The northern wind carried a sharper chill as Baker's family wagon wound through a frozen glade. Snow draped the trees in soft white, but the silence felt heavy — not peaceful, but watchful.
"Too quiet," Meryl murmured, her breath forming a faint mist. "The forest's holding its breath."
Clarisse slowed her horse. "Something's near. Be ready."
Then they saw it — a pale shimmer among the trees. A creature stepped forward, moving with fluid grace: its fur gleamed silver-blue, and faint frost mist coiled around its paws. The Frosty Candidaclis — a rare fox-wolf hybrid spirit beast — its twin tails swirling like ribbons of winter wind.
Its eyes, deep crystalline azure, reflected both curiosity and pain. Frost clung thick to one foreleg, and it limped slightly.
"Hold," Baker said gently, raising a hand before anyone could draw steel. "It's hurt, not hostile."
He stepped forward slowly, heart steady. The air grew colder with each step, flakes hanging motionless in the air. The creature sniffed him once — then stayed still.
Baker knelt, unslinging his satchel. "You're alright… let's fix that." He uncorked a small jar of his self-made warming salve — a mix of mana herbs and beast fat — and began rubbing it over the creature's leg. The frost hissed and melted away.
The Candidaclis exhaled softly, like a sigh carried by winter itself. For a moment, its fur glowed faintly. Then it leaned forward and pressed its icy nose to Baker's palm.
A pulse of cool mana surged through him. His breath hitched — not from cold, but from clarity. The frost felt gentle, pure. When he looked down, tiny frost crystals sparkled faintly across his skin before fading.
Meryl's eyes widened. "It blessed you. Frost mana… rare for humans to receive."
The creature gave one soft cry — something between a bark and a hum — then bounded back into the forest, vanishing like a phantom in the snow.
Baker stood there quietly, feeling the lingering cold beneath his skin. But strangely, he didn't feel chilled at all. The air no longer bit into him; the cold simply… existed.
"Baker?" Meryl asked softly.
He smiled faintly. "I think… it gave me a gift."
That night, when they camped, Baker meditated to study the change. His mana shimmered faintly blue at the edges — a thin mist of frost entwined with his usual warm energy. He guided it through his body using his Enduring Body technique.
Immediately, he felt the effect. A light numbness spread through sore muscles. The lingering ache in his shoulder from carrying supplies faded. Small cuts closed faster, swelling vanished. The frost mana cooled inflammation without freezing him — perfectly balanced.
He murmured to himself, "So… it can heal through stillness."
His aunt Clarisse noticed him experimenting and smiled knowingly. "The cold endures where heat fades. You've gained more than just a blessing, Baker — you've learned patience in motion."
He chuckled softly. "Guess even the cold has kindness in it."
When he finally slept that night, the frost around their camp glittered faintly, forming delicate shapes that looked almost like snowflakes spinning in slow dance — a quiet echo of the Frosty Candidaclis watching over him from afar.