Chapter 1: The Breaking of the Waters
Chapter Text
The summer sun hung gently over Arendelle, spilling warm golden light across the cobbled streets and crimson rooftops. Banners of emerald and gold rippled in the breeze, stretching from the castle gates to the fjord’s edge, each adorned with the crest of the royal family. Music drifted through the air—bright strings and joyful trumpets—as citizens gathered in the square, their faces lifted in anticipation of a day unlike any other.
It was a celebration—not only of the season’s bounty but of stability, of hope, of the bright future that Queen Anna had begun to build since her coronation.
Children darted between the crowds, laughing, sticky with honeyed pastries. Merchants displayed fine bolts of cloth, polished trinkets, and carved wooden toys. Soldiers in ceremonial blue uniforms stood watch but smiled as freely as the townsfolk, for the day promised merriment rather than danger.
At the heart of it all, on the raised steps before the castle gates, stood Anna.
Her crown was small—modest compared to her sister’s once-regal diadem—but it shone brightly against her auburn hair. She wore a gown of forest green with embroidery of golden wheat along the hem, a design chosen to honor the harvest and the people who had toiled for it. Though she stood in full queenly stature, there was no stiffness in her posture. She waved as she always had, enthusiastically, with her whole arm, not merely a graceful flick of her wrist.
Beside her stood Kristoff, awkward in his finely pressed attire. He tugged at the stiff collar of his jacket, which was clearly designed for someone who preferred royal courts to mountain trails. Sven, fitted with a wreath of flowers around his antlers, stood at his side. The reindeer looked dignified, but only for a moment—until a child scampered forward to offer him an apple. Sven’s grateful snort and enthusiastic crunch drew laughter from the crowd.
“See?” Kristoff muttered, leaning down slightly toward Anna. “Sven’s enjoying this more than I am. Do you know how much starch is in this collar?”
Anna gave him a sideways grin, not letting her gaze leave the people. “You look wonderful. Regal, even. Just smile and wave.”
Kristoff attempted a wave, stiff and awkward, then quickly dropped his hand. “That’s not me.”
“Exactly,” Anna said cheerfully. “That’s why it works—you’re not pretending. You’re just Kristoff. And that’s who they love.”
Before Kristoff could reply, Olaf bounded up the steps. The little snowman wore a crown of daisies on his head, his twig arms raised high.
“Look at this turnout!” Olaf declared, twirling in delight. “The people are so happy! And warm. Oh, I bet it’s wonderful to be warm without melting. Sometimes I think about what it must feel like to sweat—although Anna, your face is doing it right now.”
Anna laughed, wiping her brow. “It’s called being nervous, Olaf. Queens sweat too.”
“Really? Fascinating! I must write that down.” Olaf patted his own snow belly, then blinked. “Oh wait, no pockets.”
The trumpets blared then, calling for silence. The master of ceremonies, a stately man in a deep blue tunic, stepped forward to announce the opening of the harvest festival. Cheers erupted, voices lifting into songs of praise for Queen Anna, their gratitude echoing across the square.
Anna’s chest swelled—not with pride for herself, but with pride for her people. Arendelle had been through storms, through near destruction, through the revelation of old wrongs. But here they stood, smiling and strong. This was what she wanted most—to see them safe, to see them whole.
But then came the sound.
At first it was subtle, a low rumble beneath the music, like thunder trapped under the earth. A tremor passed through the cobblestones. Glasses rattled on wooden stalls. The trumpets faltered, and the cheer of the crowd softened into puzzled murmurs.
Anna’s smile faded. She turned toward the fjord. The rumble grew.
Kristoff frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”
From the northern cliffs, high above the valley, came a roar—not of wind, nor of storm, but of water unleashed.
Gasps rippled through the crowd as eyes turned upward. The great dam, long since repaired after the events that had nearly destroyed Arendelle years ago, had cracked. Its stone walls, once rebuilt to honor both Arendellians and Northuldra, now split apart with violent force.
And then it broke.
A torrent of water cascaded down, a monstrous wave rushing toward the city. The sunlit day darkened as shadows fell across the fjord, the oncoming flood towering higher than the castle walls themselves.
Panic seized the square. Mothers grabbed their children. Merchants abandoned their stalls. Soldiers rushed to form barriers, though none could stand against such fury.
Anna’s heart lurched into her throat. She clutched the railing of the steps, staring as the wave bore down. Her people—their joy, their lives—would be swept away in an instant.
“Anna!” Kristoff grabbed her arm. “We have to get everyone to higher ground!”
“Yes—yes!” She shook herself, forcing her voice to rise above the chaos. “Everyone! To the hills! Move quickly!”
Soldiers echoed her commands, shepherding citizens toward the roads that wound upward into the cliffs. But the wave was too fast, too vast. There would not be time.
Anna’s pulse raced. Elsa. If only Elsa were here—Elsa, who could tame the wild waters, who could command ice and storm. But Elsa was far to the north, beyond the Enchanted Forest. There was no way she could come.
The wave roared closer, its crest curling like the teeth of some colossal beast. Anna braced herself, helpless to stop it.
And then, in the midst of terror, something impossible happened.
Anna’s eyes were suddenly drawn a man, who, unlike everyone else, wasn’t trying to save his own life.
He stood at the edge of the fjord, silhouetted against the shimmering wall of water. Cloaked in plain garments, his face hidden in shadow, he lifted his hand.
The wave suddenly shuddered.
Anna’s eyes widened in shock. The water twisted midair, freezing not into ice, but into stillness, as though the very breath of the fjord had been caught. Droplets hung suspended like glittering gems, the monstrous surge held aloft as if the sea itself obeyed his will.
Gasps spread through the crowd. Soldiers halted, their swords lowering in awe.
It was not Elsa. But it looked like Elsa. Not her face, not her form—but the power. The same elemental force that bent nature to its will.
The man’s other hand swept outward, and the wave retreated, drawn back into the fjord. In moments the danger was gone, the waters once more calm, as though the flood had never been.
Silence fell. Only the gulls cried overhead.
Anna’s breath came fast, her chest heaving. Relief washed through her, mingled with confusion and wonder. She stepped down from the dais, moving toward the stranger.
The man stood still, his hands lowering slowly. His cloak billowed in the breeze. For a heartbeat, their eyes met across the square—hers wide with gratitude, his dark with something unreadable.
She called out. “Wait!”
But at the same moment, the soldiers, still tense from the near disaster, surged forward. Their boots thundered against the cobblestones, their weapons raised—not in thanks, but in defense.
The man’s gaze flickered, sharp and wary. Before Anna could shout for them to stop, a rush of wind spiraled around him. The banners overhead whipped violently, dust swirling in blinding eddies.
And then—he was gone.
The wind carried him away, leaving nothing but silence and unsettled hearts.
Anna halted mid-step, her hands trembling. “No…”
Kristoff rushed to her side, Sven clattering behind. “Anna, are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she whispered, her voice unsteady. She looked at the fjord, where calm waters rippled innocently once more. The dam above was shattered, but the flood had been turned aside. Saved—by someone no one had ever seen before.
By someone like Elsa.
Anna swallowed hard, her mind racing. Who was he? How had he come to Arendelle? Why had he hidden his face? And why did his power feel so familiar?
Her thoughts burned with one certainty.
“I have to tell Elsa,” she said at last, her voice firm despite the tremor beneath. “She needs to know. Right away.”
The festival lay forgotten. The celebration was over.
And a new mystery had begun.
Morning came to Arendelle with a strange hush. The city that had been so full of laughter and music the day before now lay subdued, its people speaking in low voices as though afraid the air itself might carry away their words.
Though the streets were intact and the fjord calm, the memory of the flood lingered in every heart. Merchants returned to their stalls but glanced often toward the northern cliffs, where the dam’s jagged remains still loomed. Mothers kept their children close. Soldiers patrolled not with pomp but with vigilance. And through it all, Queen Anna felt the weight of a thousand questions pressing on her shoulders.
She had slept little, her dreams restless with visions of water swallowing the square and of a cloaked figure standing against the tide. Again and again she saw his eyes—steady, sharp, burdened. The image refused to leave her, as though the night itself had carved it into her thoughts.
Now, seated in the council chamber, Anna drummed her fingers against the polished oak table. Around her, advisors debated loudly.
“The dam must be rebuilt immediately,” said Councilor Aksel, his voice sharp. “Without it, the mountain waters will flow unchecked. Arendelle’s safety depends on it.”
Another, Ingrid, shook her head. “Rebuilt? After it nearly destroyed us twice? Perhaps it is a sign that we were not meant to cage the river again.”
“A sign?” scoffed Aksel. “Superstition. We must think practically.”
Anna closed her eyes for a moment, feeling a headache rising. Their voices blurred together, a tangle of fear and pride.
“Enough,” she said firmly, and the chamber fell silent. She lifted her gaze, her voice steady. “We’ll send engineers to study the river flow before making a decision. Arendelle will not rush into repeating past mistakes. But…” She hesitated, then continued. “We will also prepare new escape routes, higher shelters, anything to keep our people safe if disaster strikes again.”
Murmurs of approval rose around the table. Yet even as the council bent back to their parchments and maps, Anna’s thoughts wandered.
Not to the dam. Not to the river. To him. The man who had stood against the flood.
When the council adjourned, Anna lingered, staring out the high windows toward the cliffs. The morning light gleamed across the water, deceptively gentle. Her fingers curled against the sill.
“I can’t do this alone,” she whispered to herself.
And so she wrote. Her letter to Elsa was not polished, not queenly, but urgent. She told her sister of the celebration, the breaking dam, the wave that had nearly swallowed the city—and of the stranger who stopped it. She described the power he wielded, how it resembled Elsa’s magic, and how he vanished before she could reach him.
“I don’t know what this means,” Anna wrote. “But if there is someone else like you… we need to understand why.”
She sealed the letter with the royal crest, pressing the wax with trembling hands. Then she called for a rider swift enough to cross the valley and deliver the message to the Enchanted Forest.
Two days passed. Life in Arendelle attempted to resume its rhythm, but unease clung like mist along the fjord. Children still played, but their games often turned to reenactments of “the great wave,” complete with shouted warnings and hurried escapes. Fishermen cast their nets but eyed the waters warily, as though they might rise against them again.
Anna busied herself with reassurance—meeting citizens, visiting markets, organizing patrols. Kristoff stood at her side more often than not, offering his quiet strength and the occasional awkward-but-heartfelt word of encouragement. Sven brought laughter where Anna’s words could not, nuzzling children until their giggles brightened their parents’ weary eyes.
And Olaf… Olaf did what Olaf always did: asked questions.
“Do you think the mysterious man has a family? Maybe they’re out there somewhere, waiting for him to come home with bread. Or cake. Or lutefisk.”
“Maybe,” Anna replied absentmindedly, though her thoughts were elsewhere.
“And do you think he sweats?” Olaf continued. “Because if he has powers like Elsa, maybe the cold doesn’t bother him either. But if it doesn’t bother him, does the heat? Oh! Maybe he’s like a walking summer breeze. Wouldn’t that be refreshing?”
Anna managed a smile. “You really don’t stop, do you?”
“Never!” Olaf declared proudly.
But even his chatter could not pull her fully from her thoughts. The image of the stranger haunted her, lingering like the faint echo of a song.
On the third night, unable to sleep, Anna wandered the castle halls. Moonlight poured through the tall windows, silvering the tapestries and glinting off polished floors. She carried no crown, no cloak—only herself, seeking air and quiet.
Her steps led her to the courtyard.
And there, by the fountain, stood the man.
Her breath caught.
He was just as before—cloaked, hood shadowing his face. But this time there was no rushing water, no storm of panic. Only stillness.
Anna’s first instinct was to call for the guards. Her second was to run. But she did neither.
Instead, she stepped forward.
“Wait,” she said softly, her voice carrying in the night.
The man turned, tense, as if ready to vanish again. But Anna raised her hands, palms outward.
“No soldiers. No weapons. Just me.”
He did not move. The silence stretched, broken only by the trickle of water from the fountain.
Anna took another step. “You saved Arendelle. You saved my people. And I didn’t get to thank you.”
Still, he said nothing.
Her heart pounded, but she pressed on. “Your power… it reminded me of someone. My sister. Elsa.”
At that name, his head lifted slightly. A flicker of interest.
Encouraged, Anna continued. “She lives beyond the Enchanted Forest now. She has abilities—amazing abilities—that let her protect both people and spirits. And what you did… it was so much like her.”
The man tilted his head, the faint light catching the curve of his jaw beneath the hood. For the first time, Anna felt the sharpness in his gaze soften—not into trust, but into curiosity.
“You’re not alone,” Anna said gently. “If you’ll let me, I want to help you meet her. I think… I think she could understand you.”
The night seemed to hold its breath.
Then, with slow deliberation, the man lowered his hood.
Anna gasped softly. His face was weathered, yet youthful, marked not by age but by travel and strain. His eyes gleamed with the depth of the sea, stormy yet searching.
And for the first time, he spoke.
“Elsa.”
It was not a question. It was a name he already knew.
Anna’s pulse quickened. She nodded. “Yes. My sister.”
The man’s expression shifted—faint, unreadable, but unmistakably stirred.
The mystery was no longer distant. It was here, in the heart of Arendelle, waiting to unfold.
Chapter 2: The Call of the Forest
Chapter Text
The wind carried whispers through the Enchanted Forest, weaving between ancient trees whose roots curled like sleeping giants. The morning sun scattered golden light upon the moss, and the air shimmered faintly as though alive with hidden voices.
Elsa stood at the edge of the riverbank, her eyes closed, listening.
The spirits had been restless for days. What once sang with gentle harmony now pulsed with an unease she could not quite name. The water surged with odd rhythms, the fire flickered in agitation, and even Gale, the playful wind spirit, seemed hesitant, circling her as though trying to warn her of something just out of reach.
Bruni, perched on a stone nearby, chirped nervously. His tiny flame flickered blue, then dimmed, then brightened again.
“I feel it too,” Elsa murmured. Her hand brushed the air, sending a ripple of frost across the surface of the river. The water stilled momentarily, as if pausing to listen. “Something’s wrong.”
A rustle of wings broke her thoughts. A white dove swept down, circling once before landing on her outstretched arm. Tied to its leg was a small roll of parchment, sealed with red wax.
Elsa’s heart leapt. She recognized the seal immediately.
She untied the message with careful fingers, already feeling the faint warmth of her sister’s presence in the words before she even opened it. Unfurling the parchment, she read quickly, her eyes darting across the ink.
A festival in Arendelle. The dam breaking. A flood that should have destroyed the city.
And a man. Who stopped the wave with powers that mirrored her own.
Elsa lowered the letter slowly, her breath caught between disbelief and recognition. The spirits had been warning her. And now Anna’s words gave those whispers form.
Another. Someone else touched by elemental power.
“Not possible,” Elsa whispered. Yet the river lapped urgently against the stones, as though disagreeing.
Bruni skittered closer, chirping in agitation. Gale swirled at her shoulder, tugging insistently at her hair. Even the earth beneath her boots seemed to hum.
Elsa closed her eyes. She felt it now—threads of power tangled with her own, stretching far beyond the forest, reaching toward Arendelle.
Anna needed her.
“Then I must go,” she said softly, more to the spirits than to herself.
The journey south was swifter than she had expected. Gale carried her along mountain ridges, lifting her above the dense forests in sweeping currents of air. Bruni rode snugly at her shoulder, his flame surprisingly calm now that she had set her mind on the path. The earth spirits rumbled low beneath the ground, guiding her steps whenever she descended to the valleys. Even the water’s flow seemed to smooth in her favor, as if eager to carry her closer to her sister.
For two days and nights she traveled, and with every mile, the pull grew stronger. She felt it in the air, a presence like a melody she half-remembered, haunting and strange.
When at last Arendelle’s fjord came into view, Elsa’s heart ached with longing. She had not seen the city in many months. Its rooftops gleamed in the afternoon sun, its harbor bustling with sails and trade. To the people below, life seemed ordinary again—yet Elsa could sense the tension beneath the surface, a nervous thrum that matched the spirits’ unrest.
She crossed the waters in a flurry of frost, her boots touching lightly upon the docks. Gasps rose from nearby fishermen, their nets forgotten as they called her name in joy. Children ran forward, their eyes wide, shouting, “It’s the Snow Queen! Elsa’s back!”
She smiled faintly, nodding as she hurried past, her steps carrying her straight toward the castle.
Anna met her halfway. The sisters embraced with the kind of force only they shared, Anna burying her face against Elsa’s shoulder. “You came.”
“Of course I did,” Elsa murmured, holding her tightly.
They pulled back, Anna’s eyes glistening. “It’s true, then? You felt something too?”
Elsa nodded. “The spirits have been unsettled. When I read your letter… it all made sense.”
Anna exhaled, relief mingling with worry. “Then you believe me. About him.”
“I do.” Elsa’s gaze softened. “Tell me everything.”
In the quiet of the royal library, Anna recounted the festival, the breaking dam, the flood—and the man. She spoke of his power, how he had stilled the waters, how he vanished when soldiers approached, and how she had met him again, alone.
Elsa listened intently, her fingers tracing patterns in the frost on the armrest of her chair.
“He knew your name,” Anna said at last. “When I mentioned you, he reacted. As if he already… knew you.”
Elsa’s breath caught. A memory stirred in her mind, faint as smoke: a lullaby their mother used to sing, words about ancient guardians, about powers that came in pairs. She had always thought it only a song. But now…
“If he has abilities like mine,” Elsa said slowly, “then he’s connected to the spirits too. Perhaps even chosen, like I was.”
Anna leaned forward. “Then he could be part of all this. Part of you.”
“Or part of something else entirely,” Elsa murmured.
Silence settled between them, heavy but not hopeless. Anna reached for her sister’s hand. “We need to find him. Together.”
Elsa squeezed her hand gently. “Yes. Together.”
That night, the city slept uneasily. Elsa stood at the balcony, watching the moonlight ripple over the fjord. Her power hummed faintly in her veins, attuned to something just beyond reach.
Anna joined her quietly, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. “I thought I might find you here.”
Elsa gave her a small smile. “Some things never change.”
They stood together in silence for a time, the cool air brushing their faces. Then Elsa stiffened.
She felt it—near, unmistakable. A presence.
“Anna,” she whispered. “He’s here.”
Anna’s heart skipped. She followed Elsa’s gaze to the shadowed courtyard below.
The man stood once more by the fountain.
Without hesitation, the sisters descended, their steps quick but steady. The guards stirred, but Anna raised a hand, halting them. “No. Just us.”
The man did not flee this time. He watched them approach, his cloak shifting faintly in the breeze. His eyes moved from Anna to Elsa—and lingered.
For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Elsa took a step forward.
“You know my name,” she said softly.
The man inclined his head. His voice, when it came, was deep and steady, carrying the weight of stone and storm.
“I do.”
Anna’s breath caught. “Then who are you?”
At last, the man lowered his hood fully, revealing the sharp lines of his face, the storm-gray eyes that seemed to hold entire seas within them. He looked at them both, as if deciding whether to speak.
And then he said:
“My name is Crismar.”
The name lingered in the night air, heavy with promise and secrets yet untold.
But nothing more. For now, Crismar gave them only that—and the certainty that the story of their world was far from over.
The courtyard was hushed, as if the night itself had stilled to listen. The fountain’s steady trickle was the only sound, soft against the heavy silence that fell once Crismar spoke his name.
Anna and Elsa stood facing him, sisters shoulder to shoulder, their gazes steady but filled with questions too vast to speak all at once.
Crismar’s cloak shifted in the breeze, his presence calm yet charged, like the stillness before a storm. His storm-gray eyes flickered toward Elsa, lingering on her as though he had come here for her alone.
At last, it was Elsa who broke the silence.
“Crismar.” She said the name as if testing it against the air. “You know who I am. You know my name. And you wield power like mine.”
Crismar studied her for a long moment, then inclined his head slightly. “I know of you, Elsa of Arendelle. But my power…” His voice trailed, and he raised his hand.
The air shifted. A gust stirred through the courtyard, weaving around Anna and Elsa like a living thing. The water of the fountain rose in a spiraling column, droplets catching the moonlight in a thousand glittering arcs. At the same time, the ground beneath their feet hummed with a low tremor, while the faintest heat shimmered at the edge of the night air, as though fire lay waiting just beyond sight.
Elsa’s eyes widened. Anna stepped back instinctively, her hand flying to her chest.
He lowered his hand, and the elements obeyed—wind calming, water returning to its basin, the earth stilling.
“I do not command only one,” Crismar said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. “I hold the bond of all four: wind, water, earth, and fire.”
Elsa’s breath caught. She had felt the presence of each spirit in the Enchanted Forest, each vast and singular. To wield even one was an unthinkable gift. To hold all four…
“That’s—” She struggled for words. “That’s impossible.”
“Clearly not impossible,” Anna murmured, though her voice trembled with awe. She turned back to him, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. “But if you can control all four, then what are you? How do you have this?”
Crismar’s gaze deepened. “That is the question I came to ask you.”
Elsa blinked. “Me?”
“Yes.” He stepped closer, his voice low but steady. “You command ice. You are called the Fifth Spirit, the bridge between human and elemental. I have traveled far to find the truth of such power. Where did yours come from, Elsa? What was its origin?”
The sisters exchanged a glance. Elsa’s heart twisted. She remembered the voice calling her north, the discovery of Ahtohallan, the river that held all memory. She remembered learning that her powers were not a curse, but a gift—born of her mother’s love, born of destiny.
“My powers…” she said carefully, “came from Ahtohallan. From a place of truth, of memory. It lies far north, beyond the Enchanted Forest. It revealed that I was given this gift because of a choice—because of love. My mother saved my father once, and the spirits rewarded that act. I was born… different.”
Crismar’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion but in thought. “Given. Chosen. Bestowed. But not inherited.”
“No.” Elsa shook her head. “Not inherited.”
He looked away, his jaw tight, as if piecing together fragments of a puzzle.
Anna, sensing the weight in his silence, asked gently, “And you? If your powers aren’t like Elsa’s, then where do they come from?”
Crismar raised his gaze once more, and in it lay a depth that pulled at them both. “From a land far beyond these seas. A land older than the names of your kingdoms, where mountains bleed fire and rivers carve canyons so deep that even the sky trembles. My people are born with the bond of nature itself. Some with fire, some with water, some with earth or wind. And some, though rare, with all four.”
Elsa’s pulse quickened. “So there are more like you.”
“Yes.” His voice softened, tinged with something like longing. “I am not the only one. But I set out to find if others exist elsewhere in the world, for the songs of my homeland speak of it—others born under different skies, carrying gifts not of our making. You, Elsa… you are proof.”
Anna frowned thoughtfully, her mind racing. “So you’re telling us there’s a whole land of people with powers—elemental powers. And that you left them to search for others.”
Crismar nodded.
“That’s…” Anna blinked, struggling to find a word big enough. “…huge.”
Elsa’s voice was quieter, but filled with wonder. “And dangerous.”
Crismar looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Power is never without danger. That is why it must be understood.”
The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the enormity of what they had just learned.
Anna broke it first, her voice steadier now. “If what you’re saying is true, then everything we thought we knew—the spirits, the magic in this world—it’s only part of a much bigger story.”
Elsa’s gaze lingered on Crismar. She could feel it—his power, vast and old, humming through the air like a storm waiting to break. And yet there was no malice in him, only determination.
At last, she asked the question that had been pressing on her heart since the moment she saw him stop the flood.
“Why Arendelle? Why now?”
Crismar’s expression softened, though shadows lingered in his eyes. “Because your land called to me. I felt it in the wind, in the waters. Something here is stirring, something that will not rest. I thought, perhaps, in finding you, I would find the answers.”
Elsa drew a breath, her pulse quickening. She felt the same restlessness in the spirits, the same tugging thread in her chest.
Perhaps he was right.
Perhaps his arrival was not chance.
The sisters brought Crismar inside the castle, away from the watchful eyes of soldiers and citizens. In the glow of the great hall, he seemed both more human and more impossibly vast, as though the very walls bent around the weight of his presence.
Anna peppered him with questions—what his homeland was called, how many like him there were, what his people believed about their powers. Crismar answered little, not from unwillingness but from caution, as if each word had to be weighed before leaving his lips.
“We call our land Datria,” he said at last. “It lies beyond the Eastern Seas, where storms bar most passage. Few who are not born of it have ever set foot there.”
“And in Datria,” Elsa asked carefully, “everyone has powers?”
“Not everyone. Some are ordinary, as most of your people are. But those who are born with the bond are… marked. They are trained to wield it, to serve balance. To protect.”
Elsa tilted her head. “And you?”
Crismar’s gaze dropped briefly, as though recalling something heavy. “I am of the bonded few. But I chose to leave. To seek what lies beyond our borders. To find others, and to learn why we exist.”
Anna folded her arms, studying him with both suspicion and curiosity. “So you’re like… a magical explorer.”
“A seeker,” Crismar corrected gently.
Elsa’s heart ached with recognition. She remembered when she, too, had felt that restless pull, that need to leave the safety of home and chase the truth of who she was. But unlike her, Crismar had not found Ahtohallan. Not yet.
She wondered if she could help him. Or if, perhaps, he was here to help her.
The night grew late, but the three of them remained together, their words weaving between awe and uncertainty. At last, when the castle had grown still, Crismar rose.
“I have given you part of my truth,” he said, his voice steady. “But not all. Not yet.”
Anna raised a brow. “That’s frustrating, you know.”
A faint smile ghosted across his lips. “Perhaps. But there are truths that can only be spoken when the time is right.”
Elsa’s eyes met his, a quiet spark of understanding passing between them. She, too, knew what it meant to carry secrets until the world was ready.
“Then stay,” she said softly. “Until that time comes.”
Crismar inclined his head. “I will.”
And though the night ended with more questions than answers, Anna and Elsa knew one thing for certain: the world they thought they knew was far larger, and far more mysterious, than they had ever dreamed. And Crismar was the key to unraveling it.
Chapter 3: The Balance Shifts
Chapter Text
The morning sun painted Arendelle in soft gold, glimmering on rooftops still damp from the night’s dew. But inside the castle walls, a different light was flickering — restless and searching.
Elsa stood at the high windows, her hands clasped before her as if she were trying to hold back a storm. Behind her, Anna entered, yawning and rubbing her eyes.
“You’ve been up all night again,” Anna muttered.
Elsa didn’t turn. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Anna sighed, stepping closer. “Because of him.”
Elsa nodded. There was no use denying it. Crismar’s words echoed in her mind.
All four. Wind. Water. Earth. Fire. Powers that were never meant to belong to one being — and yet he held them, as easily as she commanded snow.
“Elsa,” Anna said gently, “I know you. You’re not afraid of him.”
Elsa turned at that, her eyes troubled. “No. Not afraid. Just… uncertain. The spirits have always been separate. Four distinct voices. But in him, they… answer. As if they recognize their own.”
Anna tilted her head. “So he’s not just like you.”
Elsa shook her head slowly. “No. He’s something else entirely. Something I can’t understand, even with my powers.”
Before Anna could reply, the great doors opened. Crismar entered, calm but intent. He bowed his head briefly to them both.
“You wished to see what I can do,” he said simply.
Anna blinked. “You mean… all of it? Right now?”
Crismar’s gaze shifted toward Elsa. “It is time you understood.”
Elsa felt her heart quicken. She glanced at Anna, then nodded. “Then not here. Not in the city."
"Where then?"
"The Enchanted Forest will know how to answer.”
Crismar nodded. "Then let's prepare," he said. Calm and almost stoic, just like before. Even though the storm was about to brew.
They left Arendelle by midday, riding north along the mountain paths. Sven carried Anna and Kristoff, not willing to let her go, accompanied them part of the way before stopping at the edge of the forest.
"If he so much as sneezes fire in your direction—” Kristoff began.
Anna rolled her eyes. “Kristoff, relax. Elsa’s here. And me. And Olaf. And Sven. We’ll be fine.”
“Fine?” Kristoff muttered. “You’re following a stranger who can juggle hurricanes.”
“Not juggle,” Olaf corrected cheerfully from his perch on Sven’s back. “Command! Imagine how handy that would be for house chores. Wind for dusting, water for dishes, fire for toasting marshmallows…”
Kristoff groaned, but Anna leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “We’ll be careful. I promise.”
They parted there, with Kristoff watching until the trees swallowed them.
The Enchanted Forest welcomed Elsa with familiar voices: Gale swirled playfully around her, Bruni darted from moss to stone, the river hummed with recognition, and the earth rumbled low and steady. But as soon as Crismar stepped beneath the canopy, the harmony shifted.The wind stilled. The river’s current faltered. The earth gave a cautious tremor, as if in warning.
And Bruni — usually fearless — darted behind Anna’s boots, his flame sputtering.
Elsa placed a calming hand against the air. “It’s alright,” she whispered to the spirits. “He means no harm.”
But the forest’s unease remained.
Crismar looked across the trees. His expression was nearly unreadable at that moment, but something in his voice was different this time.
“They feel me.”
“Yes,” Elsa said softly. “And they don’t understand you.”
He turned to her. “Perhaps they must.”
They stopped in a clearing where sunlight poured through the trees, dappling the earth with gold and shadow. Anna slid from Sven’s back, brushing her hair from her face. “Alright,” she said, trying for cheer but betraying a nervous edge. “Show us what you’ve got.”
Crismar stepped to the center of the clearing. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Then he raised his hand.
The wind came first. Gale shrieked as if torn in two — rushing wildly, spinning leaves and branches into a whirlwind around them. But unlike Elsa, Crismar didn’t coax it. He commanded it. With a flick of his wrist, the storm bent to his will, circling him in perfect arcs, fierce but controlled.
Then the river answered. Water surged from the nearby stream, lifting high into the air, coiling around the wind in a shimmering spiral. Droplets glittered like stars, each obeying the rhythm of his breath.
The ground shook next. Roots burst from the soil, stones lifted as if weightless. The earth itself seemed to bow beneath him, no longer steady but alive, moving where he directed.
And then came fire. At first a spark at his fingertips, then a blazing column of flame that roared into the sky, twisting with the wind and water, contained yet furious. The heat washed over them, sharp but not burning, as if the flame knew exactly where it was welcome.
Together the four elements swirled around him, not as separate forces, but as one. A storm given form, a harmony of destruction and creation.
Anna’s mouth fell open. Olaf’s twig arms wobbled. Sven snorted and backed a step.
Elsa stood frozen, her chest rising and falling quickly, her own magic humming in response. She could feel the spirits straining, pulling against him, yet drawn to him at the same time. It was balance and chaos at once.
And then, just as suddenly, he released it. The elements dissipated, water falling harmlessly back into the stream, wind fading to a breeze, earth settling into silence, fire vanishing in a puff of smoke.
Crismar opened his eyes.
Anna clapped before she realized what she was doing. “Okay… wow. That was… wow.”
“Wow indeed!” Olaf added. “It’s like watching Elsa, but multiplied by four! Do you have a snow mode too? Or maybe a rainbow mode?”
Crismar gave a faint, almost amused smile, then looked to Elsa. But she didn't smile. Her gaze was fixed on the trembling Bruni, on Gale’s uneasy circles, on the river’s disrupted flow. She could feel it — the forest itself was off-balance.
“You saw it,” she whispered.
Crismar inclined his head. “I did.”
Anna frowned. “Saw what?”
Elsa’s voice was quiet and heavy. “The spirits… they don’t know him. They don’t know how to balance him. It’s as if he’s not part of their world, but something… outside it.”
Crismar's eyes met hers, steady and unflinching. “That is why I seek the truth. Why I left my home. Because perhaps our powers were never meant to remain apart. Perhaps they are pieces of something greater. But without understanding, I am only a threat to balance of your world. Just as you would be a threat for mine if things were the other way around.”
The forest stirred uneasily, as if in agreement. Anna wrapped her arms around herself, looking between them. “So what do we do?”
Elsa drew a breath, her heart pounding. “We find Ahtohallan. Again. If there are answers anywhere… they’ll be there.”
Crismar nodded, merely accepting her decision instead of asking questions. Just as if he knew that she'll suggest this solution.
“Then lead me, Snow Queen. Show me where your truth lies.”
Elsa hesitated, suddenly feeling her heart racing. She remembered the voice of her mother, the icy halls of memory, the revelation of who she was. To bring him there… it could reveal everything. Or it could shatter what little balance remained. But when she looked into his eyes, she saw the same search that had once driven her — the same yearning for belonging, for meaning.
And she knew. The journey had only just begun...
The forest dawn was quiet. Dew clung to the moss, glistening like tiny stars as shafts of light pierced the canopy. Birds sang softly, as if testing the air before daring to burst into full chorus. Yet beneath the calm, Elsa felt a subtle pulse in the ground, a tremor not of earth, but of unease.
They had agreed the night before: the only path forward was north. Ahtohallan — the river of memory, the well of truth. If there were answers to who Crismar was and what his presence meant, they would be carved into its frozen halls.
Elsa stood at the edge of the clearing, her cloak brushing the damp grass, watching Crismar as he was preparing his horse. He moved with a kind of practiced stillness, like if he did this a thousand times before. Anna bustled about Sven, loading packs with food and blankets, while Olaf offered running commentary on each item.
“Blankets? Check! Bread? Check! Extra carrots for Sven? Double check! Do we have enough chocolate, though? I think chocolate is essential for any long journey, especially if we might encounter mysterious ice palaces or memory rivers again.”
“Olaf,” Anna said with a laugh, “we’ll be fine.”
Still, she tucked a small bundle of sweets into her bag.
Elsa’s gaze lingered on Crismar. The memory of his display yesterday — wind, water, earth, fire woven into one — still echoed in her mind. But more than the power itself was the control, the quiet way he bent chaos into order. It reminded her of her own struggle to learn balance, though he bore his mastery with a weight that seemed older than his years.
“Ready?” Anna called.
Elsa started slightly, then nodded. “Ready.”
They rode through the morning, the forest opening before them in shafts of light and shadow. Gale darted at their heels, tugging playfully at Anna’s braids, but Elsa sensed the wind’s hesitation. The spirits had not settled since Crismar’s arrival. Bruni followed warily, sometimes climbing onto Olaf’s shoulder for safety. Even the river’s song, when they passed over wooden bridges, had a strained tone, like a chord played slightly out of tune.
Crismar said little as they traveled, but Elsa noticed the way he was watching everything around them — not just the path, but the sky, the water, the way the trees swayed. It was as if he was listening to a language only he understood. Or watching for surprises the Enchanted Forest might have in store for him.
At midday they stopped to rest by a stream. Anna and Olaf laid out bread and cheese, while Sven happily crunched on his carrots. Elsa knelt by the water, letting frost trail from her fingertips, calming the stream’s restless current.
Crismar approached quietly, crouching opposite her. “They don't want me here. We both know it.”
Elsa looked up, meeting his steady gaze. “The spirits don’t know you. They know their own voices, but you… you sound like all of them at once.”
Crismar dipped his hand into the water. It swirled around his palm, rising briefly before he let it fall. “Where I come from, it's strength. Here, it is dissonance.”
Elsa tilted her head. “Maybe it's both. Depending on what you choose it to be.”
For a moment their eyes held, unspoken understanding bridging the silence. Then Anna’s voice broke through.
“Hey, brooding duo! Come eat before Olaf finishes all the bread.”
“We’re sharing,” Olaf protested, crumbs dusting his carrot nose.
Elsa smiled faintly. Crismar’s lips almost twitched into the shape of one.
The deeper they went, the stronger the spirits pressed. It began with Gale — rushing sudden gusts that tore branches loose, whipping at their cloaks. Elsa raised her hand, calming the air. But then Gale returned, sharper, pushing hard against Crismar as if testing his strength. Crismar braced himself, letting the wind buffet him. Then, with a subtle motion, he bent it into a smooth current that circled harmlessly away.
"I mean no harm,” he murmured to the air.
Gale stilled, but didn't disappear.
Later, when they crossed a stretch of rocky ground, the earth rumbled beneath Crismar’s boots. Stones cracked, roots lashed upward.
Sven bellowed nervously, and Anna clutched his reins.
Elsa stepped forward, spreading frost across the soil, her voice firm but gentle.
“Enough.”
The tremors eased — but not without a lingering growl, like thunder grumbling far away.
By evening, even Bruni flared when Crismar drew near, his flame sparking higher than usual. Only Elsa’s cool touch soothed him.
“They’re afraid of me,” Crismar said quietly as they camped beneath the stars.
Elsa met his gaze across the fire. “They’re afraid of change. It took me time, too.”
Crismar studied her, the firelight flickering in his eyes. “But you found belonging.”
“Yes.” Elsa’s voice softened, the crackle of flames filling the pause. “But only when I stopped fighting what I was.”
For a moment, something unspoken passed between them — respect, recognition, a spark of kinship neither had expected.
Anna, oblivious, was humming as she tucked Olaf beneath a blanket, muttering about bedtime stories. But Elsa felt it. And she suspected that Crismar did too.
The next day brought the greatest test. They reached a wide glade where the river cut through stone, its current strong and wild. Elsa felt the water spirit surging here, restless, uneasy.
As they stepped forward, the river rose. Waves lashed against the banks, spraying foam high into the air. A shape shimmered in the water, half-formed, like a horse’s head tossing restlessly.
Nokk.
Elsa’s pulse quickened. She raised her hand, summoning frost to calm the waves.
“It’s alright,” she whispered. “He’s with us.”
But Nokk reared higher, water cascading in fierce arcs. Its gaze fixed not on her — but on Crismar.
Crismar stepped forward, steady as stone. “I feel you,” he said. His voice carried across the water. He lifted his hands. The river obeyed, rising to meet him, the spray swirling around him in a perfect circle.
Elsa’s breath caught. She felt the spirits tense, torn between fury and recognition. For a moment, it seemed the water might strike.
But then Elsa moved to his side, her frost meeting his current. Together, ice and water intertwined, shaping the torrent into stillness. The Nokk stilled. It stared at them both, nostrils flaring, then slowly lowered back into the river, its form dissolving into calmer currents.
The glade fell silent, broken only by Anna’s shaky laugh. “Well. That was… not terrifying at all.”
Elsa turned to Crismar. He was breathing hard, but met her gaze.
“They test me,” he said.
“They test us,” Elsa corrected him gently.
And she realized then that she had spoken the truth. The spirits were no longer testing just him — they were testing the bond forming between them.
That night, they camped again beneath the starts. Anna and Olaf drifted into sleep quickly, Sven curled nearby. Elsa sat apart, tracing frost patterns in the dirt absently. Crismar joined her without a word, lowering himself to sit across from her. For a while they listened to the forest — to the wind, the river, the distant rumble of stone.
Finally Crismar spoke. “Where I come from, power is measured by what you can control. But here, you speak of balance, of trust. You are… different from any I’ve known.”
Elsa looked at him, her heart beating faster than she expected. “And you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You carry all four, but you don’t use them for dominance. You… listen.”
He held her gaze, steady, intent. “Perhaps I had to cross the seas to understand why I was chosen for this.”
The silence that followed was charged, not empty. Elsa felt the weight of his words linger in her chest, an unfamiliar warmth stirring there. When at last she looked away, the frost she had drawn shimmered faintly — not just snowflakes, but a spiral pattern, two lines intertwining.
And though neither spoke it aloud, both knew something had begun between them.
Something fragile. Something powerful.
Something the world itself seemed to be watching.
Chapter 4: Whispers in the Ice
Chapter Text
The northern horizon glowed with a pale light long before the sun had risen. The further the group traveled, the more the world seemed to shift — trees thinning, frost layering the rocks in crystalline veins, the air itself singing with a strange vibration.
Elsa knew they were close. Ahtohallan called to her in a voice felt rather than heard, a pull deep in her chest that guided her like a compass. But this time, she was not answering alone.
Crismar rode beside her, silent, eyes fixed ahead. His presence steadied her even as it unsettled the balance of the land around them. The spirits still hovered warily — Gale flickering in sudden gusts, Bruni crackling with sparks, the earth shivering underhoof. Yet Elsa noticed a subtle shift: they no longer attacked outright.
Anna yawned dramatically on Sven’s back. “Remind me again why ancient magical rivers of memory have to be so far north? Couldn’t they just build them, I don’t know, behind the castle?”
Olaf perked up. “Oh! I could build a river in the courtyard! With ice slides! And floating marshmallow boats!”
“Olaf,” Elsa said gently, “Ahtohallan isn’t built. It simply is.”
“Right,” Olaf said, nodding with solemn gravity. Then after a beat: “Can we still do the ice slides?”
Anna groaned, tugging her cloak tighter against the chill wind. Elsa smiled faintly, but her gaze soon returned northward. Ahtohallan’s call was louder now, and it resonated strangely with Crismar’s presence. She could feel it — the river recognized him, even though he had never been here before.
By mid-afternoon, they crested a ridge. There, in the distance, laid the fjord. It stretched like a mirror of silver beneath the pale sky, ice creeping from its edges toward the horizon. And at its farthest reach, gleaming like a palace of light itself, rose Ahtohallan.
Elsa’s breath caught. The sight never failed to stir something deep within her.
Anna leaned forward on Sven’s reins, eyes wide. “It’s beautiful. Again. Still a little creepy, though.”
Crismar said nothing, but Elsa felt the impression it made on him. His posture straightened, his hands clenched lightly at his sides, as if the very sight of the place resonated with something he had long carried.
“We camp here tonight,” Elsa said, her voice calm but firm. “We’ll cross in the morning.”
The air shimmered with frost so fine it seemed to sparkle of its own light. The group huddled near a fire, Anna telling stories to Olaf while Sven dozed. Bruni curled in a ring of warmth, Gale flitting between the flames and the treetops.
Elsa wandered to the edge of camp, where the call of Ahtohallan was tugging harder now. She let frost bloom beneath her fingertips, spirals of ice dancing across the ground.
Crismar approached her from behind. He was walking quietly, but she felt him there, a quiet weight against the air.
“You hear it too,” Elsa said softly without turning.
He didn’t ask what she meant. “Yes.”
She faced him then. His eyes glowed faintly in the firelight, reflecting the icy expanse ahead.
“It knows you,” Elsa whispered.
Crismar’s jaw tightened. “Or it waits to judge me. We don't know that yet.”
They stood in silence, the distance between them small but charged. Elsa wanted to tell him he had nothing to fear, yet she couldn't. Even she knew Ahtohallan offered no guarantees — only truth. And truth could cut.
That night, Elsa dreamed. She stood within Ahtohallan’s halls of ice, light refracting into infinite mirrors. Voices whispered, fragments of song. She turned — and saw herself, her hair crowned in frost, her eyes aglow.
Then another figure appeared.
Crismar. But not as he was — as something more. His form burned with fire and storm, water swirling around him, earth trembling at his feet. His eyes blazed brighter than any storm she had known.
And then… their hands touched.
The ice walls cracked. Light shattered into flame. The river roared with power too vast, too wild, consuming the reflection of the world itself.
Elsa gasped awake. Frost clung to her skin, her breath sharp in the cold. Across the fire, Crismar stirred as well, his expression tense, as if he too had seen something.
Their eyes met. Neither of them spoke. But they both knew…
Morning came with a sky the color of pearl. They packed quickly, silence heavier than the frost. Anna glanced between Elsa and Crismar, frowning slightly, but said nothing. Olaf hummed to himself, oblivious to anything that happened during the night.
The fjord stretched before them, its frozen surface glittering under the pale sun. Ahtohallan loomed at its farthest edge. As they set foot on the ice, the air seemed to shift. The spirits stirred. The ground beneath their boots thrummed like a heartbeat.
Elsa led the group aheadd, frost spreading beneath her steps. Crismar walked beside her, the ice bending subtly to his presence — ripples of water beneath, gusts of wind overhead, a faint shimmer of heat at his shoulders.
When they reached the midpoint, the ice below them suddenly cracked.
Anna shrieked and clutched Sven.
Olaf squealed. “Not again!”
Elsa flung her arms out, freezing the fissures in an instant. But before she could steady the surface, a surge of water rose.
The Nokk appeared, thundering from the depths, its form towering and fierce.
“Elsa!” Anna yelled.
But the spirit’s gaze was not on Elsa. It was on Crismar.
Crismar stepped forward, unflinching, his cloak snapping in the wind. The ice trembled under his boots.
“Show yourself fully,” he commanded.
The river surged higher, waves crashing around them. And then the other spirits came — Gale shrieking with sudden force, Bruni blazing like a comet, the ground beneath them rumbling with unseen quakes.
Anna clutched Olaf close. “This is bad. This feels really bad.”
Elsa’s heart raced. She raised her hand. “Stop! He’s with me!”
The spirits did not yield. Instead, the storm around them gathered — a maelstrom of wind, fire, water, earth. All four, converging on Crismar.
Elsa leapt forward, ice spiraling from her palms. She reached for him, her frost entwining with the surge of elements.
And then— The storm stilled. Not vanished — contained.
A sphere of perfect balance formed around Elsa and Crismar. Ice and fire, wind and water, earth and sky, all circling in harmony.
The spirits hung suspended, watching.
Elsa was breathing fast and shallow. Her hand brushed Crismar’s — not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat of him. His gaze locked with hers, and in his eyes she saw what she had glimpsed in the dream: power vast enough to remake the world.
And the choice of whether to destroy or protect it.
The storm dissolved slowly, the spirits retreating. The ice beneath them steadied, the fjord quiet once more. But the silence that followed was heavier than before.
Elsa exhaled shakily. “They showed us.”
Crismar’s voice was low, almost a growl. “What we could be. Together.”
Elsa met his gaze, her heart pounding. “Or what we could unleash.”
He nodded slightly, looking straight ahead once again. "Creation. Or destruction."
They reached the far shore in silence. Anna hurried ahead with Olaf and Sven, muttering about needing hot chocolate and normal problems. But Elsa lingered. She looked back at the fjord, at the faint shimmer where the spirits had gathered.
Beside her, Crismar stood tall, his cloak stirring in the wind, his face unreadable.
At last, he spoke. “Ahtohallan will give truth. But I fear it may also demand a price.”
Elsa’s fingers curled lightly at her side, frost blooming in delicate spirals. “It may. But if it does, we’ll face it together. I also have to know the truth.”
For the first time, his expression softened. A flicker of warmth lit his eyes, as if her words touched something long guarded. And as Ahtohallan loomed before them, gleaming like destiny itself, Elsa knew this was no longer just her journey. It was theirs.
The river of ice sang beneath their feet. Elsa could hear it now more clearly than ever — Ahtohallan’s song weaving through the still air like a breath of memory itself. Each note seemed to shimmer along the frost, reverberating in her chest. She closed her eyes briefly as they crossed the final stretch of frozen fjord, letting the current guide her. When she opened them again, the glacier rose before them. Towering walls of crystal, sheer and luminous, glowed faintly with their own light. Ahtohallan did not simply stand as ice — it lived. Every facet shimmered with echoes of the past, glimmers of stories long buried.
Anna let out a low whistle. “Okay… it’s still creepy. But also… amazing. Mostly creepy though.”
Olaf beamed, arms spread wide. “It’s like walking into the inside of a snowflake! Except not sharp. Or melty. Or, you know, dangerous… hopefully.”
Sven snorted, his breath curling white against the air.
Crismar’s gaze was fixed on the glacier, his jaw tight, his cloak stirring in the strange currents that eddied around them. Elsa watched him closely — she could feel the tension radiating from him. He wasn’t afraid, not exactly. But he was bracing for something.
“Are you ready?” she asked softly.
His eyes flicked to her. “Yes.”
Inside, Ahtohallan pulsed with light. The walls shimmered with frozen echoes — figures made of frost and memory, voices whispering like threads of song. Anna clutched Olaf’s twig hand as they walked, eyes darting nervously from one shifting image to the next.
“I’ll never get used to this,” she muttered.
Elsa moved with careful steps, her hand trailing along the walls of ice. They responded to her touch, glowing brighter. Memories rose — visions of herself as a child, of Iduna and Agnarr, of the forest and the spirits. Familiar stories, yes, but tinged with new detail.
But there were new whispers as well. Ones that did not belong to her.
Elsa stopped. A figure flickered in the ice — tall, cloaked, gray-eyed. For an instant, it looked like Crismar. Then it shifted, becoming someone older, more severe, wreathed in flame and storm.
She gasped softly.
Crismar had seen it too. He stood rigid, fists clenched, as the ice reflected him back in fractured forms. Men and women wielding fire, storm, stone, waves — a people bound not to one element, but to many.
“My ancestors.”
Elsa looked at him, her heart thudding. “So you knew.”
He shook his head, his voice low. “I suspected it ever since I heard about you. But to see them here, in this place…” His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the frost. “It means our history is tied. My people and yours.”
Anna glanced nervously between them. “Uh… is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Before anyone could answer, the glacier shuddered. A low rumble echoed through the chamber, vibrating through the ice. The lights in the walls flickered wildly, as though the memories themselves had been disturbed.
Elsa froze. “That’s not Ahtohallan.”
The rumble grew into a roar.
And then the storm broke loose.
Wind howled, tearing through the chamber with savage force. Lightning cracked across the ice, dazzling arcs that splintered walls and sent shards raining down. The air burned with ozone, the glacier trembling as if under siege.
Anna screamed, pulling Olaf close as Sven reared back in terror.
Elsa flung her arms wide, ice spiraling outward to form a protective barrier. Frost cascaded into a dome, shielding Anna, Olaf, and Sven from falling shards. But even her power strained under the onslaught — lightning ripped across the barrier, cracks spiderwebbing in its surface.
Through the storm, a figure took shape. Not a memory — a spirit. It towered in the heart of the chamber, forged of thundercloud and fury, eyes burning white-hot with lightning. Gale’s playful breezes were nothing compared to this wrath. This was no trickster. This was rage itself.
Elsa’s breath caught. “A storm spirit…”
The creature roared, a sound like a thousand storms colliding, and hurled a bolt of lightning straight at them.
Elsa braced, frost flying to meet the strike — but it shattered her shield like glass. The shockwave hurled her back against the ice wall, pain searing through her.
“Elsa!” Anna cried.
Elsa staggered up, her heart hammering. She raised her hands again, frost spiraling, but she knew — this spirit was beyond her alone.
Crismar stepped forward and the storm howled around him, lightning striking in wild arcs. His cloak whipped violently, but he was standing firm. He raised one hand and the lightning bent toward him.
Anna’s jaw dropped. “Wait—he can—?!”
Another bolt lashed downward. Crismar caught it, his hand closing around pure electricity. The chamber lit in blinding white as he twisted, the bolt arcing like a serpent tamed in his grip. Sparks danced across his form, the storm itself crackling in answer to his command.
Elsa stared, awe and alarm warring in her chest. His power burned so brightly it was almost unbearable to watch.
“Enough!” Crismar’s voice thundered. He flung his arm outward, and the lightning he held split into a web of sparks, striking the ground around the spirit in a perfect cage. The storm creature recoiled, roaring in fury, its form struggling against the net of light. For a moment it surged, threatening to break free, but Crismar’s eyes blazed, storm-gray burning into white, and the lightning tightened, binding the spirit’s form.
The chamber shook, the ice quivering, and then — with a final crack of thunder — the spirit dissipated, breaking apart into harmless sparks that faded into the walls.
Elsa lowered her trembling hands, her chest heaving. Anna clutched Olaf, both wide-eyed, Sven pawing nervously at the ground. Crismar stood in the center of it all, lightning still flickering faintly along his arms before finally fading. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging.
Elsa’s voice was soft, almost reverent. “You… can command lightning.”
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Indeed.”
For a long moment, Elsa could only stare. His power had been raw, overwhelming — yet controlled, harnessed by will alone. It terrified her. And it amazed her.
Anna broke the silence first. “Okay. So. I think we can all agree… that was terrifying. But also… kind of incredible?”
Olaf raised a twig. “I vote incredible! Also terrifying!”
Crismar’s gaze lingered on Elsa. “Now you see why I came here. Why I had to know.”
Elsa swallowed, her heart still racing. “Yes. And I think Ahtohallan knows too.”
Because in the silence that followed, the glacier itself began to glow — brighter than before, as if awakened by the storm’s clash.
Whispers filled the air, memory and truth spiraling around them. Elsa felt it rising, a crescendo of voices woven from memory and magic. The walls shimmered brighter, fragments of frost and light swirling into shapes and forms that pulsed like a heartbeat. The chamber itself seemed alive — watching, listening, waiting.
Anna squeezed Olaf’s twig hand nervously. “Um… does anyone else feel like the ice is staring at us?”
Olaf whispered back, “I feel like everything stares at us. But this time it feels like a good stare. Hopefully.”
Elsa ignored them both. Her focus was fixed on the lights. They spun faster now, threads of memory pulling together into a new image.
At the heart of the glacier, the frost coalesced into a great wave crashing against jagged stone. Beyond it, strange lands unfolded — cliffs crowned with fire, forests bending in endless wind, mountains shuddering with storms. And there, scattered among them, figures cloaked in flame and river, stone and lightning.
Elsa’s breath caught. They looked like Crismar.
He stepped closer, his eyes wide, the storm-gray within them reflecting the light. “My people.”
The voices of Ahtohallan rose, echoing like a song only Elsa could hear. She tilted her head, listening, and words threaded through her mind. They are bound. They are scattered. They are waiting.
Elsa whispered aloud, “They’re telling us… They're not here. They're far away.”
The ice shifted again. A map formed — not one Elsa had seen before. The outline of Arendelle faded into the corner, the sea stretching vast and wide. And at the far edge of the glacier’s memory, faint and flickering, another land appeared. Jagged and wild.
Anna frowned. “That’s… weeks away. By ship. And what is that place anyway?”
Crismar exhaled shakily. "Kaelera..."
Elsa looked at him. "What is that?"
"A legendary place... It's said that's where our magic first came from. But it was supposed to be a legend."
The image wavered, incomplete, as if Ahtohallan itself could not reach beyond that ocean.
Crismar’s jaw tightened. “So far… yet so close.”
Elsa reached out, her fingers brushing the icy map. “Ahtohallan is telling us the truth is there. Not here.”
The chamber darkened suddenly, the lights shifting to stormy hues. The whispers turned urgent. Elsa staggered back, her chest tightening as new visions flashed before them.
Chaos. Fire raging across forests. Mountains crumbling. Storms tearing through villages. And then — a figure cloaked in shadow, wielding the same elemental forces as Crismar, but twisted, uncontrolled.
Elsa gasped.
The vision fractured, dissolving into shards of frost that scattered across the chamber floor.
Silence fell once more.
Anna’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Okay. That was… not reassuring.”
Olaf raised a hand timidly. “Does anyone else think the scary shadow person looked like Crismar, but… you know… scarier?”
Crismar’s fists clenched. He said nothing, his face shadowed.
Elsa studied him, her heart heavy. “Ahtohallan isn’t giving us everything. Just… fragments. Warnings. Pieces of a story too big to hold.”
Her gaze drifted back to the fading map of the faraway land. She could feel it calling, tugging like a current in her chest.
Anna crossed her arms. “So let me get this straight. We came all the way here, fought off a storm spirit that nearly fried us, and now Ahtohallan is saying: ‘Nice try, but the real answers are across the sea’? Seriously?”
Elsa gave a weary smile. “That’s exactly what it’s saying.”
Anna groaned loudly. “Of course it is. Because nothing is ever simple.”
Crismar finally spoke, his voice low but steady. “Then we must go. To Kaelera. That place holds the truth. The spirits themselves demand it.”
Elsa met his gaze, a flicker of connection sparking between them. His determination matched her own, a mirror of the same pull she had once felt when Ahtohallan called her north.
And though she would not yet say it aloud, she already knew: she would follow him.
They left Ahtohallan in silence. The glacier faded behind them, its glow dimming once more to its eternal hum. The wind outside was cold, sharp, yet Elsa barely felt it. Her thoughts spun with the visions, the map, the shadowed figure.
Anna walked beside her, muttering under her breath. “Weeks on a ship. Weeks. I get seasick, you know. Kristoff’s going to hate it. Sven will hate it. Olaf will probably love it, though, because he’s Olaf.”
Olaf beamed. “I’ve never been on a ship! Do they give you endless hot chocolate on ships? Because if so, I am completely prepared.”
Despite herself, Elsa chuckled faintly. But her smile quickly faded. She glanced at Crismar, who walked slightly ahead, his face unreadable. Lightning still seemed to linger in his presence, faint sparks glimmering at the edges of his form as though the storm had not fully left him.
Anna followed her gaze, then leaned in. “You trust him.”
Elsa blinked, caught off guard. “I… I’m beginning to.”
Anna’s eyes softened. “Good. Just… be careful, okay? Because he’s strong. Really strong. And if we’re wrong about him…”
Elsa swallowed. She knew what Anna meant. If they were wrong, the storm Crismar carried inside him could break more than just glaciers. But in her heart, she felt the truth Ahtohallan had whispered: They are bound. They are waiting.
And maybe… maybe that included her.
That night, they camped at the edge of the fjord. A fire crackled, warm against the crisp night air. Anna and Olaf huddled close, Sven dozed nearby. Crismar sat apart, gazing out at the horizon where the dark sea stretched endless.
Elsa hesitated before walking over. She settled beside him, the firelight painting soft shadows across his face.
“You were incredible today,” she said quietly. “The way you contained the storm spirit. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
His lips twitched into something like a smile. “You faced it first. Without hesitation. That was no less incredible.”
Their eyes met, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable.
Elsa’s voice softened. “Crismar… when I first found Ahtohallan, it told me to ‘show myself.’ It revealed who I truly was — the Fifth Spirit. The bridge between magic and people. It answered me.”
He turned to her, his eyes searching hers.
“But for you… it gave only fragments,” she continued. “Which means your answers aren’t here. They’re across the sea. And I think… I think I have to go with you.”
For a moment, the storm within him seemed to ease. His shoulders relaxed, and he nodded slowly.
“I'd be honored. If you're willing...”
And though neither spoke the words aloud, both felt it — a bond forming, quiet but unshakable, like the calm eye of a storm waiting to grow.
Chapter 5: Tides of Truth
Chapter Text
The bells of Arendelle rang bright that morning, echoing far over the fjord. Markets bustled with renewed life, vendors calling out fresh goods, and children darted about chasing each other with ribbons and laughter. To most, the chaos of the flood scare and the strange man who appeared in its midst had already faded to whispers.
But in the castle hall, a very different conversation was unfolding.
Anna stood at the head of the table, her crown gleaming in the pale light. Kristoff leaned against the back of a chair, arms crossed, his brows knit. Elsa and Crismar faced them, their expressions calm but resolute.
Anna exhaled sharply. “Let me make sure I’ve got this right. You’re saying we all need to sail across the sea—”
“—weeks across the sea,” Kristoff muttered.
Anna shot him a look, then turned back to Elsa. “Weeks across the sea, because Ahtohallan said so. To find… what, exactly?”
Elsa’s voice was steady, but Anna caught the flicker of tension in her sister’s eyes. “To find the truth of how exactly we're tied to Crismar’s people. The glacier showed us visions, Anna. Fragments. Shadows of something greater. We can’t ignore it.”
Anna tapped her fingers against the table, pacing. “I’m not saying we should ignore it. I’m saying—how do we just up and leave Arendelle for weeks? Kristoff’s got ice deliveries, I’ve got an entire kingdom, Sven has carrots—”
Sven snorted from the courtyard below as if in agreement.
Kristoff raised a hand. “Not to mention ships aren’t exactly cheap, Anna.”
Olaf waddled forward, his twig arms waving. “I think we should go! I’ve always wanted to see more of the world. Maybe they’ll have new types of snowmen there. Imagine! International Olaf Day!”
Anna groaned. “You’re not helping too much, Olaf.”
Elsa placed a hand on her sister’s arm. “Anna. I know it’s asking much. But I can feel it — this journey isn’t just about Crismar. It’s about balance of the world. About the elements. Something is stirring, and if we don’t face it…” She trailed off, the unspoken fear heavy in the air.
Crismar’s voice cut through the silence. “Besides, we will not be wandering aimlessly. The path is clear.”
Kristoff raised a skeptical brow. “And just where exactly is this path leading us?”
Crismar stepped forward. His storm-gray eyes softened, carrying the weight of memory. “To my home. Or… near it, at least. But before that, to the kingdom of Taris.”
Anna blinked. “And that's... where?”
“It lies upon the sea’s edge, weeks southwest from here. It's ruled by a young queen named Arynn. She's my... very close friend, let's put it that way. It is there we must first stop. Supplies, allies, knowledge — all will be waiting for us. I can give you my word on that.”
Elsa tilted her head. “You sound like it's more than just a normal place to you.”
For the first time since arriving in Arendelle, a shadow crossed Crismar’s expression — not of anger, but of sorrow.
“Because it is,” he said quietly. “For many years by now. Taris is where I found my place after losing everything else.”
Anna sat slowly. “Okay, I feel like there’s a story behind that.”
Crismar’s gaze drifted to the windows, the fjord glittering beyond them. “One not easily told.”
The room stilled. Even Olaf leaned forward, wide-eyed, sensing the weight of what was to come.
Crismar folded his hands. “You see, I was not always welcome among my people. Some years ago, I… lost control. I committed a crime that cost many people dearly. Way too dearly. And as a result... I was forced to leave. I spent years as a traveler without home. Not a real one.”
Elsa’s breath caught, but she said nothing.
Crismar’s voice was steady, but pain laced every word. “I wandered across the entire world that was known to us by then. I visited many nations and met many people. And I was using my abilities trying to make the world a better place and atone myself for what I did."
"How so?" Anna asked.
"By that time, by putting away the worst people you can imagine," Crismar answered. "To admit the truth, I made my living as a bounty hunter, but only as a necessity. I also took down many without any bounty on them. At one place I visited frequently, they called meThe Wanderer. And because I tried to keep people from learning more about me, I was... a bit of a stuff of legends there. And it was in that wandering I met Arynn. She was not a queen by then, merely a princess. But a war was raging on Tenelrend for long years by then, and shortly before, her father was killed in a coup in Taris. She fled with nothing but one loyal captain of the former Royal Guard. They were forced to live in hiding to keep themselves from being killed too."
Kristoff frowned. “And you just… decided to help them?”
His lips twitched faintly. “At first, I thought I'm doing it for the necessity. The man who killed her father was about to launch an attack that would destroy everything in the long term. Getting Taris back on the right side was the only way to stop it. But Arynn… she was different than I originally thought. She always carried hope and resolution to get her home back.We fought side by side, all the way until the end.”
Elsa’s heart stirred. "And then you became her second.”
“Yes,” Crismar said simply. “Her most trusted advisor. And friend. She gave me what my own people denied me: purpose and forgiveness. A chance to use my strength for something greater.”
Anna chewed her lip, studying him. “And now you’re… what exactly?”
“The second-in-command of Taris' forces, along with another one of our friend. I'm allowed to return home, but I chose Taris as my home. But the war... it's still on-going.”
The room fell quiet, the crackle of the hearth the only sound.
Anna looked between Elsa and Crismar, worry etched across her face. Finally she sighed. “You know, I thought being queen meant fewer world-ending adventures. But apparently I was wrong.”
Kristoff rubbed the back of his neck. “So… weeks at sea, then a kingdom in the midst of a war, then who knows what. Sounds… fun.”
Elsa managed a small smile. “It will be more than fun, Kristoff. It will be necessary.”
Crismar bowed his head slightly. “I don't ask any of you for blind trust. Only a chance to prove this path is true.”
Elsa met his gaze, her voice soft but firm. “You already have.”
Anna groaned. “Oh great, now you two are doing the whole mysterious trust thing again.” But her eyes softened. “Fine. We’ll make preparations. Arendelle will manage while I’m gone. Just… no more lightning storms, okay?”
Crismar’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “You know I can't promise that, Anna.”
That night, when the halls had grown quiet, Elsa found Crismar at the docks. The moonlight stretched across the water, silver and endless, the air sharp with salt. He stood at the edge, staring at the horizon.
Elsa approached softly. “Thinking about home?”
He didn't look at her. “Always.”
She stood beside him, her gaze on the sea
"Why did you set on this journey at all? You must be needed in Taris."
Crismar sighed quietly. "I was hoping to find... maybe answers, maybe hope for our home. I don't know. But I didn't expect... to find about any of this."
“Why tell us now? About Arynn. About your exile.”
“Because,” he said slowly, “trust is not given freely. It must be earned. And you…” He turned then, his eyes meeting hers. “You deserve honesty. As does your sister.”
Elsa felt the warmth of his words stir something within her — not just trust, but kinship. A bond forged in shared burdens.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
They stood in silence a long while, the waves lapping softly at the docks. And though neither spoke the words aloud, both felt it: the journey ahead would test them. Change them. But for the first time in years, neither felt alone in facing it.
The sea waited. And it would not wait forever.
The fjord glittered under the afternoon sun, ships rocking gently at their moorings while gulls wheeled overhead. Merchants barked prices across the square, children skipped between market stalls, and in the heart of the bustle, Arendelle thrummed with a sense of renewed life. But within the castle walls, the mood was anything but light - again.
Anna leaned over the council table, her hands planted firmly on its polished surface. “So it’s official,” she muttered. “We’re leaving Arendelle. For weeks. Maybe longer.”
Kristoff, who had been quietly sharpening an axe head near the hearth, looked up. “Well… technically, you’re leaving. I’m just the guy making sure nobody starves along the way.”
Olaf piped up from the corner, clutching a notebook upside down as though taking minutes. “Don’t forget me! I’m bringing the jokes. Oh, and Sven’s bringing the carrots. We’re all contributing something.”
Anna shot him a tired smile before turning to Elsa and Crismar, who stood side by side. “Alright. If we’re really doing this, then you two owe us a whole lot more context. You can’t just drop ‘weeks at sea’ and ‘mysterious faraway kingdoms’ and expect me not to ask questions.”
Crismar’s eyes softened, but there was a gravity to them. He inclined his head slowly. “That's fair. If you are to step into the tides of the world none of you knew existed, you must know its shape — and its shadows.”
Elsa looked at him curiously, then back at Anna. “He told me a little last night. About Arynn. But… not all.”
Anna folded her arms. “Then maybe now’s a good time to share all.”
They gathered in the council chamber, Olaf perched on a chair much too large for him, Kristoff sharpening his axe as if the steady scrape gave him patience. Elsa sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, and Anna leaned forward, eyes fixed on Crismar.
He stood at the window, the fjord’s waves glittering behind him.
“My world is not that different from yours,” he said slowly. “We have kingdoms and empires, rulers and common people. Good people and bad. But that place has been scarred by many wars in the past. And the one that defines what it is now began thirty years ago. The Eastern Empire — Egrador — attacked the western realms of Tenelrend. Their leader is an aging Emperor named Milerias. His legions swept across fields and rivers, burning, seizing, enslaving.”
Kristoff frowned. “Sounds… bleak.”
“It is,” Crismar admitted. “Egrador is strong. But not strong enough to defeat us all, not yet. As soon as the war began, four remaining realms forged an alliance against Egrador. They're named Taris, Mellaren, Roseon, and Trimos. Now united as the Four Houses.”
Anna leaned forward. “Four Houses… like a council of nations?”
“Something like that,” Crismar said. “Roseon is the most powerful empire, with the largest army. Trimos is the northernmost empire and shares a direct border with Egrador. It's now protected by a great fortification known as The Wall, which still keeps Egrador at bay. Mellaren is a rather small southwestern realm, but it produces excellent siege machines and weapons and are well-known for their cavalry units. And Taris…”
His voice softened, reverent. “Taris lays on the west. It's a land of towers and green fields. Their people once sang more than they fought. The war barely touched them until betrayal tore it apart.”
Elsa tilted her head. “The coup you talked about.”
Crismar nodded once. “Arynn's father, King Aeden the Brave, was killed by a man named Basil Leowarin. He was a captain of the Royal Guard, but power-hungry and corrupted. And in one night, Arynn lost her father, her home, her future.”
Anna’s throat tightened. “That’s… awful.”
“Yes. And all would be lost if not for a man named Dalton. He also was a captain of the Royal Guard. He carried her through fire and blood, saving her life at the cost of everything he knew. He was loyal beyond measure. Together, they fled to Sindrai, a land far to the south across The Dividing Sea, where they hid. And there…” He hesitated, eyes shadowed with memory. “It was there they met me.”
The silence stretched. Elsa’s eyes were fixed on him, searching.
“You offered to help,” she said softly.
“Yes. At first for redemption,” Crismar admitted. “You know that I was banished from my own homeland. Cast out for a crime that cannot be undone. When I found Arynn, she was fire and grief bound into one. But she still carried hope. Still, she dreamed of reclaiming her throne. I never understood how she managed to clinge to that. At first I thought I'm only doing what's necessary, but she made me believe not in her crown - she made me believe in her.”
Kristoff leaned forward. “And you fought your way back?”
Crismar nodded. “Through the forests of Trimos, all the way back to the gates of Ilragond, Taris' capital. But not just us three. Also Talia. She was once a thief, and later the fiercest soldier I have ever known. She saved us more times than I can count. We fought to the Tower of the Sun, where Basil waited for us. But there… Dalton died."
Anna gasped. "Died?"
Crismar nodded solemnly. "Shielding Arynn from the killing blow. After that... none of us three was willing to let Basil survive that day. Arynn killed him... personally. That was the only moment during our journey when she was ready and willing to spill blood. And no-one can blame her. She lost way too much in this war already.”
He fell silent, the weight of memory pressing into the chamber.
Anna’s eyes glistened. “And Dalton…?”
“He was laid to rest among kings of Taris,” Crismar said softly. “He's the first of the Royal Guard to be honored so. And his name lives in every oath the Guard takes now.”
No one spoke for a long moment. Even Olaf was quiet, twig arms limp at his sides.
Finally Elsa’s voice broke the silence. “And now Taris is whole again.”
“As whole as war allows, at least” Crismar said. “The Four Houses hold Egrador back again, but the war is in stalemate as it stands now. For every victory, a loss. For every inch gained, a mile lost. Milerias has not broken through the Wall, nor crushed Roseon’s armies. But neither have we got any closer to stop his plans.”
Anna shivered. “And you think this… connects to your powers somehow?”
Crismar’s gaze turned distant, toward the horizon. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But Kaelara does.”
Elsa straightened. “Kaelara?”
The name itself seemed to hang in the air.
“It is a myth told where I came from,” Crismar said. “An island shrouded in fog and stone, unreachable save by those it allows. It is said that it's the birthplace of my kind — the only people capable of wielding elements of nature. Fire, water, earth, air. Once, Kaelarans walked openly among the realms. But rulers grew greedy. They sought to wield them as weapons. So Kaelara vanished, hidden by its Council of Six. For centuries it has been lost.”
Elsa’s heart quickened. “You think it calls us?”
“If the spirits spoke true in Ahtohallan, then the answers we seek lie beyond its veil. That is why I sail to find it. And I ask you to come.”
The chamber was quiet, the weight of his words settling like snow.
Anna finally broke the silence with a long breath. “Okay. So. To summarize: we’re leaving Arendelle, sailing to a kingdom ruled by your best friend-slash-queen, then to an island that doesn’t technically exist anymore, all while some giant empire wants to crush everyone in sight.”
Kristoff scratched his head. “Sounds about right.”
Olaf beamed. “Ohhh, this is going to be fun! Do you think they’ll like warm hugs?”
Elsa glanced at Crismar. His eyes met hers, and for the first time, she saw not just power in them — but trust. Mutual, unspoken trust.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I think they will.”
Days later, the harbor of Arendelle swelled with life. Caravans unloaded crates of dried goods and barrels of water. Sailors bustled, coiling ropes, mending sails. The great ship chosen for the voyage — The North Star — gleamed with fresh paint and sturdy timbers.
Anna stood before her people at the dock, Kristoff at her side, Elsa and Crismar behind. The crowd hushed as she raised her voice.
“My friends,” she said, her voice ringing out, “Arendelle has weathered storms before. And though I will be gone for a time, I go not out of fear, but out of duty. Out of love for this kingdom, and for the balance of our world. Until I return, Arendelle is in your hands — strong, steady, unyielding.”
The people cheered, their voices carrying across the fjord.
Kristoff whispered, “Not bad, Your Majesty.”
Anna smiled faintly. “I’ve had practice.”
As the last cheer faded, Elsa looked out across the sea. Crismar stood beside her, silent, but when she glanced at him, he gave a single nod.
The sails unfurled, catching the wind. The ropes creaked. The ship groaned like some great beast awakening. And as the sun dipped toward the horizon, the Queen of Arendelle, her sister, her friends, and a man of storms stepped aboard The North Star, and the sea carried them away.
Chapter 6: Across Warming Seas
Chapter Text
The North Star creaked and groaned as she cut through the swells, her sails taut against the southern winds. The fjords and glittering glaciers of Arendelle had already faded into mist behind them, and before the crew lay only the endless, dark blue of the sea.
The voyage had begun in laughter and song, Anna’s voice carrying bright over the waves as Olaf hummed along. Kristoff had found new ways to keep himself busy, mending ropes and checking the barrels of provisions for spoilage. Elsa had taken to the bow, watching the horizon with the quiet intensity of one accustomed to bearing the weight of what might come. And Crismar — calm, and steady like always — seemed utterly at home on the rolling deck, as if the very sea bent itself to welcome him.
But as the days passed, the air grew warmer and heavier, bringing unexpected challenges with it.
Anna fanned herself with a bit of parchment, flushed and sticky. “It feels like I’m being wrapped in one of Kristoff’s winter coats. While sitting next to a fire. In a sauna.”
Kristoff smirked. “Hey, my coats are perfectly comfortable.”
“Not when the sun is trying to melt me alive!”
Elsa stood nearby, her pale hair sticking to her neck. She lifted a hand, summoning a breeze of frost to cool her sister down. But the effort was surprisingly draining and beads of sweat were forming at her temples.
“It shouldn’t be this hard,” she muttered. “I’ve summoned blizzards before. Why does the warmth feel like it’s resisting me?”
Crismar, who had been adjusting one of the ropes, turned toward her. “Because warmth is not your element, Elsa. The balance shifts here. The air is heavier and the sun stronger. Ice struggles against such things.”
Elsa narrowed her eyes. “So what do you suggest? That I simply endure?”
His lips quirked faintly. “No, I suggest you listen. Ice will always be yours elements, but the sea will teach you patience. Breathe with it and let it cool you in its own way.”
Elsa frowned but said nothing, retreating into her thoughts.
Meanwhile, Olaf was sprawled on the deck like a puddle, twigs limp. “I think… this is it. The end. Goodbye, cruel world. Tell the other snowmen back home that Olaf didn’t melt without a fight.”
Anna knelt beside him, scooping up his carrot nose before it slid off. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re fine. See?” She sprinkled a bit of snow Elsa had conjured into his head, perking him up again.
Olaf sighed with relief. “Oh, sweet frost. My hero.”
Kristoff shook his head, muttering. “We’re not even halfway yet.”
And the seas soon proved far from forgiving. On the fifth night, clouds gathered thick and black, swallowing the stars. The wind shifted, shrieking through the rigging, and waves slammed against the hull.
“Storm!” the captain cried, pulling the wheel hard. The crew scrambled, reefing sails and lashing barrels to the deck. Lightning split the sky, illuminating walls of water rising higher than the masts.
Anna clung to Kristoff’s arm, wide-eyed. “We’re not going to die, right? Right?”
Kristoff held tight to the railing. “I don’t know if reassuring you or lying is better right now!”
Elsa braced herself against the mast, extending her arms. Frost leapt from her fingers, shaping into a wall of ice that broke the nearest waves before they could smash across the deck. But for every wave she quelled, another rose higher and stronger.
Crismar moved forward, calm even as the storm roared. He raised both hands, and the air itself seemed to answer. The winds shifted, funneling the storm’s fury upward instead of down onto the ship. Lightning forked toward the deck, but with a sweep of his arm, Crismar bent it aside, scattering its energy into the sea.
Elsa glanced at him, straining against her own efforts. “Is this the same thing you did in Ahtohallan? How are you doing this?"
“Lighting comes from fire,” Crismar replied. "That was always the element I trusted in the most."
With the two of them working in tandem — ice shielding the ship from the ocean’s rage, elemental force redirecting the storm’s wrath — the North Star managed to hold her course.
Hours later, the skies cleared, the sea calming to glassy swells under a waning moon. Exhausted, the crew slumped where they could. Anna curled against Kristoff, too tired even to argue with him. Olaf, frozen solid from Elsa’s overzealous cooling during the fight, thawed slowly with morning light.
Elsa stood at the stern, gazing out over the quiet sea.
Crismar joined her, his steps soft against the deck.
“You wielded your gift well tonight,” he said.
Elsa shook her head. “Barely. The warmth weakens me. The storm nearly overwhelmed me.”
“You think strength means never faltering?” he asked. “It doesn't. True strength is in bending and then rising again.”
She studied him, her frown easing. “You sound like you’ve lived this many times.”
He looked out at the horizon. “I have. Too many.”
A silence stretched, comfortable this time. Then, softly, Elsa asked, “Do you miss it? Your home?”
Crismar’s jaw tightened. “Every day.”
There was something raw in his voice — not just sorrow, but guilt. Elsa wanted to press further, but she sensed the wound was too deep, too fresh. Instead, she placed her hand on the railing near his, their fingers almost brushing.
“You’re not alone anymore,” she said.
For a long moment, Crismar didn’t reply. But when he finally turned, there was gratitude in his eyes. “Nor are you.”
As the days stretched into weeks, the air grew even warmer. The crew discarded their furs for linen, skin already bronzed by relentless sun - including both sisters.
Anna complained endlessly, though half in jest. “If one more drop of sweat touches my eyebrow, I’m jumping overboard.”
Kristoff handed her a canteen. “Here. Drink. Or I’ll make Sven dump water on you when we get back.”
Anna shot him a glare, then drank anyway.
Elsa adjusted, slowly, learning to lean less on her powers and more on patience, as Crismar had taught her. Sometimes she practiced with him at dusk, when the air cooled and the sea stretched red and gold beneath the sinking sun. He would summon pillars of water, currents of wind, sparks of flame, and Elsa would counter with frost, weaving their powers together in a strange, graceful dance. It was in those moments that Elsa felt something stir inside her — not just kinship, but admiration towards his new companion. Crismar carried himself with quiet authority, but not pride; his strength was tempered with humility, as though every command of the elements reminded him of the cost he once paid for them. And in turn, Crismar watched Elsa with a respect that grew sharper with each passing day. He saw not just the Snow Queen of Arendelle, but a woman who bore her power with restraint, who carried the weight of her choices with grace.
One evening, as twilight painted the sea in shades of violet, Anna caught sight of the two of them training at the bow. She leaned against Kristoff, smirking.
“They look… close.”
Kristoff grunted. “Close? They’re practically glowing.”
Anna elbowed him. “Don’t sound so grumpy. It’s kind of sweet. Elsa deserves someone who understands her.”
Kristoff eyed the sparks and frost swirling at the bow. “As long as they don’t blow up the ship.”
But their journey was not without further peril.
Near the twentieth day, dark shapes appeared in the water — sleek, cutting through the waves with unnatural speed.
“Corsairs!” the captain shouted.
Small ships with black sails swarmed from behind rocky outcroppings, archers poised, grappling hooks clattered against the rails.
Anna’s heart leapt into her throat. “Oh no, oh no—”
Kristoff shoved her behind him, axe raised. “Stay close!”
Arrows rained from the sky, but Elsa swept her arms, a barrier of ice rising to shield the deck. Crismar lifted a hand, and a gust of wind sent one of the smaller craft spinning out of control, smashing against the rocks.
"Idiots. They bit more than they can chew this time," he said way too calmly based on the situation.
But more grappling hooks came soon after, the corsairs not willing to give up easily. Blades clashed as sailors fought hand-to-hand, the cries of battle ringing against the sea.
Anna surprised even herself by grabbing a fallen oar and swinging it at an attacker, knocking him flat. “Stay away from my kingdom!” she shouted, cheeks flushed.
Elsa froze the water beneath two ships, trapping them in ice. Crismar followed it by unleashing a ripple of fire across the bows of another, forcing them back. Together, they stood unyielding, elemental fury finally driving the enemy to retreat.
At last, the corsairs fled, their ships burning or broken. The North Star sailed on, battered but victorious.
As the adrenaline faded, Anna collapsed against Kristoff, who laughed shakily. “You’re terrifying with an oar, you know that?”
Anna beamed. “Best queen weapon ever.”
Elsa wiped sweat from her brow, her gaze meeting Crismar’s across the deck. Both nodded, silent acknowledgment passing between them.
Weeks at sea forged bonds that neither frost nor flame could sever. Anna’s endless chatter kept spirits high; Kristoff’s steady presence anchored them. Olaf, ever the optimist, reminded them of the simple joys — “Look, a cloud shaped like a duck!” — even when exhaustion weighed heavy. But it was between Elsa and Crismar that something deeper bloomed. In quiet hours at dawn or dusk, they shared stories — of childhood fears, of the burden of powers, of choices made and paths lost. Elsa spoke of Ahtohallan, of the voice that called her north. Crismar spoke of Datria, of the homeland long forgotten among the people of Tenelrend, of the people that cast him out. But despite Elsa's pleads, he never spoke about the exact reason why. Sometimes they argued — over control, over destiny, over whether balance was something to be sought or something to be made. But always they returned to one another, drawn by a bond neither fully named. And slowly, the warmth no longer felt like a burden to Elsa. She began to see beauty in the heat shimmering on the water, in the golden spray of sunlit waves, in the fire Crismar wove with a flick of his wrist. She was learning. And in him, she sensed, so was he.
One night, as the ship sailed under a canopy of stars, Elsa stood alone at the bow. Crismar joined her quietly.
“The seas grow calmer,” he said.
Elsa nodded. “And still warmer.”
He glanced at her. “You bear it better now.”
She smiled faintly. “I had a good teacher.”
For a long time, they stood together in silence, the ship cutting smooth through the starlit waves. And though danger still loomed ahead — Taris, the war with Egrador, the truths of Kaelara — for that moment, there was peace.
Elsa looked at Crismar, her voice soft. “Whatever lies ahead… I’m glad we’re not facing it alone.”
His eyes held hers, steady and sure. “Nor am I. Because where we sail to... we'll need each other.”
And as the North Star sailed toward the horizon, the bond between frost and flame, storm and sea, grew ever stronger.
Chapter 7: The Gates of Ilragond
Chapter Text
The first cry from the lookout came at dawn.
“Land! Land ahead!”
The deck of the North Star erupted with shouts and the heavy rush of boots. Anna scrambled up the railing, squinting through the pale light. A jagged outline rose from the mist, the first dark spine of a coastline glittering in the sun.
Elsa stepped beside her, shielding her eyes. What she saw sent a quiet thrill through her chest: towers, white and gold, rising in the far distance above sweeping green plains. Ilragond, capital of Taris, gleamed like a jewel of stone and sunlight.
“It’s beautiful,” Anna whispered.
Kristoff tightened his grip on the railing, Sven snorting softly beside him. “Big. Too big. Cities this size make me nervous.”
“You’re nervous of baths, Kristoff,” Anna teased. “Everything makes you nervous.”
He muttered something about goats being more reliable than kings and queens, but the sparkle in Anna’s eyes told Elsa her sister was already smitten with the place.
Crismar, however, stood apart, gaze steady and unreadable. As the coastline drew nearer, he seemed both calm and restless, as though the earth itself beneath the city tugged at something in his heart.
When the ship docked at the bustling harbor, they were met by a girl sitting atop a pale horse. She rode forward with effortless grace, her short white hair flying around her soldiers, eyes sharp as steel. The moment she dismounted, several soldiers bowed their heads, for she bore the insignia of a commander.
“Crismar!” she called, breaking into a grin as her boots hit the cobblestone.
Crismar’s sternness cracked into warmth, and he strode forward to embrace her. “Nadeen. What are you doing here? I thought they had you still stationed in Mellaren.”
“They do,” Nadeen said, pulling back with a laugh. “But lord Peveron sent me the moment he heard you were on your way. Someone has to keep your from getting lost.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she looked past him at the Arendellians. “So these must be your companions from the north.”
Anna perked up, straightening her skirts. “Queen Anna of Arendelle. This is my sister, Elsa, Kristoff, Olaf, and Sven. And you must be…?”
“Nadeen, commander of the light cavalry in Mellaren.” The girl executed a bow far too elegant for someone in leathers and armor. “At your service.”
Crismar couldn't hide a smile. "And the best rider you'll ever meet. Honestly."
Olaf waddled forward, blinking. “Wait. You ride horses? Like, really fast? With your hair all whoosh-whoosh in the wind?”
Nadeen tilted her head, amused. “Something like that.”
The introductions dissolved into laughter, easing the tension of landfall. Yet even amid the smiles, Elsa felt the undercurrent of urgency. Nadeen had ridden hard to meet them — and people like her weren’t called away from their posts without reason.
Nadeen procured horses for them, sleek Tarisian steeds bred for both endurance and speed. Anna’s horse bolted almost immediately, and only Nadeen’s skillful maneuvering kept her from tumbling headfirst into a barley field. “You’ll learn,” Nadeen said cheerfully, handing the reins back. “Eventually.”
Kristoff, more at home with reindeer than horses, grumbled the whole way, but his grip was steady. Olaf rode perched awkwardly in front of Elsa, asking loudly every mile whether horses liked warm hugs.
The road to Ilragond wound through sprawling plains, dotted with villages where farmers paused to watch the riders thunder past. Fields of wheat rippled like rivers of gold, and in the distance rose mountains sharp as blades, marking the borders of Trimos.
At last, Ilragond itself came into full view. High walls gleamed white, banners of blue and silver snapping in the wind. Towers stretched toward the heavens, crowned with spires of crystal that caught the sunlight in dazzling brilliance.
Anna gasped. “Elsa, look. It looks like a storybook castle. Like… our castle, but grander. And with better battlements.”
Elsa smiled faintly but said nothing. Her eyes lingered on the gates ahead, where soldiers in shining mail saluted Crismar without hesitation. Whatever he had endured, here he was recognized — and respected.
Inside the palace, they were led through vast halls lined with murals of past kings and queens, their victories and their sorrows etched into stone and gold. Elsa slowed, noting one mural of a battle: a lone rider shielding a young woman crowned with fire-colored jewels.
Arynn, she realized.
And when the throne room doors opened, Elsa’s breath caught in her lungs.
Queen Arynn stood up from her seat, her pale hair woven into a single braid that spilled down her back. The resemblance to Elsa was uncanny — not identical, but enough to draw a ripple of surprise from Anna and Kristoff alike. Arynn’s posture was regal yet warm, her eyes the color of dawn skies, her presence commanding without arrogance.
“Crismar,” she said, her voice carrying like bells across the chamber. “You’ve returned.”
Crismar smiled. “I promised that I will, Arynn.”
Arynn’s gaze shifted to Elsa, lingering. For a heartbeat, it was like looking into a mirror of possibilities — two women, alike in bearing, yet separated by kingdoms and fate. A flicker of recognition passed between them, though they had never met.
Arynn inclined her head graciously. “Queen Elsa. Queen Anna. Welcome to Ilragond. Taris is honored to receive you.”
Anna beamed, dropping into a curtsy. “The honor’s ours. Your city is amazing. Your hair is amazing. And your—”
Kristoff nudged her, muttering. “Maybe less gushing.”
Arynn only smiled, turning back to Crismar. The warmth in her expression softened, though shadows soon darkened her features.
"You're back just in time, too," she said.
Crismar frowned slightly. "Any news from the frontlines?"
“The border holds… for now,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “But Egrador has stirred. Scouts report unusual movements — entire divisions massing along the Wall. We don't know what they're after. And Roseon warns us that the enemy’s fleet has grown bolder.”
The chamber fell silent. Even Anna’s usual brightness dimmed at the mention of war.
Crismar’s expression hardened. “If the Emperor moves against us again—”
“Then the stalemate breaks,” Arynn finished. She stepped down from the dais, her gown whispering across the marble. “We can't allow that. Not when Taris has only just begun to heal.”
Her eyes met Crismar’s, sharp and unflinching. “We need you. Your strength and your counsel, Crismar. You going back to the frontlines can steady the others. You know this land, and this war. No one else can fill that place.”
Elsa glanced at him, catching the way his jaw clenched. The weight of Arynn’s words pressed heavily, as though every breath carried old oaths and older regrets.
At last, Crismar bowed his head. “Then you shall have it. Whatever storm rises, I will stand with you. You know I always would.”
Arynn’s smile was faint, but relief touched her eyes. “Of course I know.”
And Elsa, standing just behind, felt a curious ache. Here was a bond deeper than command, stronger than politics. Arynn and Crismar had fought and bled together, their trust tempered in fire. Yet even as she recognized it, Elsa also felt something else — the quiet certainty that her own bond with him was beginning to grow into something equally unshakable.
The halls of Ilragond whispered of war, of alliances, of battles yet to come. But within that moment, Elsa knew: whatever awaited, their paths were intertwined now. Frost and flame. Queen and exile. And somewhere beyond the horizon, the storm of Egrador gathered.
The journey was far from over.
The council chamber of Ilragond was unlike anything Anna or Elsa had ever seen. It was circular, built of white marble streaked with veins of gold, its domed ceiling painted with constellations and the histories of Taris in sprawling murals. The round table at the center bore the emblems of the Four Houses: the silver dove of Taris, the crimson stag of Mellaren, the black crow of Trimos, and the golden sunburst of Roseon.
Torches blazed in sconces along the walls, though light streamed in as well from high windows, illuminating the figures who had gathered.
Queen Arynn sat at the head, her posture regal but never stiff, her long braid coiled across one shoulder. Crismar stood just behind her, not as a courtier, but as something else entirely — a trusted anchor, the weight of old wars lingering in his stance.
Lord Peveron of Mellaren, a tall man with hawkish features, drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. Opposite him sat Lord Crow of Trimos, older, sharp-eyed, his black cloak feathered along the edges. At the fourth seat rested two advisors of Roseon, Lord Hadrien and Lady Merisse, representing their aging King Gaeren.
Anna leaned close to Elsa as they entered, whispering, “They all look like they could stare down a thunderstorm.”
Elsa offered only a faint smile. She herself felt the tension thick in the room, like air before lightning.
Arynn rose. “My lords, my lady, honored guests. We are gathered to weigh the storm that gathers on our borders, and to decide if the Four Houses shall move as one.”
Lord Peveron was the first to speak. “What do you mean, if, Queen Arynn? If Emperor Milerias plans to break the stalemate, Mellaren will not stand idle.”
Lord Crow snorted. “Brave words. But Trimos has borne the brunt of their fury for thirty years. Do you know how many of my soldiers sleep in the dirt beneath that cursed Wall?”
“Your soldiers,” Peveron countered sharply, “would already be dust if not for Mellaren’s steel.”
“Enough.” Arynn’s voice cut across the chamber, calm yet edged with steel. “Please. The Houses cannot afford division now. We speak of survival, not pride.”
Crismar stepped forward then, and the shift in the room was immediate. Though some eyes narrowed at his presence, none dared interrupt him.
“I have news,” he said, his voice steady, carrying. “News from beyond Tenelrend — from Arendelle, the capital of a kingdom far in the north. The bond of our blood runs deeper than many here realize.”
A ripple of curiosity passed through the chamber. Elsa felt every gaze flick briefly to her.
Crismar continued. “The spirits of nature — wind, water, earth, fire — still live. In Arendelle, Queen Elsa bears the gift of ice, a gift born of her land’s ancient bond with Kaelara. Arendelle’s kings once dealt with Kaelaran elementals, before they vanished into fog and secrecy. That bond is not broken. It lives in her. The same bond that lives in me.”
He spread his hands, and with a quiet rumble, stone rose from the floor between his palms before dissolving into flame, then water, then air.
Even the skeptical Lord Crow leaned forward, eyes narrowing with fascination.
Arynn turned to the gathered nobles. “We already know that uncovering the secrets of Crismar’s power, and the truth of his origins, could tip the balance of this war. And with Arendelle’s queens standing beside us, the Houses are not four anymore — but five.”
Murmurs broke out.
Lord Hadrien of Roseon leaned on his cane, his voice slow and deliberate. “The Emperor will not ignore these news. If the blood of Kaelara stirs again, he will see it as both threat and opportunity.”
“Then let him,” Elsa replied suddenly, her eyes glinting. “You're not afraid of him and neither is Arendelle. Better he fears us than believes us weak.”
Everyone in the room looked at her for a moment, a respect for her words being clearly visible in many faces.
The debate raged on — strategies, supply lines, allegiances strained by old grudges. Anna whispered furiously to Kristoff about how nobody was offering cake or hot cocoa, and Kristoff whispered back that that was exactly why he hated politics.
Elsa, however, kept her eyes on Crismar. He spoke rarely, but each time his words cut through the noise. He knew these people, their strengths and flaws alike. She could see why Arynn valued him, why even hardened lords listened. And it stirred something within her — pride, admiration, and a pull she did not name.
The council adjourned at dusk. The nobles withdrew to their chambers, the weight of decisions still pressing heavily in the air. Elsa lingered in the courtyard, the sky above awash in streaks of orange and violet.
Arynn found her there.
“You are strangely quiet for a newcomer to our world,” the queen observed, stepping to her side.
Elsa managed a faint smile. “There is much to listen to here. I do that rather than asking questions.”
Arynn’s eyes softened. For a moment, the resemblance between them was startling again — like mirrors of the same frost, shaped by different winds.
“You wonder about Crismar,” Arynn said, not as a question, but as truth.
Elsa’s breath caught. “I…” She hesitated. “You trust him.”
“Of course I do,” Arynn said simply. Her gaze drifted across the courtyard, distant. “When my father was murdered, when Basil’s men hunted me, when I though all is lost — it was Crismar who found me. Who carried me through fire and steel. Dalton gave his life for me. Talia risked everything. But Crismar… he gave me more than protection. He gave me the strength to keep fighting when I wanted to fall.”
Her voice faltered, then steadied again. “I owe him more than I can ever repay. I'd do anything to have the same bond you have with him.”
Elsa swallowed, her chest tightening. "The same bond?”
Arynn turned to her fully, studying her with clear, unwavering eyes. “I see the way he looks at you. The way you look at him, though perhaps you do not yet admit it. So I ask you plainly, Elsa of Arendelle — what do you feel for him?”
The words struck harder than Elsa expected. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“I…” she began, her voice faint. “I don’t know.”
But the truth stirred beneath her skin — the way his presence steadied her, the way his laughter felt like sunlight through storm clouds, the way she caught herself searching for him in every room.
Arynn’s expression softened, but her tone carried both gravity and warmth. “Then know this: whatever path you choose, it must be clear. Crismar is no man to walk between shadows of half-truths. He has bled for loyalty before. Don't give him less than he deserves.”
Elsa could not answer. She turned away, gazing toward the horizon, her heart suddenly heavy. She had faced raging seas, ancient spirits, the very weight of destiny — and yet here, in this quiet courtyard, Arynn’s words left her more unsettled than any storm.
For the first time, Elsa wondered if the greatest battle she would face was not against the Emperor or his armies… but within her own heart.
Chapter 8: The Weight of Time
Chapter Text
The fires of Ilragond’s forges burned bright that night, sending plumes of smoke into the twilight sky. The council had dispersed hours ago, but the echo of clashing words lingered in Elsa’s mind. She found herself wandering the stone corridors, searching for quiet — yet discovering none within her own heart.
Arynn’s question haunted her. What do you feel for him?
Every time she thought she had an answer, it slipped away, like frost melting under sun.
She stood at a balcony overlooking the courtyard. Below, soldiers sparred with blunted blades, smiths carted weapons and the hum of a city bracing for war filled the night air. Ilragond pulsed with life, but it was a life lived at the edge of a sword.
Her hands brushed the stone railing. She could feel the cold in it. And yet, for once, it offered no clarity.
The clang of hammers on metal drew Elsa’s attention. Across the courtyard, a forge burned even brighter than the rest, sparks bursting into the air like fireflies. Curiosity tugged at her, and she descended the steps toward it.
Inside, the heat was suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of coal and iron. A young woman bent over an anvil, her arms moving with practiced strength as she struck a glowing blade into shape. Her brown hair, cut to shoulders, glistened with sweat, and her eyes gleamed with both focus and fire.
When she noticed Elsa at the threshold, she grinned, setting her hammer aside. “Well, if it isn’t the Snow Queen herself. Careful, or you’ll melt in here.”
Elsa blinked, caught off guard by the teasing tone. “I… was just watching.”
“Good.” The woman wiped her brow, still smiling. “Means I’m worth watching.” She extended a hand, rough with calluses. “Name’s Lissi. Blacksmith, sometimes miracle worker, depending on the stubbornness of the steel.”
Elsa shook her hand, surprised by the warmth and strength in her grip. “Elsa.”
“Oh, I know who you are. Whole city’s talking about the queen from the north with magic in her veins. You caused quite the stir in the council, or so I heard.”
Elsa lowered her gaze. “I didn’t say much.”
“Didn’t have to. Sometimes silence speaks louder than shouting. Besides, I'm on really good terms with Arynn and Crismar.” Lissi studied her a moment, then motioned toward a bench. “Sit down. You look like someone who’s got more on her mind than she knows what to do with.”
Reluctantly, Elsa sat down, the heat of the forge wrapping around her like a cloak.
For a time, Lissi worked in silence, hammering metal into shape. The rhythm was steady, grounding, each strike ringing through the chamber.
Finally, she spoke, her tone softer.
“You remind me of him.”
Elsa looked up. “Of who?”
“Dalton.” Lissi’s hammer stilled. She touched the blade with tongs, lowering it back into the coals. “Captain of the Royal Guard. Arynn’s shield. My heart.”
The last words came quietly, almost swallowed by the roar of the fire.
Elsa’s chest tightened. She had heard Dalton’s name spoken with reverence, but never like this.
“You... loved him?”
Lissi gave a short, humorless laugh. “Loved him? Gods, I still do. But I was a coward. I never told him, not really. Not until he returned from the dead. From overseas. Before they went into the battle. He laughed — said I had terrible timing. Then he promised we’d talk about it after."
She sighed, put the hammer down and turned towards Elsa. "But there was no after. He gave his life for Arynn. And I was left with words that came far, far too late.”
Her eyes glistened, but her smile remained, though it trembled at the edges. “So now I hit steel until my arms ache and my heart forgets for a while. And I make sure Arynn always has the blades she needs, because Dalton would haunt me otherwise.”
Elsa’s breath caught, her throat tight. She whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Lissi waved her off. “Don’t be. I chose silence. That was my mistake. And it cost me more than I can bear sometimes. Even when Vera is around.”
"Vera?"
Lissi smiled faintly. "A mercenary. Well, former. The bravest and the stupidest girl I've ever met. But she helped me stand back up. Though now, we... spend more time laying down together."
Elsa blinked in surprise, grasping the meaning behind her words. "You... you're?"
"Heart doesn't choose," Lissi said, looking her in the eyes. "I'm not saying that she's some replacement, God forbid, but... that pain will always be there. He was my first, after all."
She leaned closer, her gaze sharp despite the sorrow in it. “So hear me, Elsa. Time is cruel. You think you have enough of it, until you don’t. Until it’s ripped away in a heartbeat, and all you’re left with are words you never said.”
Elsa swallowed hard, her pulse quickening.
“You’ve got that look,” Lissi went on, quieter now. “The one I used to have when Dalton walked into a room. Like the air shifts, and the ground steadies, and you don’t even realize you’re leaning toward him until you do.”
Elsa felt heat rise to her cheeks. “You—”
Lissi raised a hand, cutting her off. “Don’t tell me I’m wrong. I'm not a newbie in this, Elsa. Maybe you don’t even know it yourself yet. But you feel something for him. And whatever it is, whatever it could be, don’t waste it. Don’t leave it buried until the day you find yourself kneeling at his grave, wishing you had one more hour.”
The forge crackled. Outside, the city carried on, unaware of the storm brewing in Elsa’s chest. She wanted to protest, to deny, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead she sat in silence, her heart pounding, her mind a whirlwind of images — Crismar’s steady gaze, his laugh, the warmth of his presence beside her.
Lissi returned to her work, her hammer striking steel once more. “We don’t get to choose how long we have, but we do get to choose what we do with it. Don’t make the mistake I did. Just speak before it’s too late.”
When Elsa finally left the forge, the night air was cool against her skin. She breathed deeply, but it did little to calm the storm within her.
Arynn’s question. Lissi’s warning. Her own racing heart.
The path ahead was clouded by war, by danger, by shadows. But Lissi was right — time was never guaranteed. And as Elsa gazed up at the stars above Ilragond, she knew one truth had become impossible to ignore: her heart was no longer hers alone.
The training yard was nearly empty at dawn, the stones still cool beneath a pale sky streaked with lavender and gold. Elsa stood at one end, her breath clouding faintly in the crisp air. Across from her, Crismar rolled his shoulders, his cloak cast aside, leaving only the plain tunic beneath. His stance was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp and watchful.
“This isn’t about fighting,” he said, circling slowly. “Not today. It’s about control. Trust. Breathing in step with what you carry inside.”
Elsa nodded, lifting her hand. A ribbon of frost slipped from her fingers, curling across the ground like a snake. Crismar didn’t move, but the air around him stirred in response — a subtle shifting, like the world itself exhaling.
“Again,” he said.
She drew another arc of ice. This time the frost spread wider, branching. Crismar flicked his wrist, and the air compressed, holding her frost in a perfect circle, its edges sharp as crystal.
Elsa’s lips curved in spite of herself. “You’re showing off.”
His mouth twitched into a half-smile. “Maybe. But only because you can do better.”
The next hour passed in a rhythm of creation and counter, each testing the other. Elsa sent spirals of snow, Crismar redirected them into shimmering patterns of air. He called sparks from the ground, flames that licked at her ice and hissed into steam. They moved faster, closer, until sweat dampened Elsa’s hairline and her lungs burned.
Finally, Crismar lifted a hand, signaling her for a break. His chest rose and fell steadily, as if he hadn’t been exerting himself at all. “Good. You’re sharper today.”
Elsa smiled faintly, brushing frost from her sleeve. “And you’re… impossible.”
He laughed quietly. “I’ve been called worse.”
There was warmth in his voice, but it faded as his gaze lingered on her, as if caught on something unsaid. Elsa tilted her head. “What is it?”
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he sat down on the edge of the stone wall. “You asked me once where my path began. Why I left Datria. Why I fight the way I do.”
Elsa hesitated, then sat beside him, the chill of her presence blending oddly with the warmth radiating from him. “I remember.”
Crismar’s eyes lifted to the horizon. “Her name was Rina.”
The name hung heavy between them. Elsa didn’t speak.
“She was my first friend. My first… everything, I suppose. We grew up together, always competing, always chasing storms. She was the air to my fire. We thought we’d live forever.” His hands curled loosely. “Nine years ago, we left the island for the first time. She wanted to see the world. I went with her for some time, but after I returned home, we... fell out. She wanted adventures, dangers, while I... I chose a different path. I was worried about her. Tried to sway her. It only led to arguments... And after one of those, she left... for Grodath. Rhazien's realm."
Elsa’s breath caught. She had heard his name whispered — the corsair who had aligned with Basil Leowarin, a figure out of nightmares.
“They wanted our power. Or maybe they just wanted blood. I don’t know anymore.” His voice roughened. “Going there was a suicide. Rina was way too overconfident. And I wasn’t fast enough to stop her.”
Elsa closed her hands in her lap, feeling her heartbeat hammer. “Crismar…”
His eyes darkened. “We ended up in a fight with Rhazien and his corsairs. Even our abilities weren't enough to stop him."
He sighed quietly, clearly fighting against pain forming in his chest. "I was lucky to get out of there alive. But Rina—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “Rhazien slashed her chest. She died in my arms..."
He lowered his head, putting his palm against his forehead. "And I lost myself. I killed them, Elsa. Not just Rhazien’s crew. Dozens. Every one I could find... Women. Kids."
Elsa gasped in shock. "No..."
Crismar didn't look at her this time. His voice was shaking despite his tries to calm himself down.
"I told myself it was justice. But it was revenge, nothing more. And when I returned, the Council exiled me. Said I had dishonored everything we were meant to stand for. And so right they were...”
The silence that followed pressed heavy.
Elsa’s throat tightened. She wanted to say something — to tell him he had been young, broken, desperate. But the weight in his eyes stopped her. He wasn’t asking for forgiveness. He was simply telling her the truth.
“I learned to protect after that,” Crismar murmured. “But never to love. Not again. Every bond felt like a risk. Every smile, a promise I couldn’t keep. Rina’s ghost has never left me. She follows me into every battle, every night. Sometimes I think she always will.”
He raised his head slightly, looking towards the sun.
"And I pushed people away because of that," he said. "People who I know that loved me. Probably still do."
"Arynn..." Elsa breathed quietly.
Crismar nodded. "And Talia."
"Talia too...?"
"Yes. Long before Arynn. Ever since we met. Ever since she... could find a meaning in life. But I was scared. I still am. And... just like with Rina, we fell apart. Because of me."
Elsa’s chest ached. She turned slightly, searching his face. He looked older in that moment, though his features hadn’t changed. Older, not in years, but in scars unseen.
“You carry it all alone,” she whispered.
His gaze flicked to her, sharp, almost defensive. But something in her eyes softened him, and he let out a long breath. “I don’t know how else to carry it.”
They sat in silence, the world around them quiet save for the distant calls of soldiers in the yard below. Elsa’s heart thundered with the weight of his confession.
Finally, she said, barely audible: “Thank you. For trusting me.”
Crismar’s lips parted for a moment, but he closed them again. Instead, he gave a short nod.
Later, when Elsa returned to her chamber, she pressed her hands against the cold stone wall, her thoughts racing.
Rina. The name cut into her like ice. She had seen grief before, felt its shadow in herself, but this — this was deeper. This was a wound that never healed. A wound that hurt other people too.
Talia. And Arynn.
And Crismar… he had shared it with her. The thought warmed her and frightened her all at once.
Was she strong enough for that? To stand beside a man who had killed in vengeance, who carried ghosts heavier than snow? Could her heart bear the weight of his?
For the first time in years, Elsa felt uncertain not of her power, but of herself. Of whether she was enough.
As she lay awake that night, the memory of Crismar’s voice haunted her. I learned to protect, but never to love.
And though she wished to deny it, her heart whispered the truth:
She wanted to be the one to change that.
Chapter 9: Kindling
Chapter Text
Ilragond had finally gone quiet. The echoes of the day’s duties—blacksmiths hammering, merchants bargaining in the markets, guards calling out from towers—had faded into silence, leaving only the occasional flicker of torchlight against stone. Elsa lay awake in the chamber she had been given, staring at the carved beams above her.
Sleep eluded her. Her mind churned with images and words—Crismar’s story, the confession of blood and loss, the grief he carried like a scar carved into his soul.
And Rina. The name haunted Elsa’s thoughts as if it belonged to someone she should have known, someone who still lingered between them.
She turned on her side, clutching the sheets. The chamber was warm compared to Arendelle’s crisp nights, and the warmth made her restless. Her powers pulsed faintly, trailing frost over the edge of her pillow. She exhaled, frustrated.
Finally, she rose. Perhaps a walk would quiet her heart.
The halls of the palace were dark, save for a few watchmen posted near the gates. Elsa padded through the corridors, her cloak wrapped lightly over her shoulders. She told herself she was only seeking air. But when she descended into the main courtyard, her steps slowed—because she wasn’t alone.
Crismar stood near the outer wall, his broad frame half-hidden in the orange glow of a torch. He wore no armor, only a loose dark tunic, his hair disheveled by the night breeze. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, though nothing could be seen beyond the walls. His hands were behind his back, clenched and unclenched in restless rhythm.
Elsa hesitated, biting her lip, torn between retreating and stepping forward. But something about the way his shoulders sagged decided her.
“Crismar?” Her voice was soft, careful not to startle.
He turned, surprise flickering across his face before easing into recognition. “Elsa. Couldn’t sleep?”
She shook her head. “You neither.”
He gave a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “No. Nights are… difficult sometimes.”
Elsa approached, her steps light over the cobblestones. “You keep watch when you don’t need to?”
Crismar shrugged, glancing back at the wall. “It’s habit. Old instincts. You don’t sleep deeply as an exile in the midst of war. You learn to listen to the dark, or it swallows you.”
His tone was even, but Elsa caught the strain beneath. She stopped beside him, her hand brushing the stone wall as though grounding herself. For a long moment, they said nothing. The silence was not empty but heavy with unspoken things.
Finally, Elsa asked quietly, “Do you ever stop hearing them? The ghosts?”
Crismar stiffened. Slowly, his hands curled tighter behind his back. “No,” he admitted. “Some nights they’re quieter. Some nights…” His jaw tightened. “Some nights it feels like they’re all I hear.”
Elsa studied him, her chest tightening. She thought of his confession—the fury, the blood spilled in vengeance. She thought of her own past, of ice spiraling out of control, of Arendelle nearly drowned under her storm. They were both haunted.
She whispered, “You saved me once, too, without knowing. By telling me the truth.”
Crismar turned, startled. “What truth?”
“That I’m not the only one who carries a burden,” Elsa said, her voice steady though her heart raced. “That powers… scars… don’t make us monsters. They make us human.”
His eyes softened, the guarded steel giving way to something raw. But he remained silent, as though the words were too dangerous to let out.
On impulse, Elsa reached out. Her fingers brushed his hand, just barely. The warmth of him startled her—like touching a hearth after years of frost. She half-expected him to pull away. But he didn’t.
Instead, he slowly turned his palm, letting their hands meet properly, his calloused skin rough against hers. His grip was not tight, but it was certain.
“You shouldn’t,” he murmured, almost pleading. “I’ve already hurt enough people I cared for.”
“You haven’t hurt me,” Elsa replied.
They stood like that, hand in hand, the silence thick with unspoken fear and longing.
Then, gently, Crismar lifted his free hand. A faint current stirred, carrying with it a trace of warmth and the smell of rain. Elsa felt her powers stir in response, frost whispering across the wall. Their elements danced together, air and ice weaving in delicate tendrils.
Crismar’s voice was low. “No one’s seen this side of me since Rina. No one’s felt it.”
Elsa’s breath caught. “And no one’s ever held this part of me either.”
Their eyes met, blue and storm-gray, and the distance between them broke.
Slowly, carefully, Elsa stepped closer. Crismar didn’t move, only watched her with an intensity that both unnerved and anchored her. She lifted her other hand, resting it lightly against his chest. She could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm, strong and certain.
“You don’t have to protect me from you,” she whispered.
Crismar’s voice was hushed, almost reverent. “I swore I’d never let myself feel this again.”
Elsa smiled faintly, though tears shimmered in her eyes. “And I swore I’d never let anyone close. But here we are.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his thumb lingering just long enough to make her shiver. “You’re braver than you think, Elsa.”
“And you’re gentler than you know,” she answered.
They stood there for what felt like forever, wrapped in a fragile but undeniable bond. Not a declaration, not a promise—but a beginning. A kindling spark that both frightened and warmed them, burning quietly against the darkness.
When they finally parted, it was not with the fear of loss but with the quiet certainty that whatever storm lay ahead, neither of them would face it alone.
The first light of dawn crept over Ilragond, brushing the towers and rooftops in pale gold. The city stirred with quiet purpose. Blacksmiths’ hammers clanged faintly, their rhythm echoing off the stone streets. Soldiers adjusted armor and checked weapons, their boots stamping against cobbles as they moved to training grounds. The aroma of baking bread and roasting meat drifted from the kitchens, mingling with the cool scent of the morning air.
Elsa walked through the courtyard, cloak pulled lightly around her shoulders. Her breath fogged faintly, a whisper of frost trailing in her wake. She watched the city awaken, noting the quiet efficiency of Ilragond’s people—resilient, steadfast, accustomed to the shadow of war but unbroken by it.
Her thoughts, however, were elsewhere. Ever since the council had convened yesterday, her mind had been restless. Arynn’s question still haunted her, and Crismar’s presence, so close yet so careful, stirred emotions she scarcely understood. Each moment she spent in the city’s rhythm reminded her of the quiet tension coiling beneath everything: preparation for war, the precarious balance with Egrador, and the threads of power and loyalty that bound them all.
The council chamber was smaller in the morning light, yet no less imposing. Arynn sat at the head, crisp and commanding even in the pale dawn. Anna stood beside her, observing quietly, while Elsa lingered near the back, the flicker of frost in her hands betraying her nerves. Crismar leaned against the wall near the entrance, arms crossed, his eyes tracing maps and murmured notes on the table without a word.
“We cannot ignore the signs,” Arynn said, her tone measured but firm. “Egrador tests our boundaries constantly. Our allies hold, but even a single failure would unravel everything we’ve built. We must be precise.”
Anna nodded. “We have the people, the soldiers, and the intelligence from scouts. But the enemy is clever. They have learned patience in a way we cannot afford.”
Elsa’s gaze drifted to Crismar. He remained quiet, his fingers tapping lightly against his arm as he studied the map. Every so often, his eyes met hers, a fleeting acknowledgment that carried more weight than any words spoken here.
Arynn gestured to the maps. “We will divide the border into sectors. Mellaren will hold the east, Trimos the north, Roseon the south. Taris will serve as the mobile strike force. Crismar, your command of the southern flank will be critical. Intelligence suggests unusual movement near the River Fal.”
Crismar’s voice was low but firm. “I agree, Arynn. We cannot allow Egrador to test us with trivial skirmishes. Any movement there could indicate an attempt to breach our lines, or worse, a larger strategy unfolding.”
Elsa felt the pull in her chest. His words were calm, but the weight beneath them—his responsibility, his skill, his unflinching attention to danger—made her heart twist. She noticed the subtle tension in his shoulders, the same unyielding focus she had seen during their training. And yet, even in this room filled with maps and strategy, she could sense the traces of something else: the man who carried ghosts, and the quiet strength that refused to let them dominate him.
After the council dispersed to carry out their assigned duties, the courtyard stretched out before them. Elsa lingered, brushing her fingers along the stone railing, her mind restless. Crismar approached her quietly.
“You’re still here,” he observed, his tone neutral but not unkind.
“I needed air,” Elsa admitted. She exhaled, watching her frost curl softly along the railing. “And quiet.”
Crismar nodded. “The city is calm, but the borders will not remain so. Soon, you’ll see how fragile even the strongest walls can be.”
She glanced at him. “You speak as if you’ve seen it all before.”
He gave a short, wry smile. “Because I have. But that doesn’t make the weight any lighter.” His gaze lingered on her, brief and searching. “You have to trust yourself, Elsa. Even when everything else seems uncertain.”
She wanted to speak, to confess something deeper, but the words lodged in her throat. Instead, she simply reached out, her hand brushing against his. The contact was light, a fleeting reassurance—but it was enough. Crismar’s hand did not pull away.
“You carry much,” she whispered.
"You do too,” he replied softly. His eyes drifted to the horizon. “Both of us have seen power and loss in ways few can understand. And yet, here we stand. Not alone. Not yet.”
Elsa felt a warmth bloom in her chest, a subtle tether that anchored her. She wanted to step closer, to reach into the shadows he carried and ease them, but she hesitated. Instead, she let their fingers remain entwined, a silent acknowledgment of trust and quiet understanding.
As they walked together along the courtyard wall, Crismar’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur. “There are things I’ve never spoken of. Things from my homeland… from Datria. But for now, it is enough that you know a fraction of what I’ve faced. The rest will wait until the time is right. Now we need to focus on this war. And on Kaelara.”
Elsa’s breath caught. Kaelara—the hidden island of elemental power, the council that governed its secrets. Her curiosity surged, but she restrained it. The world already felt too fragile to pry too deeply, yet the spark of intrigue strengthened her connection to him.
Meanwhile, Anna and Arynn stood a short distance away, observing quietly. Kristoff leaned against a wall, trying to mask his curiosity under a heavy sigh, while Olaf bounced nervously between small tasks.
Anna whispered, “Do you think… something’s happening there?”
Arynn’s expression softened slightly, though her eyes remained vigilant. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it is only the quiet before the storm. Either way, it is not for us to intervene. Let Elsa find her own balance.”
Anna nodded but couldn’t hide a trace of concern. “She seems… different. Stronger. But also…”
“Vulnerable,” Arynn finished. “That is the nature of those who bear great power, Anna. They must learn to wield it, and to trust themselves—and sometimes, to trust another.”
The day passed with the rhythm of preparation. Soldiers drilled, blacksmiths honed weapons, and couriers carried reports along the walls. Elsa and Crismar moved together subtly through the city—often in shared glances, occasionally brushing shoulders, sometimes exchanging quiet words that no one else noticed. Their bond deepened without fanfare, a tapestry of trust and understanding woven into the background of Ilragond’s ceaseless activity.
By evening, the sky was streaked with crimson and violet. Elsa found herself again near the outer wall, where the torchlight flickered across stone. Crismar joined her, carrying a small satchel of maps and notes.
“I keep watch here sometimes,” he said simply. “Even when the city sleeps. I like knowing what waits beyond the walls.”
She smiled faintly. “Then I suppose it is good I am here. For company, if nothing else.”
He tilted his head, a flicker of humor in his eyes. “Or perhaps to remind you that not all shadows are your own.”
They stood together, silent, the wind carrying faint scents of pine and smoke. The world seemed to pause, even as the preparations for war continued around them.
Then, a horn shattered the quiet. A courier arrived at a run, sweat and dust coating his clothes. He handed Arynn a folded parchment. Her eyes widened, and she tore it open with trembling fingers.
“Egrador,” she said, her voice tight. “They’ve moved. Near the River Fal. Larger numbers than our scouts reported. They’re advancing.”
The courtyard froze. Crismar’s eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon even as his fingers instinctively brushed against Elsa’s hand. Anna grabbed his other arm.
"So it begins..." he said quietly. "Sooner than we expected."
Arynn’s voice rose, steadying herself. “All units to positions. We must meet them head-on before they reach the city.”
Elsa’s heart raced. The fragile calm of the city shattered like glass. She glanced at Crismar—his jaw tight, his eyes alight with controlled fire. For a brief instant, she realized that the world would not wait for their hesitations, nor would it forgive inaction.
And as the first distant echoes of battle reached them, Elsa felt a single, undeniable truth: the storm was here, and it was coming for all of them.
Chapter 10: Steel And Flame
Chapter Text
The horns of Ilragond wailed into the night, sharp and urgent. The sound carried across the city like a call to arms, waking the streets, echoing off stone walls, stirring every soldier from slumber and every citizen from their uneasy dreams. The war that had hovered like a shadow was no longer distant—it had come knocking nearly on their gates.
Elsa stood in the torchlit courtyard, her pulse thundering as Arynn passed orders to captains and lieutenants. Armor was brought out of the barracks, weapons sharpened, horses saddled in haste. The city, so alive only hours before with preparation, now shifted into a higher gear—a people not merely waiting but bracing.
She felt Anna’s hand slip into hers, small and warm. Anna’s voice was steady despite the tension in her eyes. “We can’t just stand by.”
Elsa looked at her sister, at Kristoff standing behind her with jaw clenched, and at Olaf, who clutched his little stick arms nervously but did not back away. Together, they formed a circle that no war could easily break.
But Crismar’s voice cut across the clamor, low and sharp, as he strode toward them. “No. This isn't your fight, Anna.”
Arynn moved beside him, equally firm. “He’s right. We thank you for what you’ve done—Arendelle’s aid, your friendship, your counsel. But this war is ours to bear. You must remain behind the walls where you’re safe.”
Elsa straightened. “Safe?” Her voice was cool, sharp as frost. “You think I can remain safe while you fight and fall? Do you think my power is only meant for show, or that I came all this way to stand idle when lives are lost?”
Arynn’s eyes softened, but she did not waver. “Elsa… you're not tied to Taris in any way. If you fell on our battlefield, I won't forgive myself. Nor won't I forgive Crismar for allowing it.”
Crismar’s jaw tightened. He stepped forward, closer, his gaze locking with Elsa’s. “You don't understand what this fight will cost. I’ve seen battlefields torn apart by fire and steel. I’ve buried friends, and I’ve lost more than I can even remember. You think you’re ready for that? To see men cut down before your eyes, to hear the screams of the dying? To carry the weight of those you could not save?”
Elsa’s throat tightened, but she did not break his gaze. She remembered his story—of Rina, of blood and vengeance, of ghosts that still haunted him. She remembered the raw pain in his voice when he confessed what his rage had done.
And still, she found herself answering, quiet but unshaken: “I’ve lived with loss all my life. I know what it means to hurt, and I know what it means to fear myself. But if I can protect even one person with my power, then I can't stand aside. Not again.”
Anna’s voice followed, strong with conviction. “We’ve fought before, Crismar. Against Hans, against the curse that almost tore our kingdom apart. We’ve faced fear, and we’ve come through it together. We won’t hide while you fight for us. We’ll stand with you.”
Kristoff cleared his throat, shifting uneasily but firm in his stance. “I don’t know much about wars or borders, but I know about standing by the people you care about. If Anna goes, I go. No question.”
Olaf raised a hand timidly. “And if you all go… well… I guess a snowman can be useful too? I can… distract them with hugs? Or maybe melt dramatically?” He paused. “Okay, maybe not that last part, but you get it.”
Despite the heaviness of the moment, a ripple of laughter broke from Anna, even Arynn’s lips twitching faintly. But Crismar did not laugh. His eyes swept over them—Anna’s defiance, Kristoff’s loyalty, Olaf’s stubborn innocence, Elsa’s steady resolve—and he exhaled sharply, as if the weight of their choice pressed into his chest.
“Listen to me, all of you. This isn’t a story,” he said at last, voice low, almost breaking. “There are no happy endings guaranteed. If you come with us, you risk everything.”
“And if we don’t,” Elsa countered softly, stepping closer, “we risk ourselves. You told me not all shadows are my own. Let me share yours.”
Crismar’s breath caught, the fight leaving him in that instant. He searched her face, as though looking for weakness, for hesitation—but there was none. Only truth.
Arynn looked between them, then at Anna and Kristoff, then finally at Crismar. Her voice was reluctant but resigned. “If they wish to stand with us… then who are we to deny them? They’ve already proven their courage. And to be fair, we'll need every strength we can gather.”
Crismar turned away, hands clenched at his sides. For a long moment, silence hung. Then, without looking back, he muttered, “So be it. But if you die, Elsa… it will be my failure.”
She shook her head. “No. If I die, it will be my choice.”
The days that followed blurred into ceaseless motion. The city prepared for war as if every heartbeat might be the last before the enemy’s approach.
Elsa trained with Crismar in the courtyards, frost sparring against lightning. He pushed her harder than before, demanding precision, control, strength. She stumbled, faltered, but rose again each time, determination burning in her chest. And in those hours of sweat and strain, she saw glimpses of his true self—the leader forged in fire, the warrior who commanded storms, the man who had buried love and yet stood still unbroken.
Anna worked alongside Arynn, organizing supply lines and tending to frightened civilians, her optimism shining like a beacon. Kristoff drilled with the cavalry led by Nadeen, his natural strength and quiet grit earning him unexpected respect. Olaf, despite his bumbling, kept spirits high, wandering between barracks with jokes and smiles that somehow eased the soldiers’ nerves.
And through it all, Elsa and Crismar’s bond deepened. Between sparring bouts and battlefield plans, between tense silences and quiet walks along the walls at night, they grew closer. Not yet lovers, but more than allies—two storms circling the same horizon, drawn inevitably toward one another.
On the eve of battle, the sky burned red with sunset. Elsa stood on the battlements, looking toward the distant plains where Egrador’s army would soon march. The wind whipped her braid, and frost spiraled from her fingertips, weaving in the air like restless spirits.
Crismar joined her, armor half-fitted, his expression hard but tired. For a long moment, they stood in silence, the city below them alive with torchlight and preparation.
“You should hate me,” he said suddenly, his voice raw. “For dragging you into this. For letting you stand on the edge of a war that isn’t yours.”
Elsa turned to him, her eyes steady, a faint frost clinging to her lashes. “I could never hate you.”
His breath hitched, and for once, he let himself look at her—really look at her. The queen of ice, radiant and unyielding, standing beside him on the cusp of fire and death. Slowly, almost without thought, he reached for her hand. She took it without hesitation, her fingers cool against his warmth, and for that instant, there was no war, no Egrador, no ghosts—only them.
But the moment was shattered by the blast of a horn. A rider galloped into the courtyard below, shouting to the guards. His voice rose above the noise, breaking against the walls:
“Scouts report movement! Egrador advances—they’ll reach the River Fal by dawn!”
Chaos erupted below. Arynn appeared, armor gleaming, shouting orders to mobilize. Soldiers scrambled, horses stamped, the city trembled with sudden urgency.
Crismar’s grip tightened around Elsa’s hand. His eyes, storm-dark, met hers with grim certainty.
“Time to go.”
And as the horns of war wailed once more, Elsa felt the world tilt—the fragile bond they had built about to be tested in steel and flame.
The River Fal was a black ribbon under the dawn sky, its banks shrouded in mist, its waters sluggish and cold. The land around it was flat, open—an unforgiving stage for battle.
From the ridgeline, Elsa saw them first: a dark tide rolling across the plains, banners of crimson and black snapping above thousands of soldiers. The Egradorian army marched in perfect ranks, shields gleaming, their sheer number enough to make even seasoned warriors falter. The thunder of their advance shook the ground beneath her boots.
Beside her, Crismar leaned forward in the saddle, eyes narrowed, jaw set. Lightning crackled faintly at his fingertips, his body taut as a drawn bowstring. Arynn sat tall on her white stallion, her braid shining like a banner in the wind, her armor catching the light of the rising sun. Around them, the combined hosts of Taris, Mellaren, Roseon, and Trimos gathered—tens of thousands of men and women standing shoulder to shoulder, the Four Houses ready to resist the storm.
And yet, to Elsa, it did not feel like enough.
Anna shifted nervously in her saddle, her sword far too large for her comfort. Kristoff adjusted his grip on his axe, his knuckles white but his gaze steady. Olaf sat wedged in a saddlebag, peering over the edge with wide eyes.
“This is insane,” Anna whispered. “Look at them—there’s so many.”
Kristoff grunted. “Yeah. But we’ve got something they don’t.” He glanced toward Elsa, a faint smile flickering despite the tension. “We’ve got them.”
Elsa swallowed hard, frost curling from her hands where they gripped the reins. The weight of expectation pressed against her chest, heavier than any armor.
Crismar turned to her suddenly, voice low but urgent. “Stay close to me. Don’t lose focus. You see an opening, strike—but don’t overreach. The field eats the reckless alive.”
She met his gaze, her fear reflected in his storm-dark eyes. “And if I falter?”
His hand brushed against hers, brief but grounding. “Then I’ll be there.”
The horns blared, deep and terrible. The air split with the cries of thousands, the clash of steel on shields, the thunder of hooves. The battle had begun.
And the world turned into chaos.
Arrows darkened the sky, hissing past Elsa’s head. Shields clashed in the first brutal collision of armies, the sound of metal striking metal louder than thunder. Crismar raised his hand and lightning exploded from the sky, tearing through Egrador’s front ranks, scattering men like leaves in a storm. Arynn’s sword flashed silver, her horse cutting through the fray with queenly ferocity.
Elsa’s breath caught—then she raised her hands.Ice surged outward, a tidal wave of frost sweeping across the riverbank. Spears shattered against sudden walls of ice, arrows froze mid-flight and fell harmlessly. Where the river swelled too deep for horses to cross, Elsa froze it solid, creating a shimmering bridge that carried Tarisian soldiers across.
Cries of awe rose from the ranks of the Four Houses. But it soon turned to desperation as Egrador pressed harder. War machines rolled forward—massive catapults hurling flaming stones that shattered Elsa’s ice barriers. Columns of armored infantry crashed into the river crossing, their sheer weight threatening to break the line.
Anna rode close to Arynn, parrying blows clumsily but bravely. Kristoff swung his axe with grim determination, keeping the enemy at bay. Olaf, to Elsa’s horror, leapt from the saddle and began running around between soldiers’ legs, tripping enemies with reckless cheer.
Elsa stretched her power further, summoning jagged spires of ice that impaled advancing soldiers, walls that rose and shifted to protect her allies. But with every surge of power came a cost—the gnawing fear of losing control, of letting her fear feed the storm inside her.
And then she saw it.
The corsairs—black-clad raiders on horseback—charging from the flank, their banners bearing the serpent emblem of Rhazien. The man who had killed Crismar’s first love. The man who had shaped him in blood and vengeance.
Crismar saw them too. His face changed—harder, sharper, rage flashing behind his eyes. Lightning gathered in his palms, violent, untamed.
Elsa called out above the chaos. “Crismar—!”
But he was already moving, breaking from formation, storming toward the corsairs with fury in his stride. Bolts of lightning rained down, horses reared and screamed, men were thrown from their saddles. It was terrifying, beautiful—and dangerous.
Elsa urged her horse after him, frost exploding in her wake. She couldn't let him fight alone.
The two forces met with shattering force. Crismar cut through men like a storm given flesh, his blade crackling with thunder, his rage a weapon sharper than steel. Elsa froze spears mid-thrust, shattered axes with blasts of frost, encased riders in ice before they could strike. Together, they carved a path through the corsair vanguard—storm and frost, fire and ice, side by side.
For one wild, breathless moment, Elsa felt invincible. Felt alive.
And then, through the smoke and fire, a voice rose above the battlefield. A voice that made Crismar stop in his tracks, his blade lowering slightly.
“Crismar!”
Elsa turned—and saw him.
A tall figure astride a black stallion, armor glinting crimson, eyes like burning coals, and a long black beard falling down his chest. Rhazien. The corsair lord himself. He raised his blade, pointing it straight at Crismar. His voice carried, cruel and taunting.
“Nine years, boy. Nine years since you failed to save her. Come, then. Face me.”
Crismar froze, lightning crackling at his fingertips, his breath ragged. For the first time since the battle began, Elsa saw fear in his eyes—not of Rhazien, but of what he himself might become if he gave in.
Elsa reached for him. “Crismar—”
But Rhazien spurred his horse forward, his army roaring behind him.
The clash erupted like thunder cracking the world in half.
Crismar and Rhazien collided at the heart of the battlefield, and for a moment the armies, the shouting soldiers, even the crashing of steel and the roar of distant siege engines seemed to fall away. It was only them—two men whose histories were written in blood, whose eyes locked with nearly a decade of fury between them.
Rhazien’s curved blades sang as they struck, each swing fueled with a feral savagery born of piracy and conquest. His laughter was harsh, guttural, like a wolf tasting blood.Crismar met him with steel and storm. His sword caught the pirate’s strike, sparks flying, then with a sweep of his hand he summoned wind to hurl Rhazien back a pace. Lightning danced across his free hand, the storm answering the storm within him.
But Rhazien only grinned, his scarred face twisted into something both hateful and triumphant.
“You’re slower than I remember,” he taunted, circling. "All this time all you’ve gained is hesitation. Rina would be ashamed.”
Crismar’s teeth clenched. The name was a knife thrust into an old wound, one that never healed. Fury surged, and with it the storm—dark clouds spiraling overhead, the air humming with the promise of ruin. Elsa watched from only steps away, the chaos of the wider battle blurring into insignificance as her eyes fixed on Crismar. She could feel it—the unraveling of his restraint, the abyss yawning beneath him. And though she had faced storms, monsters, and spirits that could tear the world apart, nothing terrified her as much as the raw torment written on his face.
The duel raged. Rhazien pressed forward, blades flashing with brutal speed, one strike nearly grazing Crismar’s throat. Crismar countered with a burst of flame along his sword, the steel glowing white-hot. He struck back with a fury that shook the earth, sending shockwaves across the ground. The air between them burned with heat and crackled with electricity. Yet Rhazien never faltered. His eyes glimmered with cruel delight.
“Ah, there he is. The Datrian butcher. The exile. Show me what you truly are, Crismar. Show them all!”
Memories bled into Crismar’s vision. Rina’s scream. The night fire. Her body falling to the sand, lifeless. His hands—his own hands—stained with blood as he cut through Rhazien’s men like a beast driven mad. The exile. The banishment. The endless years of wandering.
Now, face-to-face with the man who had started it all, that fury poured back like a flood.
He struck harder, faster, his sword an extension of wrath itself. Lightning seared across the battlefield, wind howled like a predator, and Rhazien staggered under the onslaught. For the first time, the pirate’s grin faltered.
Elsa’s heart pounded. She knew—knew—that Crismar was seconds away from giving in, from crossing the threshold he had told her about in whispers by firelight. The ghosts of his past were no longer shadows—they were steering his hand.
Rhazien fell to one knee under the weight of Crismar’s assault. A slash across his shoulder sprayed blood, his left blade clattering to the ground. He spat crimson into the dirt, sneering up at the man towering over him.
“Do it,” Rhazien rasped. “End it. Prove me right.”
Crismar raised his sword high, the storm swirling with him. Lightning coiled down the blade, white-hot, brilliant enough to blind. His breath came ragged, his jaw tight, his eyes wide and wild. He saw nothing but Rina’s lifeless face. Nothing but Rhazien’s grin. Nothing but the abyss.
“Crismar!” Elsa’s voice cut across the tempest, sharp as breaking ice.
But he didn’t hear.
The blade began its descent.
And in that moment Elsa moved.
Her hands spread, magic flowing through her veins like a river of stars. She wove ice faster than thought, a surge of shimmering frost exploding into the air. In the blink of an eye, a wall of crystalline ice rose between Crismar’s descending sword and Rhazien’s throat.
Steel struck ice. The sound was a bell cracking, a scream of metal meeting frozen truth. Lightning skittered harmlessly across the frost, discharging into the air with a boom that shook the field.
The impact jolted Crismar a step backwards. His eyes blinked, dazed, as if waking from a nightmare. His sword was buried in Elsa’s ice, not in Rhazien’s flesh.
“Elsa…” His voice was hoarse, disbelieving.
Rhazien, still bleeding, staggered back, laughing despite the blood running down his arm. “There it is,” he spat, retreating. “You’re weak. Always were. Always will be.”
And then, as if the world itself conspired to deny closure, shadow erupted across the field. Black smoke coiled like serpents, thick and oily, wrapping around Rhazien’s broken form. A voice—distant, alien, echoing with power—murmured words Elsa could not understand. The smoke lifted him, shielded him, and in seconds both pirate and darkness were gone, swallowed as though the earth had erased them.
Crismar staggered, chest heaving, staring at the empty space where his enemy had stood. His hand trembled around his sword. He looked at the ice still glowing faintly with frost, the barrier Elsa had created, and then at her.
For a moment, the battlefield vanished again—not in fury this time, but in the quiet weight of what had just passed between them. Elsa’s hand still glimmered with frost, her chest tight, her breath ragged. She had saved him—not from Rhazien’s blade, but from himself.
“I had to,” she whispered, almost apologetically.
Crismar’s voice broke when he answered. “I know.”
But the storm in his eyes had not vanished entirely. It churned still, trapped, restrained only by the fragile bond between them.
Anna’s voice cut through, calling Elsa’s name, reminding them the battle still raged beyond. Arynn’s commands rose above the din, marshaling her soldiers to push back a new assault. Kristoff and Olaf appeared at the edges, alive, battered, waiting.
Yet Elsa could not move. Neither could Crismar.The frost barrier between them began to crack, pieces falling like shards of glass, melting into the trampled dirt.
And in that shattering silence, the ground trembled.
A sound rose—low at first, then growing into a roar. It was not Rhazien. It was not the clash of armies. It was deeper, older, more terrible. From the horizon, fire bloomed against the sky, and a shape moved within it, vast and monstrous.
Elsa’s breath caught. She knew the presence. It was not of man. It was a spirit.
The duel was over, but the true danger had only just begun.
Chapter 11: The Fire Serpent
Chapter Text
The ground trembled. First as a whisper, just a faint shudder beneath the boots of soldiers, then as a violent roar that made shields rattle and banners snap like thunder. Smoke rose from the fissures splitting the plains, hot winds carrying the stench of molten rock and sulfur. The River Fal, once a black ribbon of sluggish water, boiled at its banks as the earth itself seemed to recoil.
Elsa’s eyes narrowed, frost curling along her fingertips instinctively. She turned toward Crismar, whose sword glinted in the rising sun, and the sharp breath told her that he felt it too.
This isn't a normal tremor.
From the largest fissure, fire suddenly erupted. Not the simple blaze of siege engines or flaming arrows—they were nothing compared to this. The molten flames coalesced, twisting and coiling into a shape both beautiful and grotesque. A massive serpentine figure, its scales glowing like molten iron, rose from the earth. Smoke hissed from its gaping maw, carrying words that slithered through the air with venom and seduction.
“You think yourselves strong,” it hissed, voice a curling, crackling echo of flame. “Mortals and exiles… children playing with storms and ice. You're nothing compared to me.”
The soldiers faltered, many throwing themselves behind shields, some dropping to their knees, unable to look upon the inferno’s form. Even seasoned veterans of Taris and Mellaren were paralyzed by the sheer malice emanating from the spirit.
Crismar tightened his grip on his sword. “Let me prove you wrong,” he muttered, even as the wind of heat pushed against him, heavy and oppressive.
The serpent’s head lowered, tilting to regard them. “Ah… Crismar of Datria. I have felt your storms before. And you, Elsa of Arendelle… fragile, clever, ice-born. I see your hearts, your weakness, your bond. Do you think it will save you?”
Elsa shivered, both from the heat and from the cold touch of fear that brushed against her spine. She raised her hands, frost spreading over the ground in a protective arc. The serpent recoiled slightly, smoke curling and hissing as if tasting the cold, tasting fear and defiance.
Crismar stepped forward, lightning arcing along his blade. “Let's find out,” he said firmly, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his own doubt.
The inferno laughed, a roar that rattled the plains. Then, with terrifying speed, it struck. Its massive coils whipped toward the soldiers at the front, crushing men, hurling horses into the air, and melting steel before it. The battle surged into chaos, screams and cries swallowed by the roar of fire and the hiss of boiling water.
Elsa’s ice flared. She sent a wall of frost between the serpent and the soldiers, freezing molten spray as it rained down, cracking and shattering like glass under the heat’s assault. Crismar unleashed lightning, bolts searing the serpent’s scales, but the fire-entity twisted and turned, its intelligence apparent in the way it avoided the most direct strikes, testing, probing.
“You think your little tricks can stop me?” it taunted. “I am not simple flame. I am corruption, bound by centuries of shadow, a reflection of greed and rage. You fight my body, yet I bend your minds. You fear loss, Crismar… and you, Elsa… you fear your own power.”
Crismar’s hand trembled. The memories surged—Rina's scream, the heat of the fire that took her, the taste of vengeance that had once consumed him. His sword swung with blinding speed, but it was not just Rhazien he fought. It was every ghost he had carried. Every shadow of his past. Every moment he had sworn to protect but failed.
“Do it,” the serpent whispered, voice curling like smoke around his mind. “Finish it, Crismar. Let it end. Feel the fury you have buried. She is safe, they are safe… but you… you are the storm. Unleash it.”
“Crismar, no!” Elsa’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
He froze, awareness slamming back as frost spiraled from her fingertips. She stepped between him and the serpent, eyes glowing, ice cascading outward, forming a crystal lattice that held even as fire clawed at it. Her breath came sharp, controlled. “No!” she said, her voice absolute. “You aren't like this. Don't let this control you. You are the storm… yes—but not the destroyer it wants you to be.”
The serpent recoiled, smoke curling like hands, mocking. “Ah… the ice maiden binds him. Clever, clever. But your hands are cold… your heart too… will it be enough to save him?”
Elsa let her frost surge forward, not merely a shield but a tether, a channel of trust, warmth wrapped in cold. It cracked across the battlefield with a dazzling brilliance, freezing the ground beneath the serpent’s coils, slowing its movements, deflecting strikes. But it did more than stop the fire—it anchored Crismar, bringing him back from the precipice of his own fury.
His eyes met hers. For the first time, the storm within him stilled—not fully, but enough. He inhaled, lightning dimming along his sword. He nodded once, quietly, to Elsa, a gesture of trust and gratitude that spoke louder than any words.
The serpent hissed, smoke curling into its furnace-like eyes. “Clever mortals… but I am not so easily bound.” With a roar, it rose high, coils lifting above the battlefield. Then, in a burst of molten energy, it struck the earth and disappeared, retreating into the fissures from which it came, leaving only scorched plains, shattered armor, and scorched bodies behind.
Elsa lowered her hands, frost dripping from her fingertips, chest heaving. Crismar collapsed to one knee beside her, hand brushing against hers—not in battle, but in quiet acknowledgment.
Arynn and Anna came running, followed by Kristoff and Olaf. The battle had paused in stunned silence. No one dared advance immediately; the serpent had left an imprint, a mark of power and malice that none could ignore.
“We drove it back,” Arynn said, voice firm but wary. “But this… this was no ordinary spirit. That was corruption… from Egrador, or something older.”
Crismar’s gaze remained on the fissures, jaw tight. “This has nothing to do with Egrador. This was bound by a darker hand. Someone—or something.”
Elsa touched his arm gently. “Whatever it was, we stopped it for now. That's the most important thing.”
But even as she spoke, the ground shivered again. A faint hiss of molten smoke curled across the plains, whispering words only she could hear:
“You may have delayed me… but the storm and the ice cannot save you forever. Soon, all will burn.”
A shadow shifted within the smoke, and for an instant, Elsa swore she saw eyes like burning coals staring directly at her, and a grin that promised the war was far from over.
The battlefield lay smoldering. Blackened earth steamed beneath boots, and the acrid scent of char and blood clung to the air like a shroud. Soldiers whispered prayers, others simply sat in the dirt with blank stares. No one forgot the serpent’s voice, nor the way its eyes had pierced not just flesh, but soul.
Elsa stood in silence near the fissures where it had vanished, her breath steady though her heart was not. The frost she had conjured still clung stubbornly to the earth, shimmering pale against the scorched plain. It was a strange juxtaposition—fire and ice sharing the same scarred ground.
Crismar walked slowly to her side, his sword still faintly glowing with lightning, though the storm in his eyes was quieter now. He glanced at her, then at the frozen fissures. “You held me back,” he said quietly, almost as if confessing a sin.
Elsa turned, her blue eyes calm but firm. “No. I reminded you of who you are. Don’t mistake that for weakness.”
Something unspoken passed between them, a thread of warmth amid the ruin. It was enough that neither looked away.
Anna saw it.
She had been helping a wounded soldier back toward the camp when her gaze caught the exchange. The way Elsa leaned closer, the way Crismar’s shoulders eased at her presence—it sent a twist through Anna’s chest she hadn’t expected. She paused, frowning at herself.
Why am I feeling this way? It wasn’t jealousy in the sense of rivalry—no, she wanted Elsa happy more than anything. But for so long, Elsa had been hers, her sister, her anchor. They had faced storms together, fled kingdoms, fought curses. Now, for the first time, Anna felt as though Elsa was drifting toward someone else, tethered by a bond Anna could not share.
“Anna,” Kristoff’s voice called softly, bringing her back. He was at her side, steady as always, concern in his eyes. “You alright?”
She forced a smile. “Yeah. Just… thinking.” But as her eyes drifted back to Elsa and Crismar, the smile faltered again.
Later that evening, the council gathered not in Ilragond’s halls but in the makeshift command tent erected near the battlefield. The air smelled of wax, parchment, and sweat. Arynn sat at the head, her braid streaked with ash, her expression heavy with thought. Crismar stood at her right as always, Elsa nearby, Anna seated at her side, restless.
Reports came in: losses tallied, scouts dispatched, priests consulted about the serpent’s corruption. But when the murmurs of war began to fade into silence, Arynn’s gaze shifted—not to her generals, but to Elsa.
“You fought bravely today,” she said, her voice carrying the gravity of a queen and the warmth of a friend. “You saved not just Crismar but many of my soldiers. Taris owes you.”
Elsa inclined her head modestly. “I only did what I had to.”
Arynn studied her a moment longer, then turned toward Crismar. There was no smile now, only a rare softness in her stern eyes. “You two… fight as one. That much is clear.”
Crismar’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
It was Anna who shifted uncomfortably, glancing between them, a faint crease forming between her brows. She wanted to speak, to say of course they fight well, Elsa’s always strong, always capable, but the words stuck in her throat.
Arynn leaned back, exhaling. Her gaze grew distant. “But bonds forged in fire are tested most cruelly when peace comes. Crismar…” She paused, as though weighing her words. “You belong to Kaelara. And now to Taris, to me, to this war. Elsa belongs to Arendelle. Do not pretend that distance, duty, and blood will not pull you apart.”
The silence that followed was sharp as a blade.
Elsa felt her breath catch. She hadn’t thought of it—not truly. Her powers, her throne, Anna, Arendelle… her whole life was in the north. Crismar’s was here, amidst war and shadows and scars. Could they truly bridge that gulf?
Crismar finally spoke, his voice low but steady. “I know where I belong. But I also know…” His eyes flicked toward Elsa, just briefly. “…that bonds are not so easily severed.”
Arynn’s lips pressed into a line. She said no more, but her doubt lingered in the air like smoke.
Later that night, when the campfires dimmed and most soldiers lay in uneasy sleep, Elsa sat apart, watching sparks curl into the dark sky. She felt Anna approach even before she sat beside her.
“You’re quiet,” Anna said softly.
Elsa smiled faintly. “So are you. That’s unusual.”
Anna laughed lightly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She picked at the hem of her cloak before blurting, “Do you… do you really trust him? Crismar, I mean.”
Elsa blinked, surprised. “Of course. Why?”
Anna’s lips trembled. “I don’t know. Maybe because… because he looks at you in a way that—” She cut herself off, swallowing hard. “I guess I’m just not used to sharing you. For so long, it’s been you and me, against everything. And now…”
Elsa’s heart softened. She reached for Anna’s hand, squeezing gently. “Anna, nothing will ever change what we are. No one could ever take that.”
Anna’s eyes glistened. “I know. I just… I don’t want to lose you. Not to war, not to… anyone.”
Elsa leaned her forehead against her sister’s, the way they had done since childhood. “You won’t. I promise.”
But even as she said it, Elsa felt the weight of Arynn’s words pressing against her heart, seeds of doubt mingling with the warmth of her growing bond with Crismar.
And far beyond the fires of their camp, deep within the fissures, a glow stirred once more. Eyes of molten coal blinked open in the dark, and a serpentine whisper curled through the void.
“They doubt. They fear. And where doubt festers… fire consumes.”
veraelleparker on Chapter 1 Tue 26 Aug 2025 06:54PM UTC
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