Near the grain storage at the edge of the open field, beneath a vast canopy of stars, Seraphine stood alone.

  The night stretched wide and silent around her, the silos casting long skeletal shadows across the vast-kissed grass. Lantern light from a short distant barn flickered faintly at her back, but she did not turn toward it. She faced the open field instead—still, watchful—her figure framed against the silver glow of the heavens. The wind moved gently through the empty field, stirring her hair and whispering through the tall grain, as though the land itself held its breath in anticipation.

  Her aquatic-blue hair whispered in the night wind like drifting silk. A luminous sigil turned slowly around her—rings of pale cerulean light orbiting her body in disciplined rotation. The air grew heavy. Moisture gathered far above her, first as mist, then as swelling clouds drawn by invisible threads of will. Even the dew clinging to the grass trembled.

  Droplets rose.

  One by one, beads of water peeled from blade and soil, spiraling upward in tightening helixes. They elongated, sharpened, and hardened—liquid becoming crystal, crystal becoming weapons. Dozens of spears formed in silence above her, their edges refracting starlight in cold brilliance.

  Her eyes ignited with a glacial glow.

  She did not blink.

  Across the village square, a lone foot soldier burst from the shadows behind the last cluster of goblins near the well. Gritting his teeth, he hurled a stone with every shred of strength left in his body. It struck a goblin squarely between the shoulders with a sickening crack.

  The creature turned around and shrieked in anger, and the others screeched as well. Half of the remaining goblins charged forward.

  The man swallowed hard. His spear trembled in his grip, his fear beginning to show. In a heartbeat, he did not wait for them to get close—he turned and ran.

  Their howls tore through the night as they pursued him in a frenzy, blades flashing and teeth snapping. They never noticed the deliberate angle of his retreat and never saw how he guided them into the middle of the open field.

  They were being herded.

  Driven like cattle.

  Seraphine's eyes locked onto the charging group of goblins. Her heart remained calm, but her hands lifted with deliberate precision, fingers splayed as if commanding the very air itself. A surge of icy energy crackled around the foot soldier, making the hairs on his arms stand on end.

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  The field seemed to tense in anticipation, and even the wind held its breath as she prepared to unleash her spell. The air split with a sound like cracking glass.

  The swollen clouds above churned violently, spiraling into a vortex of pale frost. The gathered moisture compacted at once—compressed by invisible force into a storm of sharpened ice. Not a mere handful.

  A constellation of death.

  The soldier sprinted across the marked boundary she had etched into the soil hours earlier, boots pounding, breath ragged.

  Behind him, the goblins crossed that unseen threshold.

  Seraphine's voice carried—not loud, but absolute.

  "Shroud my enemies in frozen silence, veil of endless rime—let warmth be forgotten and motion undone."

  The temperature plummeted in an instant. Frost raced across the field like living veins, spider webbing over grass and soil.

  "Let the last warmth fade, let the heartbeat slow—dance in the tundra's field, ice-entombed to eternal slumber."

  The goblins faltered mid-stride as a suffocating chill seized their lungs. Breath crystallized inside their throats. Their shrieks turned brittle.

  Frostveil Requiem!

  She brought her hands down.

  The sky answered.

  The frozen spears fell.

  Not randomly—precisely.

  The first wave struck with thunderous impact. Spears punched clean through torsos, erupting in sprays of crimson that froze mid-air into glittering shards. Limbs were severed cleanly; arms spun away in arcs of blood-ice, legs sheared at the knee before their owners even hit the ground.

  One goblin tried to leap aside. A spear transfixed it from crown to groin, splitting it in two halves that fell apart like broken statues.

  Another raised a crude shield. The ice pierced wood, bone, and earth beneath, pinning the creature screaming to the frozen soil. Its scream cut off as frost crawled over its mouth and sealed it shut.

  The second wave descended.

  Where spears did not kill outright, they embedded—and detonated in spreading veins of permafrost. Ice erupted outward from each wound, encasing bodies in jagged crystal coffins. Muscles locked. Eyes froze wide and white.

  The field became a forest of pale lances.

  Within seconds, the howling ceased.

  Only the wind remained.

  A thin snowfall drifted from the dissipating clouds, settling gently upon a battlefield transformed into a frozen graveyard.

  Seraphine lowered her arms.

  The soldier stumbled to a halt several paces beyond her, collapsing to one knee. His breath came in harsh gasps, fogging thick in the killing cold. He stared at the carnage—at the goblins suspended in grotesque sculptures of ice.

  By the gods... he whispered hoarsely. You... you could have done that at the square.

  Seraphine did not look at him immediately. Her glow faded gradually, the rotating sigils dimming to nothing.

  If I had, she replied, the houses would be splinters, and half the village would be frozen along with them.

  She finally turned her gaze upon him. The glow in her eyes had entirely vanished.

  You ran too slowly.

  His jaw tightened. I ran as fast as I could.

  Next time, she said, stepping past him toward the frozen field, run faster.

  He rose shakily. Next time? he asked.

  In an instant, Seraphine staggered, her legs trembling beneath her as the immense strain of her magic coursed through her veins. With a soft, almost imperceptible gasp, she collapsed to her knees, then fell forward onto the frost-kissed grass, her body spent from drawing too deeply from the well of her mana. The air around her still shimmered faintly with residual energy, a whisper of her power lingering like a ghost, as the night seemed to lean closer, holding its breath over the fallen sorceress.