Shattered Frost

The cold breeze from my open window was a knife against the skin, but to me, it was a comfort. While the rest of the barracks slept huddled under mountain-cat furs, cursing the drafts, I inhaled the frost like it was oxygen.

With a lazy flick of my wrist, I commanded the silver dusting of snow that had settled on my rug to rise. It swirled into a miniature cyclone before I threw my hand toward the casement, sending the powder back into the white world outside. Controlling the cold didn’t just feel like a gift; it felt like home.

I pushed back my covers and made my way to the shared washroom. The air there was thick with the scent of damp stone and lye soap.

"Hey, Snow!" Rita, a fellow warrior, emerged from a cloud of steam with a towel wrapped tight around her. "I hear General Wilson is calling a town meeting. It’s about the battle."

"I figured," I replied, grabbing a comb. "I need to get started on the defensive wall. If we’re fighting by the lake, that wall is the only thing keeping the town from becoming a graveyard."

I began weaving my long blonde hair into a tight, practical braid. Beside me, Rita clicked on a loud, sputtering blow dryer, aiming it at her damp brunette locks.

"I wish it would be warm just one day a year," she muttered over the noise.

I caught her eye in the cracked mirror and smirked. "I don’t."

Rita gave me a playful nudge that sent me stumbling, but I caught my footing with a laugh. As she pinned her hair into a bun, a swarm of other women flooded the room to begin their morning routines. The quiet was officially over.

"And this is why I shower at midnight, Rita," I said, dodging a stray elbow. "It’s a zoo in here."

She rolled her eyes, and we fought our way toward the cafeteria. The air there didn't smell like frost; it smelled like gamy, over-boiled rabbit.

"I would kill for something—anything—other than rabbit," I muttered, joining the line.

"We live in a frozen wasteland, Snow. Beggars can't be choosers," Rita said, her nose wrinkling in distaste. "It’s rabbit or oily fish. Pick your poison."

As we waited, Rita leaned in, her voice dropping. "So, how do you think this battle will go?"

"Like all the others," a voice interrupted. It was Everly, a warrior whose ego was usually larger than her combat record. She rolled her eyes as if the question itself was an insult. "We’ll win. Obviously."

"Everly, the previous skirmishes were against scouts," Rita snapped, clearly annoyed. "This is the main force. This is the big one."

"We outnumber Orynthia by hundreds," Everly said, her tone infuriatingly calm.

Rita and I scoffed in unison.

"Are you serious?" I turned to face her, the frustration bubbling up. "We haven't confirmed their numbers. If you go into this thinking it’s a game, you’re going to get people killed. This isn't a drill, Everly. It’s a massacre waiting to happen if we’re sloppy."

Everly’s expression soured, but she chose to stare at the back of the person’s head in front of her rather than argue. I turned back to Rita, my voice a harsh whisper. "I’m not trying to be a pessimist, but we have to be realistic. People are going to die this time."

Rita nodded grimly as the cook plopped a generous ladle of gray stew into my bowl and tossed a stale, rock-hard roll onto my tray.

We found a spot at a circular wooden table with our squad. The mood there was unexpectedly bright. Skylar was laughing, batting away a hand from Jeremiah, who was beaming at her.

"Jeremiah, stop! You’re crazy!" Skylar squealed.

I noticed the flash of silver on her hand and felt a genuine smile break through my worry. "I see he finally popped the question."

Skylar beamed, her red hair escaping her messy bun. "He did! I’m so excited!"

The table erupted into a brief moment of warmth—the only kind I liked—until the heavy double doors slammed open. General Wilson stormed in, his boots echoing like a drumbeat. He didn't wait for breakfast to end.

"Listen up!" he roared, silencing the room. "Orynthia is bringing over half their army. Their General is leading the charge. We start preparations now!"

He marched straight toward our table. I stood up before he even reached us.

"Snow," he barked, his eyes like flint. "When you go out to the perimeter today, I want that defensive wall doubled. Extra thick, and taller than the last one. No gaps."

"Yes, General."

There was no room for argument, and I didn't have one anyway. I swallowed the last of my stew, grabbed my gear, and headed for the gates. If a war was coming, I was going to give Orynthia a mountain of ice to climb before they ever saw our steel.