Prologue :

  The wind howled savagely, rippling through the grasses growing over the ruins, rustling in the hawthorn bushes and tall nettles. Clouds sped across the sphere of the moon, momentarily illuminating the small groggy log cabin, revealing the walls stacked out of spruce logs.

  Inside the cozy walls, a lone figure sat by the fire, its glow casting flickering shadows across the room. The swordsman checked a long extraordinary slender blade, feeling the comforting weight of it in his hands.

  Streaks of bright blue hair hung from his forehead, Frost, that gave his name, His code name in the Hunter’s guild is known all over the world of Althea, But his true name remained hidden.

  He had a job tonight, given by the Hunter’s Guild. The guild had warned him of a creature unlike any other, lurking deep in the unknown woods. The quest description simply read : UNKNOWN.

  The steady ring of the grindstone on metal rang through the cozy spruce cabin. Sharpening his blade is one of his many relaxing hobbies. The noise makes him calm down, refreshing his feelings to prepare for his job.

  After checking the already razor-sharp edge for the tenth time, Frost slid the long blade back into the oiled scabbard and clipped the weapon into his heavy duty belt. He checked his leather bag of supplies: some dry provisions, several bottles of a slightly golden mixture.

  All good. Ready to go.

  Slinging a thick black woolen cloak around his shoulders, Frost pushed open the creaking door and stepped out into the swirling cold winter.

  Icy air hit his face, but he welcomed it, letting the chill sharpen his senses. He trudged through the thick snow, step after step, lifting his feet out of the thick snow. The forest loomed, dark and endless, each spruce branch heavy with flakes.

  The night was quiet, heavy, and wet with the ashy flakes drifting down from the heavens.

  He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in his gut. The forest is too quiet to be safe. The absence of chirping of birds and the scuttle of small animals made him anxious and jumpy.

  The location reported of the dangerous threat was not far from Frost’s winter home. Over the tall spiring spikes that made the Thousand Spires. Scaling the rocks is a piece of cake for Frost. With his magic buffed senses and muscles, It might take him half an hour to pass the five hundred meters of straight cliff.

  But there was nothing to fear, being one of the best hunters in the guild, He kept his free hand on the small pouch fastened on his waist, which held the three crystal vials of potion. If he got into a sticky spot, the potion would save him.

  The moment he reached the cliffs, he knew that something was wrong. Where there used to be small vegetation growing out of the cracks between the rocks, large chunks of the cliff were broken off by some giant force.

  Long deep gorges seemingly dug out of the earth by a pair of enormous claws, sending the loose rocks tumbling down the steep cliff.

  The sight at the top of the plateau was so much worse. On the stretch of flat highlands, where used to be a cluster of tall leafy spruce trees, are now a ring of leafless and bare trunks, its branches free of the slow falling snow.

  Something had been here, making this clearing as home. Frost had not been in this remote part of the mountain for a long time, having spent the majority of the last five years in the southern part of Althera on a quest hunting assassins of the Vigils.

  In his absence, a giant thing must have moved into this place, taking it over as it’s home.

  “A dragon” Frost muttered under his breath, as the realization hit him like a dropping stone.

  The information sank in, and for a moment, his confidence wavered. The guild had sent him to hunt a monster, but they hadn’t mentioned a dragon, a Frost breathing one.

  Taking a steadying breath, he whispered a few ancient words, channeling a small surge of elemental magic into his body through the small core on the tip of his ring.

  Fire, the element to strengthen users. He felt the heat of the liquid like power surge through his veins. The magic was subtle but strong, strengthening his muscles and physical endurance.

  Frost stepped into the clearing, deciding to face the threat head on. There’s no point trying to play stealth in a dragon’s own perch. A single stealth strike could never take down a full grown dragon anyway.

  A gigantic roar echoed through the clearing as Frost stepped into the open space, swinging his blade clear of the oiled scabbard.

  The Ice Dragon loomed above the frozen clearing, its colossal wings outstretched against the pale, twilight sky. Frost clung to the translucent membrane of its wings, catching the dying light in a spectral shimmer.

  Its scales were like shards of purest ice, sharp-edged and glistening, their color shifting between pale blue and bone-white as it moved.

  The beast’s body was massive, its sinewy frame rippling with raw power beneath the frosty armor, and each step it took left deep prints in the snow-crusted ground, spreading a cold that seemed to seep into the very marrow of the earth.

  Its eyes were the most terrifying of all—twin orbs of cold purple fire, glowing faintly with an unnatural, predatory intelligence. They were voids of warmth, windows into an ancient malice honed over centuries of solitude and slaughter. When the dragon exhaled, a mist of frigid air clouded the clearing, the temperature plummeting even further, as if nature itself bent to the creature's icy dominion.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  The spines along its back jutted out like jagged peaks, each one frosted and ending in cruel, razor-like points. The creature’s tail swished slowly, carving through the snow like a scythe, leaving nothing but desolation in its wake.

  Its claws, each as long as a man’s forearm, glinted with the sheen of frozen steel, and when it flexed its talons, the sound was like glaciers grinding together—low, resonant, and filled with menace.

  Then came its roar, throwing its head up into the night air, emitting a sound that shattered the stillness of the wilderness and echoed into the surrounding spruce forest. It was a deafening cacophony, both high and low, like the groaning of ancient glaciers crashing into the sea. The force of it sent gusts of icy wind outward, bending trees and driving snowflakes into a whirling frenzy.

  This was no mere beast. This was Ithrazor, the Herald of Winter—a dragon whose name was whispered by hunters and scholars alike, accompanied always by stories of villages frozen solid in its wake and warriors turned to statues of ice before they could even draw their blades.

  And now, it has sensed a new challenger. Its head swung low, the horned crown atop its skull framing its angular snout. Clouds of frost wreathed its muzzle as it sniffed the air, catching the scent of steel and sweat.

  Frost tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade, the enchanted steel already vibrating with faint warmth as it reacted to the dragon’s overwhelming aura. His breath misted before him, visible even through the thick scarf wrapped tightly around his face. He didn’t move—not yet.

  He stood stock still.

  Ithrazor’s eyes locked onto him, and for a heartbeat, time itself seemed to freeze.

  The fight was inevitable. But this would not be a battle of strength alone. To face an ice dragon, Frost knew, was to stand against the very essence of winter’s wrath.

  The dragon crouched down and sniffed Frost, tasting the aura of this swordsman that dared enter its lair. Cold breath swirled around Frost, making him shiver a little, his fire still keeping him warm.

  Drawing back its head, the dragon glanced down at Frost and puffed out a cloud of white breath.

  Without warning, and without the smallest intake of air, the dragon breathed out a sheet of frozen air, aimed straight at Frost.

  But Frost was ready for this, his legs bunched up and propelled him to the side, rolling on impact, missing the majority of the freezing air by inches.

  Ice crept up his leather boots and jacket, the effects of the breath still winding him a little.

  Frost stood back up, patting the snow out of his clothes, eyeing the giant creature that recovered from the attack.

  The sword in Frost’s hands vibrated in response to its master’s call. throwing power into the blade, Frost swung it around in a circle, drawing a sheet of cray light in its wake.

  The clearing became a battlefield as Frost charged at the dragon, his boots crunching over the ice-crusted snow. Ithrazor responded with a deafening roar, the sound blasting out in a shockwave of freezing wind that sent shards of ice hurtling toward him, feeling blisters and small scratches as the remaining shards hit grazed him. He rolled to his feet, his blade already glowing faintly with the fiery runes etched into its surface.

  Frost muttered a quick incantation, calling more Fire to his aid. A warm, scarlet aura enveloped him, warding off the biting cold and enhancing his strength. The dragon, sensing the shift in energy, surged forward with surprising speed for its immense size. Its claws raked the ground as it lunged, carving deep furrows into the earth.

  He dodged again, this time leaping onto a jagged outcrop of ice. This time, adding a dose of Thunder to the pool of elements. Thunder gave him reflex, crucial to fight an enemy this fast.

  From this elevated position, he lept, shooting into the air with uncanny speed, swinging his blade downward in a wide arc of destruction. The enchanted metal met the dragon’s icy sign joint with a thunderous clash, sparks flying as it cut through the frost-layered skin. Ithrazor howled in pain, jerking its massive head toward him and snapping its jaws with enough force to crack stone, spewing Frost with another volley of ice shards.

  Blood whisked round him, both his and the dragon’s. The first hit drew blood.

  The swordsman leaped away just in time, but the dragon’s icy breath followed him. A torrent of freezing air erupted from its maw, coating the ground in a thick layer of frost and turning nearby trees into crystalline statues. The swordsman raised his blade trying to ward off the cold, but that was no use. mimbiled by the cold, he stamped his feet to break the newly frozen ice that stuck to the ground.

  He dashed forward, using the fading breath attack as his opening. He burst through the white mist, appearing in front of the dragon with surprise on his side.

  With swift, precise strikes, he targeted the joints of the dragon’s wings, where the skin was thinner. Ithrazor roared in fury, swiping with its claws, but the swordsman moved like a shadow, his enhanced reflexes allowing him to evade the deadly strikes.

  Suddenly, the dragon’s tail lashed out, catching him off guard. The force of the blow sent him sprawling across the snow-covered ground, his sword skidding across the ice, far from his reach.

  Pain flared through his ribs, but he forced himself to his feet, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He felt broken ribs.

  Ithrazor loomed over the helpless figure, its glowing eyes full of malice.

  The dragon reared back, preparing to unleash another blast of deadly icy breath. Desperation surged through Frost as he sprinted toward his fallen blade, his magic flaring even brighter in response to the danger. He grasped the frozen hilt just as the dragon’s attack erupted, and with a final, defiant cry, he channeled every ounce of his magic into his weapon.

  “Flaming shield!!” Frost yelled.

  Frost is an Elementalist, a juggernaut trained in the art of elements for his whole life. Normal magic like the flame shield is not in the categories of his training.

  But he had to use it anyway.

  A shimmering haze like a shard of the sun, cutting through the icy breath as he charged directly into the storm of flying shrapnel and uncanny cold.

  The long tail came swishing again, but Frost was ready this time, leaping over the cold scales and darting back at the monster.

  With one mighty leap, he drove the glowing blade deep into Ithrazor’s chest, magic-bonded blade piercing through the frozen scales and striking the core beneath.

  Frost felt the blade break through the monster’s essence core, ending the chaos forever.

  For a moment, there was silence. Then the dragon let out a bone-shaking roar, its massive body convulsing as cracks spread across its icy form. The light in its eyes dimmed, and with a final, thunderous crash, Ithrazor collapsed, the frost around it melting away in waves.

  Frost stood there, panting, his blade still glowing faintly in the aftermath, slick with blood. He shivered, still taking the full aftermath of the blow he took from the tail.

  He looked down at the fallen beast, its once-terrifying form now lifeless and still, and allowed himself a brief moment of triumph.

  Then another piercing cry shot through the still night air, a call of another dragon.

  “Got to go…” Frost muttered to himself, picking up his fallen blade and ran across the clearing, aiming for the mass of trees to mask his location.

  The small dark figure disappeared into the mass of foliage. The second dragon screamed into the still night air, it's roar echoing through the cold winter mountains.