A farmer went into the woods for firewood—but he found something chilling encased in ice.
It made him freeze where he stood. In the center of the clearing rose a block of ice, crystal-clear and impossibly smooth. It stood upright, like a monument placed there with purpose.
Trapped within, distorted by frost and shadow, was a figure—its limbs and head barely discernible through the frozen haze.
The lack of clarity made it all the more unsettling. Whatever lay trapped inside the ice seemed larger—and far more menacing—than anything Henry had ever encountered in these woods. His pulse drummed hard against his ribs as he crept closer, each breath curling in pale clouds before his face.
The block of ice radiated an unnatural stillness, as if time itself had frozen around it. Henry reached out a gloved hand, hesitated, then pressed his palm to the surface. The cold that met him was deeper than winter—so biting it felt like it didn’t belong to the natural world at all.
A shiver rippled down his spine, not from the temperature, but from the strange energy pulsing within the frozen mass. He stepped back slowly, eyes locked on the vague figure inside. For a heartbeat, he could have sworn it moved—a tilt of the head, the faint twitch of a limb. Impossible… wasn’t it?
Frost and tiny imperfections in the ice distorted the shape, playing tricks on his mind, yet the sense of latent life refused to leave him. A thousand questions crowded his thoughts as he tried to comprehend what he was looking at.
“I’ve seen plenty of ice in my life, but…” he murmured under his breath, circling it slowly. “What even are you?” His voice was almost lost to the soft whistle of the wind threading through the trees.
