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The Fortress of eternal winter sat at the edge of the world, where the map simply stopped and the white void began. Here, the Frostguard stood watch. They did not watch for armies. They watched for the waking of the Old Gods, who slept beneath the ice.
Kael was the youngest recruit. He was eighteen, full of fire and stories of glory. He thought the Frostguard were heroes.
On his first night on the wall, Captain Vorian joined him. Vorian was a mountain of a man, his beard frozen into a solid block of ice, his eyes grey and hard as the stones of the keep.
"You're shivering, lad," Vorian rumbled.
"It's... it's the wind, sir," Kael lied. It wasn't the wind. It was the feeling of being watched by the darkness beyond the torchlight.
"The wind is the least of your worries," Vorian said. He leaned over the parapet, staring into the abyss. "Do you know the Oath?"
"I do, sir," Kael recited. "I am the shield against the cold. I am the fire that does not burn out. I give my life to the Wall."
"Words," Vorian scoffed. "Pretty words. Do you know what they mean?"
Before Kael could answer, a tremor shook the wall. Dust fell from the ancient stones. From the darkness below, a sound rose—a low, rhythmic thrumming, like a heartbeat the size of a mountain.
"It's waking," Vorian said. He didn't sound afraid. He sounded resigned.
A massive hand, made of blue ice and black rock, slammed onto the edge of the wall. It was the size of a carriage. Fingers crushed the stone battlements. A creature pulled itself up—a titan of the old world, eyeless and ancient.
Kael drew his sword. It felt like a toothpick.
"Put that away," Vorian ordered. "Steel does nothing to them."
"Then what do we do?" Kael screamed as the titan roared, a blast of wind that froze the breath in his lungs.
"We pay the price," Vorian said. He turned to Kael. "The Oath isn't a promise to fight, lad. It's a blood pact."
Vorian pulled a dagger from his belt. Not a weapon of war, but a ceremonial blade of obsidian. He sliced his own palm. The blood steamed in the freezing air.
He slammed his bloody hand onto the runestone embedded in the wall's center.
"By blood and bone, I bind thee!" Vorian roared.
The wall groaned. The stone seemed to come alive, drinking the blood. A pulse of red energy shot through the fortress, racing toward the titan. When it hit the monster, the ice shattered. The titan howled, its form losing cohesion, crumbling back into the abyss.
But as the titan fell, Vorian fell too. He dropped to his knees, his skin turning grey, his eyes dimming.
Kael rushed to him. "Captain! What happened?"
"The Wall... needs fuel," Vorian wheezed. "Magic... has a cost. Heat for heat. Life for life." He grabbed Kael's collar. "I bought us... another year. Next time... it will be you."
Vorian died then, his body turning as cold and hard as the stone he guarded.
Kael stood up. He looked out at the infinite white waste. He understood now. The Frostguard weren't warriors. They were sacrifices.
He looked at his own hand, young and warm. He looked at the obsidian dagger lying on the ground.
"I am the shield," Kael whispered to the wind. "I am the fire that burns out."
He picked up the dagger and took his place on the wall. He stopped shivering. The cold didn't bother him anymore. He was already part of the ice.