K.J. lay in his room, his chest rising and falling softly, still unconscious a full day after expending his energy in defense of the royal family. Shadows danced from the faint candlelight, casting a warm glow across his exhausted, shirtless form, highlighting the powerful muscles and scars marking him as a survivor of many trials. Yet his body looked drained, his skin paler than usual, his eyes shut in deep rest.
Oliver sat in a worn chair beside K.J., his gaze fixed intently on his friend. He was immersed in troubled thoughts, feeling the weight of his own powerlessness during the attack. Despite his training, his fire, his royal status—when the Goddess Shiva presence had frozen his magic, he'd felt helpless, unable to defend not only himself but K.J. and everyone he cared for. He couldn't shake the deep sense of failure.
He glanced over K.J.'s still figure, taking in the details of the intricate tattoo beneath K.J.'s belly button, something he hadn't really noticed before. Curiosity took hold as he reached out, his fingers grazing the tattoo. The central sigil, a glowing sun, emanated a surprising warmth, like a miniature sun was captured just under the surface. Thin lines stretched outward, some of them glowing faintly while others were dark and dormant. Among these was a small crescent moon, its edges sharp but unlit, as though waiting for something. Oliver traced his finger over it, wondering why only the sun radiated warmth.
His thoughts were broken by a voice from the hallway outside, clear and resolute. "Oliver," Ryan called quietly. "Your father wants to speak with you."
Oliver didn't move at first, his hand still hovering over the tattoo, his gaze locked on K.J.'s peaceful face. He felt a mixture of worry, anger, and guilt churn within him. "Ryan..." he said, his voice thick, wavering between resentment and desperation. "I can't leave him, not when he's like this. I need to be here when he wakes up... I have to make sure he's alright."
Ryan stepped inside, his expression steady but compassionate. "Oliver, I understand. But your father..." He hesitated, letting his silence imply what Oliver already feared.
"Ryan!" Oliver's voice broke, his frustration escaping in an anguished snap. He looked up at his friend, his blue eyes shimmering, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "I know... he isn't going to make it, is he?"
Ryan sighed, nodding in understanding. "You have to face him, Oliver. Go to him while you can. I'll stay with K.J."
After a moment, Oliver relented, brushing the tear quickly from his face. "Fine," he murmured, his voice heavy with disappointment and dread. Rising from his seat, he cast one last, lingering look at K.J. before walking out, his footsteps muffled on the carpeted floor.
Ryan took his place by K.J.'s side, resting a gentle hand on the young man's shoulder, a quiet reassurance that he wouldn't be alone when he woke.
As Oliver approached the throne room, the chilling draft washed over him, biting into his skin even before he stepped through the fractured doorway. Inside, the grand hall was a shadow of its former glory, bearing stark reminders of the battle that had torn through it. Shards of ice clung to the walls like ghostly memories, frost lattices traced intricate patterns over the stone columns, and jagged splinters of debris lay scattered across the floor, remnants of shattered grandeur.
His gaze traveled to the throne, where his father sat, half-shrouded in a thick royal cloak, the weight of which seemed as heavy as the fate that had befallen him. From his shoulder to his waist, his father was encased in jagged, merciless icicles, each one gleaming with a faint, almost sinister light, capturing the last vitality that had once animated the king. Oliver's chest tightened as he saw the once-mighty figure that had commanded respect and loyalty now subdued, weakened, under the relentless frost that had seized his body. He knew the curse of the ice was irreversible, each frozen tendril burrowing deeper, claiming life as it spread. His father's skin, once warm and proud, had turned pale beneath the frozen grip, and his eyes, though meeting Oliver's, carried a dimness that spoke of resigned understanding.
The reality sank in: this was a battle from which his father could not recover. The frozen curse had sealed his fate the moment it struck, leaving only a frail echo of the powerful ruler he once was.
The King lifted his gaze as Oliver approached, his eyes softer now, holding a mixture of pride and sorrow that his son had never quite seen before.
The King's voice was faint and strained, his breaths shallow as he struggled for each word. "Son..." he whispered, faltering as he fought to gather his strength. "I'm... so glad... to see you."
Oliver moved closer, his steps slow and hesitant, his heart aching at the sight of his father, weakened and gripped by ice. "Dad..." he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
"Shush," the King interrupted softly, his tone still laced with authority despite his condition. "No need for words. You did... everything you could. As long as you're safe... I can finally stop worrying."
Oliver watched as the ice crept further over his father's body, spreading from his shoulder to his arm, until it covered his hand, leaving it resting motionless on the arm of the throne. His father could no longer feel it, the cold having stolen his warmth. The sight made Oliver's heart clench, and he felt hot tears escape, tracing down his face.
The King's eyes softened as he noticed Oliver's tears, a gentle pride flickering across his face. "Son," he began, his voice breaking into a cough that wracked his body. "Ack... you know I'm so... so proud of you. They're going to come back... to finish what they started. They've already taken... so much." His voice trembled as he continued. "You... you need to leave, Oliver. Get stronger... and when the time comes... you and K.J.... will be ready to reclaim our lands."
The King's voice grew weaker, but he gathered his last strength to say the words closest to his heart. "Ollie..." he called softly, using the nickname his mother had once lovingly used. "Ollie, I... love you so much..."
The King's chest rose once more, a final shallow breath escaping him as his hand fell limp. His eyes, now vacant, lingered on Oliver one last time, gazing at his son as if preserving the memory of him until his final moment. Then, his chest stilled, his head tilting to the side, life slipping away.
"Father?" Oliver's voice was barely a whisper, skipping and faltering as he reached out, clutching his father's shoulder in a desperate attempt to hold onto him. "No... no, please!" He broke, his tears falling freely, his hand reaching to gently cover his father's open eyes, closing them with trembling fingers.
Kneeling beside the throne, Oliver's shoulders shook as he clung to the memory of his father's warmth, the grief consuming him.
As Ryan kept his silent vigil beside K.J., he gazed out the frosted window, watching delicate flurries of snow drift down and cling to the glass. The quiet was broken by a sudden rise in K.J.'s chest as he inhaled sharply, stirring awake, his gaze bleary and searching the room until he recognized his surroundings. K.J.'s tired eyes landed on Ryan, who offered a relieved smile.
"Glad you're awake," Ryan said gently. "Do you remember what happened?"
K.J. nodded, though the strain showed in his face.
Ryan glanced at K.J.'s bruised, bare torso. "Your back took quite a toll when you hit the wall—that's why you're shirtless. It's all bruised up, and I don't want you to move too fast."
K.J. tried sitting up but was met with a sharp pain shooting through his back, his face tightening as he struggled to rise. "Here," Ryan murmured, slipping a steady hand behind K.J., helping him sit upright. K.J. inhaled slowly, each breath making him wince as the bruises across his back flared.
"Easy there..." Ryan warned, gently easing his support away once K.J. was sitting up. He hesitated before continuing, his gaze turning serious. "A lot's happened since you've been out."
K.J's eyes narrowed with worry, his expression mirroring the heaviness in Ryan's voice. Ryan seemed reluctant, his face troubled, a sign that sent an uneasy chill through K.J.
"Do you think you can stand?" Ryan asked, choosing to show K.J. rather than explain. He extended his hand, and with a bit of effort, K.J. managed to get to his feet, moving carefully with Ryan's help. Together, they made their way to Oliver's room, which offered a balcony view facing the southern part of town. The closer they got, the colder the air felt, until a biting chill met them as they entered the room, its icy grasp pulling the warmth from the air.
Once they reached the edge of the balcony, Ryan placed a steadying hand on K.J.'s shoulder. "I want to warn you... it's not an easy sight," he said, voice low and somber.
K.J. took a shaky breath before looking out. His face fell as his gaze swept over the town, now frozen in a nightmare. The entire landscape lay coated in a thick layer of ice, turning buildings, streets, and people alike into glassy, crystalline statues. Where once vibrant townsfolk had roamed, only shattered remnants of lives were left, some figures broken, limbs scattered across the ground like pieces of a macabre puzzle. Buildings stood fractured, some partially collapsed under the weight of ice, their walls splintered and hollow.
K.J.'s gaze locked onto a scene that struck his heart like a hammer—his uncle's farm. His home had been reduced to rubble, fields blanketed in frost, and near the remnants of a broken fence lay his uncle. Frozen mid-motion, gripping a worn hoe, his figure was fractured—his lower half still upright, while his upper half lay shattered on the ground nearby, pieces of ice glinting like broken glass in the muted light.
K.J. gasped, his breath catching painfully as grief choked him. He couldn't pull his gaze from his uncle's broken form, a crushing sense of loss overtaking him. Ryan instinctively placed a supportive arm around K.J.'s chest, holding him steady as K.J. fought to breathe, the tears spilling down his cheeks uncontrollably.
"Easy," Ryan whispered, his voice tight with empathy.
K.J.'s shoulders trembled as the sorrow wracked his body. He gripped the balcony's edge, his hands trembling, fingers pressing into the stone, which cracked and shattered under his grasp, scattering like icy shards. Overcome, he pushed Ryan's hand away with a jerk of his shoulder. Ryan stepped back, giving K.J. the space he needed.
He stared down at the town below, his heart a mix of agony and disbelief. This place, once filled with life, his home, his uncle's pride—was now nothing more than a graveyard of frozen memories.
K.J. moved back into his room, his movements strained as he gathered his new attire piece by piece, strapping each component onto his aching body. He felt the bruises on his back flare as he hitched the quiver onto his shoulder, his face tightening as he fastened his bow.
Ryan stepped into the doorway, watching him with growing concern. "What are you doing?" he demanded, reaching out to stop him as K.J. jerked his arm away, snapping his bow into place. "You're injured! You're only going to make it worse!"
K.J. turned slowly, his eyes blazing with a raw fury and grief that made Ryan pause. The quiet, reserved courier now radiated an intensity Ryan had never seen before. With an expression of silent rage, K.J. turned and left the room, his steps resolute and unwavering as Ryan followed, unable to deter him.
When K.J. reached the frozen lobby, he looked to his left, spotting Oliver leaning over his father's lifeless form amidst the shattered walls. The grief etched on Oliver's face only fueled K.J.'s determination as he turned toward the main entrance—a gaping hole in the ice-ravaged castle.
Ryan's voice rang out as he called after K.J., and Oliver quickly rose, his head snapping toward the sound. "K.J.!" he shouted, seeing him stride toward the open courtyard. Oliver's face contorted with urgency as he took a step forward, watching the pain that rippled through K.J. like a storm barely held in check.
"K.J.! Stop!" Oliver yelled, his voice tinged with desperation. When K.J. ignored him, Oliver raised his hand, conjuring a fireball that surged forward, hurtling past K.J. to impact a tower near the gate with a thunderous explosion. Half of the tower crumbled under the blast, bricks and ice shards scattering to the ground.
With the Goddess no longer in the vicinity, Oliver felt the familiar surge of heat building in his veins as his magic returned. The weight and dampening chill that had previously stifled his powers lifted, allowing his flames to flicker to life once more. A rush of relief mingled with frustration at his earlier helplessness, reminding him of the depth of his bond with his magic—and the danger when it is taken from him. Now, his magic pulsed at the ready, a fiery force once again under his control.
The roar of destruction halted K.J. He turned, standing fifty yards away, his eyes meeting Oliver's.
"Don't do something stupid!" Oliver shouted, watching K.J.'s pain pour through every rigid line of his body.
But K.J. continued, his steps deliberate. He took a few paces forward before instinctively loading an arrow into his bow and firing into the air, timed with precision. At that moment, Oliver launched another fireball toward a second gate tower. The arrow struck the fireball mid-flight, splitting it cleanly in half. Each half veered off, one smashing into the already-collapsed tower, encasing the ruins in ice, while the other hit the nearby wall, shattering like glass.
The arrow continued its path, embedding itself into a wall in Oliver's peripheral vision, its black fletching trembling in the aftermath.
Oliver's eyes widened in astonishment, both impressed and unsettled by K.J.'s skill and unwavering aim. He stood silent, the heat of his own magic forgotten as he watched K.J. notch another arrow, holding it pointed directly at him.
In that suspended moment, K.J.'s expression softened just enough for Oliver to glimpse the single tear that slipped down his cheek, a testament to the depth of his grief. Slowly, K.J. lowered the bow, the arrow snapping back into its quiver. Without another word, he turned, walking through the gate, his gaze fixed on his uncle's home in the distance, each step carrying the weight of his loss and determination.
A few hundred steps later, K.J. arrived at the ice-encased farm. The once-vibrant fields now lay under a glistening, lethal frost, and each step across the slippery ground was a reminder of the destruction left behind. He carefully climbed the icy slope toward the rows of tomatoes, where his uncle's figure was frozen mid-motion, still holding his hoe. Kneeling down, K.J. placed a trembling hand on his uncle's icy shoulder, feeling the cold penetrate his skin as if it were sinking straight into his heart. His head bowed, and quiet, choked sobs escaped him, reverberating through the still, desolate landscape.
Moments later, Oliver approached from behind, stopping a few paces away to observe K.J. in his grief. The realization dawned on him—K.J. hadn't left to abandon the town; he'd come to say goodbye to his uncle, to honor one of the last connections he had. Oliver's initial misinterpretation now seemed trivial in light of K.J.'s silent dedication.
Wordlessly, Oliver stepped forward, placing a firm but gentle hand on K.J.'s shoulder. A wave of understanding passed between them—two souls carrying the fresh weight of loss, each grieving in their own way. Oliver, too, was suppressing his own grief for his father, fighting to remain strong, but he knew they couldn't stay in Astria any longer. A kingdom under siege would need help, and more than that, it would need the kind of power K.J. possessed.
His hand remained on K.J.'s shoulder, a silent vow that he would stand by him, both as a prince and as a friend.
K.J. rose slowly, his thumb brushing away the last traces of his tears. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes red-rimmed, but he faced Oliver with a resolve that ran deeper than his grief. Without a word, Oliver reached out, pulling K.J. into a steady embrace, holding him close.
As K.J. leaned against Oliver's chest, he became acutely aware of the firmness beneath his cheek. The layers of fabric did little to hide the solid strength of Oliver's torso; he could feel the subtle shift of muscle as Oliver breathed, each inhale and exhale pressing gently against him. His ear was just near enough to feel the faint, steady beat of Oliver's heart, and he could even make out the gentle press of Oliver's chest against him—a subtle reminder of the power and protection he offered.
The warmth radiating from Oliver's body wrapped around K.J., calming him, grounding him. Oliver's arm tightened slightly around K.J., his muscles tensing as he pulled him in closer, making the embrace feel as steady and unbreakable as stone. In that moment, K.J. felt surrounded by both strength and warmth, finding solace in the steady rhythms and contours that conveyed comfort and security without a word spoken. The intensity of the moment underscored the trust between them, a connection forged in both loss and resolve, and K.J. knew this bond was as strong as the arms that held him.
Oliver's voice, low and steady, broke the silence. "We need to go back to the throne room," he murmured. "Mankoo might know our next step... what we need to do to fight back." His words were a vow as much as a plan, his arm still holding K.J. firmly as if he needed him to feel the truth of it.
K.J. nodded against him, not quite ready to pull away. In that brief embrace, he felt something rare—a sense of safety amidst the ruins. There was a fire in him now, tempered by his loss, and he knew that with Oliver, he had someone who would stand by him. With resolve steadying his steps, K.J. released him, and together they turned back toward the castle.
