing across the floor and up the walls. His ice was not the beautiful pale blue sheen that his brother’s had been, but a deadly black colour.

  It spread quickly underneath the door to Aranel’s room and through the gaps in the windows, forming spikes along the edges. Aranel’s room was chilly and his breath came out like a cloud. All around his room, the ice had spread to everything and spikes grew all around his bed and formed dangling from the ceiling.

  Outside, the sudden appearance of the ice had people raising alarm within the Winter palace and the door to Aranel’s room was flung open by Taeriel.

  “Aranel!” He cried, taking in the icy room.

  He tried to step forward, but the ice had already crept forward and frozen his feet to the ground. Taeriel struggled and moved around in an attempt to get free as the ice crept up his legs, but his efforts were futile. His breath came in ragged gasps as the ice crawled up his midsection and over his shoulders. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes just before the ice fully encased his head.

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  Ice spread from the Winter palace and through Ni’aad, cocooning all the inhabitants of the city in an icy coffin. With the ice came grey clouds that blotted out the sun and the temperature plummeted. From Ni’aad the ice spread rapidly through all of Silvardor and came upon the shores of the elven kingdom, where it froze the water and the ships in it. In no time at all, Silvardor became a cold, quiet icescape and the ice spread across the sea, but stopped short of Sanobar and Westik.

  Nearly half of Dargon froze that day.