Klaus had never played like other children.

He did not chase snowballs through the village 

or carve wooden swords with the blacksmith's sons. He did not laugh loudly or trip through the frost 

like the others did. 

To him, play was different. 

Quieter. 

Sharper. 

It was patience. 

Observation. 

The feel of ice forming between his fingers and melting with a thought.

But with the fox, everything changed.

He named her Siva, after an old word from his mother's stories that meant "silent snow." 

And like snow, she made no sound when she moved. Her paws left barely a mark in the drifts. 

Her breath never fogged in the cold. 

She followed Klaus like a shadow, 

watching with curious eyes 

as he walked the woods alone, 

as he sculpted frost into shapes, 

or tested how long he could keep his hand buried in ice before pain gave way to numbness.

That week, Klaus didn't feel alone.

He would whistle softly, and Siva would appear. He'd scratch behind her ears 

and she'd make a low rumbling sound 

that wasn't quite a purr, 

wasn't quite a growl a sound only for him. 

Her presence was constant. 

Protective. 

As if she, too, 

understood what was awakening inside him.

On the third day, 

they went further into the woods than ever before. Klaus climbed the icy ridge overlooking the village and Siva leapt gracefully after him. 

At the summit, 

he shaped a statue of a hawk from raw ice, 

his breath short from focus. 

He didn't just freeze the water in the air he bent it, shaped it, guided it like a craftsman would clay. 

Siva pawed at the sculpture and shattered the wing. 

Klaus laughed.

It was a strange sound, unfamiliar in his mouth. Human.

That night, the dream came again.

He stood in a wasteland of shattered glaciers beneath a sky that looked torn open, leaking stars. 

In the distance, something called his name,

not in voice, but in sensation, 

as though his bones remembered it from a time before he was born.

When he woke, he found frost clinging to the window, twisting in unnatural runes.

On the fifth day, 

he began talking to Siva not like people talk to pets, but like she could truly understand.

"Do you think they'd burn me too, if they knew what I did in the woods?"

Siva tilted her head, eyes glowing faintly blue in the dim light.

"I felt it again. The cold. Like something waking up inside me. It's getting stronger."

She blinked slowly. Said nothing.

But he felt her listening.

On the seventh morning, 

Klaus left before dawn, 

wrapped in a heavier cloak 

and with two satchels one with dried meat, 

the other with a bone he'd saved for Siva. 

She curled on the pile of furs in the back room, 

her eyes watching him through slits of silver.

"I'll be back before the sun's too high," he whispered. "We'll try again. Further this time."

She let out a soft huff and laid her head back down.

Klaus trudged into the Frostpine Woods, 

guided by instinct. 

The wind howled softly between the trees, 

but the forest welcomed him. 

The deeper he went, 

the quieter the world became. 

Even the snow seemed to muffle itself, 

falling without sound.

He stopped by a frozen stream, the water beneath the ice pulsing faintly blue.

Here, he would practice.

Klaus closed his eyes.

He let the cold rise, not from the world around him, but from within. 

It poured through his chest, 

crawled down his arms, 

hissed through his breath. 

He raised a hand. 

Frost gathered on the bark of nearby trees, 

crawling like veins.

With effort, he clenched his fist.

A spike of ice shot upward from the ground, cracking the snow like a blade breaking free.

He opened his eyes. The spike glistened in the dim light, jagged and perfect.

Again.

He tried to form a circle this time,

concentrating, shaping the frost in a whirl. 

It collapsed before it completed.

He cursed under his breath and tried again.

And again.

Each time, the cold came quicker. 

It obeyed more easily. 

And each time, the pain came later, 

numbing his fingers 

and darkening the edges of his vision. 

It thrilled him. Terrified him.

Hours passed.

Eventually, Klaus collapsed to his knees, gasping. 

His palms were raw with red frostbite, 

and his breath came in short, pained bursts. 

The air around him shimmered with residual mana, and the trees stood still, 

as though watching.

Siva padded into the clearing silently.

She nuzzled his cheek with her nose, then sat beside him.

"I don't know what's happening to me," Klaus murmured. "It doesn't feel like a gift."

Siva said nothing.

He looked up at the sky. Grey clouds gathered on the horizon, ready to fall. Snow always returned. It never stopped.

"I think I'm becoming something," he whispered. "Something not meant to be here."

A silence followed, long and uneasy. Then he heard it.

A sound behind his thoughts.

Like whispers pressed against ice.

At first, he thought it was the wind. Then it shaped itself.

"Child of frost."

Klaus froze.

The voice came again, deeper now, barely audible.

"You are the echo of power long buried. The breath of the soul that fought for the will of us all."

He gritted his teeth, trying to shut it out.

But it remained, faint, persistent.

"You will be feared. As the vessel you are."

He screamed into the trees, his voice cracking, "Shut up! I didn't ask for this!"

The wind howled louder in reply.

Siva pressed closer.

Klaus's chest heaved. His eyes burned, 

not from tears, but from heatless rage.

He stood.

He raised his hands, and all around him, 

the frost bent to his will. 

The ground cracked. 

The trees groaned with weight.

For a moment, he felt like he could kill the forest. Bury it. Freeze it solid for eternity.

And then... he collapsed again.

Power gone. Limbs trembling.

Siva lay beside him, her warmth the only tether left.

He clutched her fur, eyes wide.

"I think I'm breaking."

She nuzzled closer.

Far above, the clouds began to fall.

And Klaus, boy of frost, curled beside the only creature that still saw him as human.