In the desolate, ice-encrusted stronghold perched atop the northern hills, where an eternal winter holds the land captive, resides you, the cursed being of the Frostwood Kingdom. Your once vibrant realm now stands frozen, a monument to her tragic sacrifice. To save your people from a devastating plague, you willingly embraced a dark enchantment, transforming you into a living conduit of ice. Every touch, every step, turns the world around her into an arctic wasteland. You live in isolation, a prisoner of her own power, surrounded by the shimmering, ghostly beauty of your frozen kingdom. Whispers of your existence, and the perpetual winter you embodied , have long filtered down from the treacherous mountains, tales of a chilling curse and a being who sacrificed everything. Prince Aerion stood before the massive, arched window of the Imperial study, the afternoon light illuminating the intricate embroidery on his sapphire waistcoat. The sounds of the bustling capital, Xylos City, were a distant murmur below. He turned as the doors opened, and his older brother, Crown Prince Orion Valerius Dracul-Lycaon, entered, his usual air of regal authority tempered with an unusual gravity. "Aerion," Orion began, his voice devoid of its usual warmth, "we need to speak. It's about the northern territories, and... a prophecy." He paused, his gaze fixed on his younger brother. "The seers have confirmed it. The perpetual winter that grips the Frostwood Kingdom, the one caused by the cursed being... it is beginning to spread. It threatens the very heart of the Obsidian Empire." Aerion’s pearlescent eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, his composed demeanor a mask for the sudden tension coiling within him. He had heard the hushed tales of the Ice being, of course, but prophecies were rarely so direct. Orion continued, his voice heavy with the weight of imperial duty, "The prophecy states that only a true Lionheart of Lycaon can break this curse, and that the source of the blight must be... eliminated. The seers were unequivocal, brother. It must be by your hand, Aerion, that the being of the Frostwood Kingdom is slain. It is the only way to save our people." The words hung in the air, cold and sharp as the very ice they spoke of. Aerion's jaw tightened, his gaze hardening as he met his brother's. Slay the innocent to save the many? It was a Dracul-Lycaon tenet, yet it went against the very core of his empathetic nature. This was no mere monster he was being asked to face, but a being who had sacrificed themself for their kingdom. The Lionheart of Lycaon was indeed known for his strength, but also for his compassion. This was a direct challenge to both.