The morning sun streamed through the cabin's frosted windows in golden beams. Light struck the icicles clinging to the roof's edge, scattering patterns like cracked diamonds across the wooden floorboards. It was quiet—so quiet that the faint whistle of wind seemed almost musical.
Inside the cradle, the baby opened his eyes.
He was beginning to understand things, little by little. He couldn't speak, couldn't walk, couldn't even properly sit up—but he could listen. He could think. His mind no longer panicked when his limbs failed him. Instead, he waited, absorbing everything like a sponge.
His name, for example.
He'd heard it dozens of times now, soft and melodic on his mother's lips. "Elias."
It wasn't his name before. He'd had another once—vague and faded now, like breath on a mirror. But Elias suited him. It felt right. A clean name, a winter name. Crisp, like snowfall.
His mother was humming.
She sat beside the fire, stitching a small white blanket. The threads glinted faintly with blue silk. Occasionally, she would glance over at Elias, smile, and return to her task.
She was always gentle. Even when tired. Even when the shadows under her eyes darkened from too many sleepless nights.
He tried to make a sound—not a cry, but something more intentional. A croak, a hum, even a huff. But his throat was still underdeveloped. All that came out was a soft gurgle.
Still, her eyes lifted immediately.
"Oh, are we trying to talk already?" she chuckled, placing the needlework in a basket. She leaned over his cradle, brushing her fingers through his snowy-white hair.
Yes. That was another thing. His hair had grown, subtly but noticeably, and it stayed stark white no matter how often she tried to compare it to other babies. She'd once said to his father, "Like someone sprinkled snow into his curls."
Her hand touched his forehead. It was always warm. He envied that.
She picked him up, cradling him close as she walked slowly around the cabin. The motion comforted him. Her heart beat steadily near his ear. The warmth of her skin dulled the ever-present chill resting beneath his own.
He concentrated again.
The cold inside him was never gone. It lurked just below the surface, gentle but insistent—like a stream flowing under thin ice. He imagined pulling it forward with his breath.
Cold. Flow. Focus. Cold.
A breeze stirred.
It was subtle. Barely noticeable to someone else. But the air around his fingers dipped in temperature. A tiny snowflake formed in the crook between his thumb and forefinger.
And then melted against his mother's warmth.
She paused.
"Did you…?" Her brow furrowed as she lifted his hand. The melted droplet left a faint mark on her dress. She didn't look afraid. Only thoughtful.
Elias blinked up at her, face blank but mind racing.
He needed to be careful.
He wasn't sure why—only that some part of him whispered that children like him didn't always get treated like children. Especially in a world where gods were real.
If she ever realized what he really was… would she still smile the same way?
That night, his father returned later than usual.
The door creaked open with a gust of freezing wind. Snow clung to his shoulders and boots. He grunted, stomping hard on the mat before stepping in and setting down a bag of dried meat and chopped kindling.
His mother greeted him with her usual quiet voice. "Rough day?"
"The forest's louder than it should be," he muttered. "Something's moving through it."
Her expression darkened. "Wolves?"
"No. Bigger. And quieter." He glanced toward Elias. "He sleepin'?"
She nodded and stood, placing Elias gently in the cradle.
Elias, pretending to nap, kept his breathing slow. But his senses were sharp.
They spoke softly in the kitchen corner, away from the firelight.
"…don't you think it's strange?" his father whispered. "The way the cold lingers near him?"
"I think he's special," she replied. "Not cursed."
"And if the gods come looking?"
She didn't answer immediately. Finally, she said, "Then we'll protect him. Or we'll teach him to protect himself."
There was silence after that.
But Elias didn't feel fear.
He felt seen.
When they both went to bed, Elias stared up at the wooden beams above him. He concentrated again.
His hands twitched. The cold answered.
This time, he focused on the moisture in the air above his cradle. He exhaled softly. The temperature dropped around his palm. A tiny flake formed midair, danced for a moment in the stillness… and melted before touching the blanket.
But it had been there.
His control was growing.
Soon, he'd do more than dream of snow.
Attributes Update
Strength: 2
Dexterity: 1
Constitution: 3
Intelligence: 6
Wisdom: 6
Charisma: 1
Luck: 6 (+1)
Skills Update
Cry (Lvl 1)
Grip (Lvl 2)
Perception (Lvl 3)
Frost Touch (Lvl 2)
Dream Glimpse (Lvl 1)
Cold Focus (NEW – Lvl 1)
You can channel small amounts of cold energy consciously with intense focus.