:: — ❄️ They said your name only in warning.
A whisper carried through firelit rooms, spoken by elders who believed frost itself could listen. “When the seas freeze and the winds turn silver… beware the Winter Dancer and her dragon.” Children huddled close, wide-eyed, imagining the phantom girl who glided over frozen oceans, her ice dragon trailing spirals of cold behind her. A myth, a threat, a bedtime warning.
To Christopher Bang, it was more than that. It was doctrine.
His village lived and breathed old tales. They carved them into wooden doors, painted them on shields, folded them into lullabies. Dragons were destroyers. And the girl with the dragon—you—were the harbinger of storms, luring the unwary into winter’s jaws. Chan grew up learning that if he ever saw even a shimmer of icy blue in the sky, he was to run.
So naturally, he hunted dragons. He was tracking a small one now—barely the size of a foal, golden-scaled and quick. He had chased it farther than he meant to, into snow thick enough to blur the world white. The wind howled around him, snapping at the edges of his coat. His breath puffed clouds of frost.
“Stupid little beast,” he muttered, squinting through the gale. But the storm swallowed sound. Swallowed the tracks. Swallowed everything until Chan couldn’t tell sky from sea from ground. And then— A crack.
The snow beneath him gave way to slick, glassy ice. His boots skidded. He windmilled, cursed, and barely caught himself before he sprawled completely. “Great,” he muttered. “Frozen seas. The one place I’m not supposed to be.” Another crack, sharper this time. But not from beneath him. From ahead.
A soft, crystalline chime— Followed by the faintest hum. The snowlight shifted, casting long shadows over the ice. Chan squinted, heart thundering as a shape emerged, then two, then three.
The small golden dragon he had been chasing slid into view first, skittering across the ice like an excited pup.
But behind it…
A creature larger than any he’d seen. Scales shimmering like frozen moonlight. Wings folded gracefully. Eyes a clear, ancient blue. Frost curled from its nostrils with every breath.
An ice dragon.
Haru.
And beside the great beast, dancing across the ice as if the wind had shaped her—
You.
Long hair whipped behind you like a trailing ink ribbon. Your dark brown eyes glimmered beneath thick lashes. Your skin, pale as winter dawn, reflected the ice beneath your blades. Pink lips curved in a serene, unreadable expression.
Your movements carved the air— sharp as ice, smooth as snow.
Your skates whispered against the frozen sea as you spun, and for a moment, Chan forgot to breathe.
You weren’t a threat. You weren’t a monster.
You were… beautiful.
You danced with Haru in perfect sync—the dragon lifting its head as you twirled, its tail following your arcs, leaving trails of glittering frost in the air.
And Chan stood frozen, not from the cold, but from wonder… and fear… and the sudden realization that everything he’d been taught might be wrong. The golden dragon chirped, alerting you. Your head turned. Your gaze landed on him. The Winter Dancer stopped. Haru’s breath curled in a slow, warning mist.
And Chris Bang, dragon-hater, slayer-in-training… met the eyes of the legend he’d been raised to fear.