Freija - The Living Storm
Prelude
On the world of Icelandia, flight was woven into everyday life.
The Icelandians were a winged humanoid people known for their blue skin, white hair, and mastery of the skies above their frozen world. Though similar in appearance to humans in many ways, Icelandians were generally shorter in stature, with most adults standing between five and five and a half feet tall.
Their most recognizable feature rested along their backs.
Wings.
Large, feathered wings allowed Icelandians to travel through mountain valleys, across frozen coastlines, and between the towering cities built throughout their world. When folded, the wings rested naturally behind them, always remaining visible.
Wing coloration often revealed age.
Younger Icelandians carried deep cobalt wings, though age gradually lightened the upper feathers over time. As Icelandians grew older, the white slowly spread farther down their wings until the elderly bore plumage of silver-white.
Flight shaped Icelandian civilization from its earliest history.
Cities were built vertically into cliffsides and mountains rather than spread across open ground. Elevated walkways, launch platforms, and aerial terraces connected much of daily life. Messengers, guards, merchants, and military patrols regularly traveled by air, and every Icelandian learned basic flight control from childhood.
The kingdom itself stretched across four main continents.
The northern continent of Skycrest housed the capital city of Frostholm and the palace of Snowreach. This area was dominated by glaciers, ice valleys, and frozen seas. To the west, or Sommara, the mountainous Stormspire region became known for its dangerous aerial terrain and military training grounds. Other regions closer to Icelandia’s equator experienced milder climates, heavy rainfall, dense forests, and powerful seasonal storms.
Though the environments differed across the world, the skies connected all of them.
Beneath the authority of the Frostholm royal family, Icelandia’s noble houses governed the frozen world for generations while aerial warriors guarded the skies above its cities, trade routes, and distant mountain settlements.
Among the Icelandians, discipline, awareness, and control were highly respected traits.
Especially in the air.
Because on Icelandia, even the wind could become dangerous to those who failed to respect it.
Character Premise
Freija was born beneath the frozen skies of Icelandia as the younger twin to Frigid by ten minutes.
Raised within the royal halls of Snowreach overlooking the capital city of Frostholm, Freija grew up surrounded by discipline, tradition, and the expectations carried by Icelandia’s ruling bloodline. But while her elder sister embraced diplomacy, structure, and leadership, Freija found herself drawn toward something else entirely.
The sky.
Fast, instinctive, and endlessly competitive, Freija viewed flight not simply as transportation or military discipline, but as freedom. While most Icelandian flyers respected the limits taught within the kingdom’s academies, Freija constantly searched for ways to push beyond them. She trusted instinct over convention, speed over caution, and often found herself challenging traditions that had existed for generations.
To some, she was reckless.
To others, she represented the future of Icelandia’s aerial warriors.
This story takes place decades before the events of A Demon’s Rebellion and reveals the early life of one of the Crimson Alliance’s most dynamic warriors.
Chapter 1:
Where the Wind Breaks
The Canyon Drill
Morning light spilled through the frozen windows of Snowreach as the royal family gathered for breakfast.
Princess Frigid sat composed and attentive beside her younger twin sister, Freija, whose attention kept drifting toward the pale blue skies beyond the palace towers.
King Frostran noticed immediately.
“You realize today is important,” he said.
Freija glanced back toward the table. “I know.”
“Halvrik arrives before midday,” Queen Glaciana added. “The Canyon Drill evaluations begin shortly after.”
Freija leaned back slightly in her chair. “So I’ve heard repeatedly.”
Frigid hid a faint smile behind her cup.
The Aerial Command Academy was among the most prestigious institutions on Icelandia, training officers, royal guards, military commanders, and many of the kingdom’s finest flyers. Candidates from noble houses across Frostholm would participate in today’s evaluations, though few would ever earn acceptance into the Academy.
Royal blood guaranteed nothing.
If anything, expectations for the twins were even higher.
“Halvrik values discipline,” the queen said calmly.
Freija smirked slightly. “That explains why Frigid is everyone’s favorite already.”
Frigid folded her arms. “You could try behaving professionally for at least one morning.”
“I am behaving professionally.”
“You are staring out the window during breakfast.”
“I am observing wind conditions.”
King Frostran sighed softly, though amusement touched his expression.
“The canyon course was prepared before dawn,” he said as he stood from the table. “You should leave soon if you intend to arrive before the other candidates.”
Freija stood immediately.
Now she looked fully awake.
Outside the palace windows, several morning flyers crossed the skies above Frostholm.
Freija watched them for only a moment before following her sister toward the doors.
Then they took to the air together.
Within a few minutes the twins touched down along the observation ridge as the other candidates began gathering near the canyon platform.
Several belonged to Frostholm’s lesser noble houses, while others had traveled from nearby territories hoping to earn consideration for the next Academy enrollment.
A low hum echoed across the ridge.
An intercontinental transport descended through the cold morning air before settling onto the landing platform nearby.
Moments later, a tall Icelandian man stepped from the craft.
Age showed clearly in the near-white feathers folded along his back, though his posture remained rigid and controlled. His sharp features carried the hardened look of someone long accustomed to discipline, expectation, and command.
The conversations along the ridge quickly faded.
Halvrik activated a datapad and looked across the gathered candidates.
“Good morning,” he said evenly. “My name is Instructor Halvrik. Today begins the first round of evaluations for admission into the Aerial Command Academy.”
His eyes briefly scanned the canyon beyond the ridge before returning to the group.
“Only a small number of candidates will advance to the next testing phase.”
The wind moved quietly through the canyon below.
Halvrik folded one hand behind his back.
“The Academy does not train ordinary flyers,” he continued. “It trains those who will lead and protect our skies.”
His gaze settled briefly on the gathered candidates and nobles.
“Today we begin determining which of you are capable of becoming one.”
The candidates moved toward the canyon platform as Halvrik finalized the evaluation roster on his datapad.
Built generations earlier into the cliffs overlooking Frostholm’s northern mountain range, the observation deck stretched along the canyon’s edge high above the valley below. Cold wind rose steadily from the depths, tugging at white hair and rustling folded wings as the candidates gathered near the launch point.
The canyon itself had never needed modification.
Sharp turns carved through its winding path, forcing flyers to maneuver carefully between narrowing stone walls. Sudden drops tested control while unpredictable crosswinds shifted violently between the rock faces. It was not designed to be deadly.
Only demanding.
Anyone hoping to enter the Academy needed to prove they could navigate terrain like this.
Halvrik stepped toward the edge of the platform, the canyon winds pulling lightly against the near-white feathers folded along his back.
“This course is not about speed,” he said evenly. “It is about awareness.”
His eyes moved across the gathered candidates.
“The Academy trains officers and aerial commanders. If you cannot control yourselves in the air, you will never command others within it.”
Several of the candidates straightened slightly.
Halvrik gestured toward the canyon below.
“The goal is simple. Complete the course cleanly. Maintain control through the turns. Read the wind correctly.”
His expression remained calm.
“If you panic, the canyon will expose it immediately.”
A few nervous glances passed between the younger nobles.
Halvrik lowered his gaze to the datapad.
“Candidate Sorevik.”
A young male flyer stepped forward immediately, trying very hard to appear more confident than he felt.
The other candidates moved aside as he approached the launch point.
He leapt from the platform and began the course.
Sorevik struggled through the third bend, his wings beating harder than necessary as he fought to maintain control. He eventually completed the run and landed near the observation ridge, breathing noticeably heavier than when he had launched.
Halvrik remained completely unreadable as he made several notes on his datapad.
Then he looked up.
“Next candidate.”
Top of Form
Another candidate launched from the platform.
This one cleared the opening turns cleanly before drifting too wide near the fourth bend, forcing a sharp correction that nearly sent him into the canyon wall.
Several candidates winced.
“He entered too high,” someone muttered near the railing.
“And fought the crosswind,” another replied quietly.
The flyer recovered just enough to finish the course before returning to the ridge looking far less confident than when he had launched.
Halvrik made another note on the datapad.
Then called the next name.
One flyer after another took their turn through the canyon below. Some flew cautiously, sacrificing speed for stability. Others pushed too aggressively and struggled against the shifting currents between the rock walls.
The waiting candidates watched each run carefully.
A broad-shouldered noble candidate near the front folded his arms. “The Academy won’t tolerate mistakes like that.”
“No,” the woman beside him agreed. “They won’t.”
Another flyer exhaled quietly. “My older brother made it to second-round evaluations once.”
“What happened?”
“He clipped a ridge during formation trials.”
A brief silence followed.
Then someone muttered, “So, he didn’t make it.”
The flyer shook his head once. “No.”
Near the rear of the observation ridge, the royal twins waited side by side for their names to be called.
Despite their similarities in height and appearance, few people ever confused them for long.
Frigid stood with calm composure, her long white hair resting neatly behind her shoulders as she watched the canyon runs with careful attention. Everything about her posture reflected control and discipline.
Beside her, Freija looked considerably less formal.
Her shorter white hair shifted constantly in the canyon winds, and her attention rarely stayed still for long. While Frigid studied the candidates themselves, Freija watched the air around them instead, tracking the shifting currents between the canyon walls.
Another flyer entered the third bend too aggressively.
Freija winced immediately. “Too late,” she muttered.
The candidate clipped the outer wall seconds later before barely recovering control.
Frigid exhaled softly. “You could try sounding less pleased when they fail.”
“I’m not pleased,” Freija replied.
Her eyes remained fixed on the canyon below. “I just saw it coming.”
Another candidate completed the course and landed awkwardly near the ridge, drawing a quiet wince from several of the waiting flyers.
Halvrik made another note on the datapad without reacting.
The canyon winds swept across the platform as he looked toward the remaining names.
“Frigid of Frostholm.”
Several candidates straightened slightly. Even among the noble houses, the royal twins drew attention.
Frigid stepped forward immediately.
Beside her, Freija gave a faint grin. “Try not to embarrass the rest of us.”
Frigid’s expression remained composed, though the corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “I will do my best.”
She stepped to the edge of the platform and unfolded her wings. She then dropped cleanly into the canyon below. Her flight was everything Halvrik expected, steady and deliberate, each movement measured as she followed the canyon’s route exactly as it had been taught.
Her turns remained tight without becoming reckless, her speed controlled through every bend as her wings adjusted with subtle precision to the shifting currents.
Students along the platform watched in silence.
“No wasted motion,” one trainee murmured as they watched her descent.
Another gave a quiet nod. “Not a single correction.”
Frigid rose from the final stretch of the canyon and returned to the platform, landing with the same measured control she had shown throughout the run.
Halvrik gave a single nod. “Excellent control.”
“Thank you, Instructor.”
Frigid stepped aside.
Freija looked up at Halvrik. “I guess I’m next.”
Halvrik looked down at the smiling candidate. “Yes.”
Freija stepped toward the edge of the platform, her eyes fixed on the canyon below.
Several of the candidates shifted slightly.
Even before applying for the Academy Freija already carried a reputation among Frostholm’s younger flyers. Fast. Aggressive. Difficult to predict.
Halvrik watched her carefully.
Unlike the other candidates, Freija did not spread her wings before launching.
She kept them tucked tightly against her back.
Then she stepped off the platform.
Several trainees gasped immediately as Freija dropped sharply into the canyon without slowing, building speed far faster than anyone else that morning.
She dropped hard into the open air, keeping her wings tight against her body as she drove forward like a spear of blue through the sky. The canyon rushed up to meet her far faster than anyone before her that morning.
Sharp gasps broke from the platform.
At the last possible moment, Freija snapped her wings open and angled sharply into the first bend, carving through the turn with a precision that preserved nearly all her speed. Frost burst from the canyon wall as she passed.
“She’s going to hit the rock!”
“She’s too close!”
Freija wasn’t guessing. She had studied the wind.
The canyon twisted left. She dropped her shoulder and banked harder, folding one wing while extending the other to tighten the arc. Stone flashed past within arm’s reach, but she drove through the turn without hesitation.
The third bend came quickly. Freija dipped lower, catching the downward current to accelerate before pulling upward in a smooth climb that carried her cleanly through the narrowest section of the canyon.
By the time she cleared the final stretch, the students on the platform were no longer whispering.
They were staring.
Freija landed lightly near the ridge, snow scattering beneath her boots as she folded her wings behind her.
The platform remained unusually quiet.
Several of the candidates were still staring toward the canyon below, replaying the run in their minds.
Halvrik stepped toward her. “You ignored the standard line through every major turn.”
Freija shrugged slightly. “It was faster.”
“It was reckless.”
“It worked.”
Halvrik’s eyes narrowed. “This time.”
Freija glanced back toward the canyon.
“The second bend doesn’t need to be taken that wide,” she said. “If you cut inside the current, you carry the speed through the entire turn. The standard line forces everyone to slow down.”
Several trainees exchanged uneasy glances.
Frigid watched her sister silently.
Halvrik held Freija’s gaze for several long seconds before looking back toward the canyon itself.
For the first time that morning, he seemed to be reconsidering the course. Then he looked back at her. “You rely too heavily on instinct.”
Freija smiled faintly. “It hasn’t failed me yet.”
A small gust of wind swept across the ridge.
Halvrik lowered the datapad slowly. “No,” he admitted. “It hasn’t.”
One by one, the remaining trainees began drifting away along the ridge, their conversations fading into the mountain air.
Freija stayed near the canyon’s edge, watching the currents twist between the stone walls below.
Frigid stepped beside her. “You enjoyed that far too much.”
Freija smirked faintly. “I haven’t crashed yet.”
“That is apparently your standard for success.”
Freija laughed softly.
For a moment both sisters watched the canyon in silence.
Finally Frigid spoke again. “You flew the course differently than everyone else.”
Freija shrugged slightly. “The canyon already tells you where to go.”
“And everyone else missed it?”
“Most flyers spend too much time fighting the air.”
Frigid folded her arms. “You know Halvrik hated almost everything about that run.”
“Yeah.”
“But you also know he respected it.”
Freija’s smile widened slightly at that.
She looked back toward the open sky beyond the canyon. “I’m trying to find out how fast I can really go.”
Frigid studied her sister quietly for several seconds. “You’ve been trying to answer that question since we were children.”
Freija glanced sideways toward her. “Maybe.”
The wind tugged lightly against their wings as both sisters looked out across the mountains beyond Frostholm.
Different flyers.
Different paths.
But both already understood the skies better than most ever would.
Lessons of the Crown
Five days after the Canyon Drill, the Hall of Elders remained as cold and formal as ever.
Projected trade routes shimmered above the polished ice table while members of Frostholm’s advisory council discussed shipping delays along the southern territories of Dorland. Snow drifted softly beyond the towering crystal windows overlooking the capital, though inside the chamber the atmosphere remained focused and controlled.
Frigid listened carefully from beside the royal advisors, her posture straight as she studied the shifting maps projected across the table.
Across from her, Freija was physically present.
Mentally, she was somewhere over the northern canyons.
“…if the lower passes freeze early again, the frostgrain shipments could be delayed by nearly two weeks,” one elder explained.
Frigid nodded thoughtfully.
“Then the western supply routes should begin moving earlier this season,” she said. “If the storms close the mountain crossings, Frostholm will need reserves already positioned within the outer settlements.”
Several elders exchanged approving glances.
King Frostran gave a slow nod.
Before the discussion could continue further, the tall chamber doors opened.
A young palace messenger hurried inside, dressed in the pale blue markings of the royal courier service. Snow still clung lightly to her boots from the outer terraces.
She bowed quickly. “My King. My Queen.”
Queen Glaciana regarded her calmly.
“You have something urgent.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The messenger stepped forward carefully, holding a sealed crystal case against her chest. “A transmission has arrived from the Aerial Command Academy.”
Freija finally looked up.
Now she was paying attention.
The messenger opened the crystal case with noticeably careful hands before removing two folded documents marked with the Academy seal the Aerial Command Academy.
The chamber grew quieter.
Even several of the elders turned their attention toward the courier.
The messenger unfolded the first document.
“Princess Frigid of Frostholm,” she announced formally. “You have been accepted into the next incoming class of the Aerial Command Academy at Stormspire.”
Frigid remained composed, though Freija noticed the slightest release of tension in her shoulders.
King Frostran nodded once with quiet approval.
“Congratulations daughter,” Queen Glaciana said softly.
The messenger looked down toward the second document.
For just a moment, she hesitated.
Queen Glaciana’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And our other daughter?”
The messenger straightened immediately. “Princess Freija of Frostholm… has also been accepted into the next incoming class of the Aerial Command Academy.”
Freija blinked once. Then smiled.
“Well,” she said lightly, leaning back in her chair. “That saves an awkward conversation.”
Several elders failed to hide small smiles.
Beside her, Frigid shook her head softly. But she was smiling too.
Later that evening, the king, queen, and the twins gathered for a family dinner within one of Snowreach’s smaller dining chambers.
The formal obligations of the day had finally ended. No advisors. No elders. No instructors.
Just family.
Queen Glaciana looked from one daughter to the other and smiled.
“I am very proud of you. Both of you. Making it into the Academy is no small accomplishment.”
Frigid lowered her head respectfully. “I was simply following what the Academy manuals recommended.”
Freija nearly choked on her drink.
“Manuals?” she asked. “Who needs manuals?”
Frigid gave her a look. “The Academy, apparently.”
“The manuals are suggestions.”
“They are instructions.”
“Suggestions.”
“Instructions.”
King Frostran sighed into his cup. “I see Stormspire will have its work cut out for it.”
Freija pointed across the table. “See? Even Father agrees with me.”
“That is not what I said.”
The queen laughed softly. “Your instructors may disagree.”
“They usually do,” Freija admitted.
Frigid shook her head. “Most people disagree with you.”
“That is because most people are wrong.”
“An excellent attitude for an Academy candidate.”
“Thank you.”
“That was not a compliment.”
Freija grinned.
Across the table, King Frostran watched the exchange with quiet amusement. “You know,” he said, “when I attended the Academy, there was a student very much like you.”
Freija leaned forward immediately. “Did he become famous?”
“He crashed into a bell tower.”
Frigid covered her mouth to hide a smile.
Freija looked disappointed. “Oh.”
“He also graduated with honors.”
Freija brightened again. “There it is.”
The king pointed a finger toward her. “The two events were not related.”
“No one can prove that.”
For a moment laughter filled the chamber.
The conversation drifted to Academy housing, instructors, schedules, and the realities of life away from Snowreach. Frigid listened carefully to every detail.
Freija tried.
Mostly.
More than once her attention wandered toward the windows overlooking Frostholm.
Beyond them, the evening sky stretched toward distant mountain ranges already fading into twilight.
In only a few months she would leave for Stormspire.
New instructors. New skies. New challenges.
The thought alone made her restless.
Queen Glaciana noticed immediately. “You are thinking about flying again.”
Freija smiled. “Maybe.”
The queen shook her head affectionately. “You haven’t even left for the Academy yet.”
“No,” Freija admitted while glancing toward the darkening horizon. “But I can already see it.”
Racing the Wind
That evening, Freija waited until the last of the palace lights dimmed.
From the high balcony outside her chambers, Frostholm lay quiet beneath her. Snow drifted slowly between the towering ice spires, and the wind carried the familiar whisper of winter across the frozen city.
Most of the palace slept.
Freija did not.
She stepped onto the balcony railing and looked out across the endless glacial plains beyond the capital. The open sky stretched farther than any palace wall ever could.
Her wings unfolded.
A single powerful beat launched her into the air.
The cold wind rushed past her face as she climbed higher above the palace towers. Within seconds the great ice structures of Snowreach shrank beneath her, their glowing windows now small specks of light in the frozen darkness.
Freija breathed deeply.
This was where she belonged.
Up here there were no council debates, no diplomatic lectures, no careful expectations pressing down on her shoulders.
Only the sky.
She angled her wings and accelerated.
The air roared around her as she cut across the frozen atmosphere, weaving between distant ice spires before rising above the cloud line. The higher she climbed, the thinner the air became, but Freija only pushed harder.
The Aerial Command instructors will be teaching control and discipline. Flyers were trained to conserve energy, to respect the wind, and to follow the flight lines proven safe over centuries.
Freija had spent years studying those lessons.
Then she began asking questions.
What if the flight lines were wrong?
What if the wind itself could be used differently?
She had watched the air currents the way scholars studied maps. She paid attention to how pressure shifted against her wings, how turbulence curled around cliff faces, and how the wind accelerated through narrow passages of rock.
The canyon runs she practiced as a child had taught her one thing very clearly.
The air was never still.
Tonight she listened to it again.
The currents bent around her like invisible rivers. Freija adjusted her wings slightly, narrowing their profile along a straight path through the upper atmosphere.
Her speed surged.
The pressure of the air began building against her chest and shoulders. The wind resisted harder the faster she pushed.
Freija smiled. “Come on,” she whispered.
She leaned forward and drove her wings downward again.
The sky fought back.
The pressure grew heavier with every heartbeat. The air began to compress around her, forming an invisible wall that resisted her acceleration.
No Icelandian flyers ever pushed this far.
Even the most experienced patrol guards rarely approached the limits Freija was testing now. Flying faster meant greater risk. One misjudged current could send a flyer tumbling through unstable air.
Freija was not guessing.
She felt the currents shifting beneath her wings.
Her feathers tightened instinctively along the leading edges as she streamlined her posture and forced herself forward.
The pressure grew sharper.
Then the sky broke. A thunderous crack split the air behind her. Freija just burst through the sound barrier.
For a brief moment the world fell strangely silent. The rushing wind dropped away as the shockwave trailed behind her, leaving her flying through smooth, untouched air.
Freija laughed into the open sky.
The stars above Frostholm seemed suddenly closer.
“Still not fast enough.”
She angled downward.
The dive began slowly, then built into a powerful descent as gravity joined the pull of the wind. The frozen plains rushed upward beneath her as she shot through a canyon of towering ice formations far beyond the capital.
Freija banked sharply around a jagged ridge, folding one wing slightly and extending the other to tighten the turn.
This maneuver made Halvrik furious a week ago.
She grinned at the thought.
The canyon walls flashed past in a blur of blue ice and white snow. Freija rode the rushing air currents the way a river guide rides rapids, trusting the flow rather than fighting it.
The canyon opened suddenly.
Freija shot upward again, climbing hard into the night sky before repeating the dive once more.
Freija slowed as the palace towers came back into view.
Her wings adjusted gradually as she bled off speed and glided toward the balcony outside her chambers. The icy air carried the familiar scent of snowfields and distant storms.
She landed lightly on the railing.
Freija rested her hands against the frozen stone and looked toward the distant horizon.
Somewhere beyond those glaciers waited skies no Icelandian flyer had ever tested.
One day, she promised herself she would find them.
The Sky of Winter Festival
The Sky of Winter Festival arrived as it did every year when Icelandia’s long winter reached its midpoint.
For generations, the people of Frostholm gathered beneath the frozen sky to mark the turning of the season. The fiercest storms had already passed, and though the cold would linger for many weeks yet, the people celebrated enduring the harshest stretch of winter.
It was not a celebration of conquest.
It was a celebration of endurance.
And above all, it was a celebration of the wind.
The people of Icelandia did not claim mastery over the skies that shaped their world. They honored them instead. The winds carried their flyers, the storms tested their strength, and the endless frozen horizon defined the world they called home.
Lanterns of pale blue crystal rose along the towers of Frostholm, their soft glow reflecting across the frozen city like scattered stars. Wind-harps sang softly through the plazas while families gathered around festival fires sharing hot frostgrain bread and steaming root stews.
High above the city, the palace of Snowreach stood illuminated against the dark sky.
From its upper terraces, the flyers would begin the evening displays.
Freija stood near the edge of one of the palace flight platforms, arms folded as she watched the growing crowds below. Hundreds of lanterns flickered across Frostholm’s frozen plazas, their glow reflecting across the crystal spires of the capital.
Beside her stood Frigid, dressed in a ceremonial frost-cloak of the royal house as she spoke quietly with several councilors gathered along the terrace.
Freija leaned slightly toward her. “So, this is where you give a speech about tradition and unity?”
Frigid did not look away from the crowd below. “That was the plan.”
Freija glanced upward toward the open sky. “Mind if I contribute in my own way?”
Frigid finally turned toward her sister, already knowing the answer. “You always do.”
A low ceremonial horn echoed across Frostholm.
High above the palace terraces, the first wave of sky dancers launched into the night sky.
Cheers immediately rose from the crowds gathered throughout the frozen plazas below as the performers climbed in sweeping formations between the crystal towers of the capital.
Pale blue lantern light reflected across their wings as they spiraled upward in synchronized patterns that seemed to flow with the winter winds themselves.
The opening maneuvers were graceful.
Then the acrobatics began.
Two flyers broke away from the larger formation and accelerated directly toward one another before separating at the last possible moment, their wings missing by only inches as they twisted into mirrored spirals around the palace towers. A third flyer dropped vertically through the center of their rotation before snapping his wings closed completely.
Gasps rose from the crowd.
The flyer tumbled backward through open air in a full rotation, plummeting toward the frozen courtyards below before reopening his wings at the last possible moment and pulling sharply upward into a soaring climb that sent cheers rolling across the city.
Freija smiled immediately.
Now this felt alive.
Above Frostholm, the performers shifted into smaller groups, weaving through one another in tightly coordinated aerial patterns. Some locked forearms briefly as they rotated together through the air before separating again, while others tucked their wings to dive through narrow gaps between flyers before snapping back open into controlled glides.
Every movement demanded absolute trust.
Absolute precision.
The wind-harps below continued singing softly beneath the roar of the cheering crowds as the flyers carved luminous ribbons across the frozen night sky.
Freija watched in silence.
The performers moved as though the sky belonged to them. Their formations shifted and flowed with effortless grace as they crossed, spiraled, and climbed through the winter air. Every flyer trusted the others completely, moving with a precision that transformed flight into art.
A smile spread across Freija’s face.
She wanted to be up there.
Then her wings unfolded.
Without ceremony, she stepped from the terrace.
The wind caught her instantly.
Freija dropped through the cold air before leveling into a powerful climb that carried her above the formations below. Within seconds the palace towers shrank beneath her, the lantern-lit city glowing across the ice like scattered stars.
Up here, the air felt alive.
For several moments she simply flew.
The dancers continued their performance beneath her, weaving through the winter sky in graceful formations that shifted and flowed like living currents. Freija banked gently around them, feeling the same winds that carried their movements and listening to the distant cheers rising from Frostholm below.
A laugh escaped her.
This was why she loved flying.
The freedom.
The movement.
The feeling that the entire sky had opened around her.
Then her attention drifted beyond the performance.
The dancers followed carefully practiced patterns, but Freija found herself studying the air around them instead. She watched how the currents curled between the palace towers and how the higher winds flowed above the festival.
A familiar grin spread across her face.
Now she was curious.
She angled her wings and accelerated.
The wind shifted around her like invisible rivers, guiding her across the frozen sky as she climbed higher above the festival below. Lanterns drifted upward from the city like floating embers beneath her.
“Let’s see how fast tonight feels.”
She tucked her wings slightly and surged forward.
The rush of air sharpened immediately around her as speed built faster than before. Pressure pressed harder against her wings and shoulders while the currents beneath her shifted violently through the upper atmosphere.
But the festival energy below, the cheers rising from Frostholm, and the living rush of the sky around her pulled her onward.
Freija pushed harder.
The resistance continued building against her wings. Every instinct told her to ease off.
She ignored it.
Then suddenly the pressure vanished.
A thunderous crack exploded across Frostholm as Freija burst through the sound barrier high above the city. The compressed air rippled outward in a widening shockwave that slammed into the towers of Snowreach below.
A second later, the pressure rebounded between the crystal spires and frozen terraces, amplifying into a sharp concussive echo that snapped the ceremonial banners violently against their mounts.
One of the banners tore along its lower seam.
The banner of House Cryostrand split open, scattering crystal stars across the palace courtyard beneath it.
Gasps rose from the crowds below.
Freija, already banking into another sweeping arc above the city, didn’t notice.
She was laughing too hard.
She dove once more between two towering ice spires before climbing sharply back toward the lantern-filled sky, her blue form streaking across the heavens like a falling star.
After several more passes above the capital, Freija finally eased her speed and glided back toward the palace terraces.
She folded her wings and landed lightly beside the royal viewing platform.
The crowds below were still cheering.
Frigid was not.
The elder twin stood with her arms crossed, her expression calm but unmistakably unimpressed.
Freija tilted her head slightly. “What?”
Frigid gestured toward the courtyard below.
Freija followed her gaze.
Several palace attendants were already gathering shattered crystal stars scattered across the stone courtyard. Above them, the banner of House Cryostrand hung torn along one side, its lower half snapping loosely in the winter wind.
Freija blinked once. “That wasn’t like that earlier.”
“No,” Frigid replied evenly. “It wasn’t.”
Freija frowned slightly as she looked between the damaged banner and the skies above Frostholm.
Then realization slowly crossed her face. “Oh.”
Frigid exhaled softly through her nose. “You shattered a ceremonial noble banner during the largest public festival of the winter.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
Frigid gave her a look. “It was bad.”
Before Freija could respond, a palace steward approached and bowed respectfully.
“Princess Freija.”
Freija sighed immediately. “Yes, I know.”
“The King and Queen request your presence.”
Freija groaned quietly. “Well… that probably is not for a congratulations.”
The royal audience chamber was quiet when Freija entered.
King Frostran stood near the center of the hall while Queen Glaciana remained beside the great crystal windows overlooking Frostholm below. The distant sounds of the festival still drifted faintly through the palace walls.
Freija lowered her head respectfully. “You wished to see me, Father.”
The king regarded her calmly. “Do you understand why you are here?”
Freija exhaled softly. “I may have damaged a banner.”
“You did.”
He gestured toward the palace courtyard below where attendants were still gathering the scattered crystal stars from the torn Cryostrand banner.
“Those banners represent more than decoration,” the king continued. “They represent trust between the crown and the noble houses of Icelandia.”
Freija nodded slowly.
“When one is damaged publicly during a royal festival, even accidentally, it sends a message.”
“That the royal family was careless,” Freija answered quietly.
The king inclined his head once. “Exactly.”
Silence settled briefly across the chamber.
Then Queen Glaciana spoke. “Your flying tonight was extraordinary.”
Freija looked up slightly, surprised.
“Extraordinary ability without restraint may do more harm than good,” the queen continued gently.
Freija lowered her gaze again. “I understand.”
At that moment Frigid quietly entered the chamber and moved beside the doorway, remaining silent as the discussion continued.
King Frostran looked between both daughters before returning his attention to Freija.
“What you demonstrated tonight has value,” he said evenly. “There are no flyers on Icelandia who could move through the air the way you did.”
Freija’s wings shifted slightly behind her.
“Talent does not remove responsibility,” the king continued.
Freija nodded once.
“You will not fly at those speeds above the capital again.”
“Yes, Father.”
The king remained silent for another moment before speaking again. “In three days, the repaired Cryostrand banner will be returned to their house.”
Freija already sensed where this was going.
“You will deliver it personally.”
She sighed softly. “Yes, Father.”
“And you will formally apologize to House Cryostrand for the incident during the festival.”
Freija closed her eyes briefly before nodding again. “Yes, Father.”
Queen Glaciana stepped forward slightly. “This is not punishment for your talent, Freija,” she said calmly. “It is a reminder that your actions affect more than yourself.”
Freija looked toward the distant festival lights beyond the windows. “I know.”
King Frostran’s voice softened slightly. “You leave for Stormspire in only a few months. The Academy will sharpen your abilities. But if you are to become truly exceptional, you must learn discipline.”
Freija stood quietly for several seconds before inclining her head once more. “Understood.”
The king nodded. “Then this matter is settled.”
Later that night, long after the festival fires had begun to fade across Frostholm, Freija stood alone on her private balcony of Snowreach.
Cold wind swept across the palace towers while the frozen city shimmered quietly beneath the night sky.
Behind her, the balcony doors opened softly.
Freija glanced back as Frigid stepped outside.
Neither spoke at first.
Then Frigid walked beside her and held out a small crystal shard resting in her palm. One of the decorative stars from the damaged Cryostrand banner.
Freija accepted it carefully between her fingers, turning the fractured crystal beneath the pale blue glow of the palace lights.
“For the apology?” she asked lightly.
Frigid shook her head once. “For the lesson.”
Freija looked sideways at her sister.
Frigid rested her arms along the frozen balcony railing as she looked out across Frostholm below.
“Father is making you return the repaired banner because the damage mattered to more than just you,” she said quietly. “Not because anyone doubts what you can do.”
Freija lowered her eyes briefly toward the crystal shard resting in her hand.
“Mother was right,” Frigid continued softly. “What you do in the sky affects the world beneath it.”
The wind moved quietly between the palace towers.
Freija rolled the crystal slowly between her fingers before closing her hand around it.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.”
“I know.”
There was no judgment in Frigid’s voice. Only understanding.
Freija looked back toward the frozen horizon stretching beyond Frostholm’s distant glaciers.
In only a few months, both of them would leave for the Academy.
Everything would change after that.
Beside her, Frigid finally smiled faintly. “Just try not to destroy the Academy during your first week.”
Freija laughed softly for the first time since leaving the audience chamber. “No promises.”
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