The Frost Witch doesn't sleep in her main fort. She slept anywhere, everywhere, nowhere. Sometimes it's everywhere.

The place she chose to lie down now was a huge underground cavern, large enough to hold a thousand fortresses. A sea of ice stretches from one end to the other. It wasn't the end of the hustle and bustle of the surface, but closer to a completely different kind of madness.

She visits a lot, and always comes alone, but she's never alone.

Some call it a monster. Some call it God. Either way, the great shadows that sleep under the ice can only wander in dreams. Lisandro dutifully came to check it out. Make sure they sleep comfortably.

The watchers must not be allowed to wake up.

She had lost her eyes a long time ago, so she traced their sleeping forms in her mind. The shiver from what she saw was far greater than her blood and bones, so when her skin was covered with ice, she no longer trembled.

Blindness was a blessing when she was underneath. Just feeling their presence is terrifying enough. Moreover, they have to walk in their dreams, and know their secret desires for the world.

So, she had to keep them dreaming.

One of the giant shadows began to throb. Lisandro had felt it since the last crescent moon had risen, and had been desperately hoping that it would return to its sleep on its own—but now the unfathomable intelligence was wriggling among its companions, becoming more and more restless.

She removed her hood. The gorgeous robe skimmed her ankles and fell to the ground, and she stepped lightly, towards the other side of the frozen nothingness.

Lisandro stretched out her fingers and brushed the ice. Her long hair covers her face, hiding the lines of time, as well as the scars and hollows around her eyes. She had long learned the secret of walking in her dreams, crossing incredible distances across this harsh land in an instant, traveling a hundred times at dawn. Sometimes, she forgets where her body is.

Now, her consciousness drifted downward, through the barrier. She pondered the thickness of the ice for a moment. It would be foolish to put the whole burden of faith on a layer of glass, but there is no alternative in this world.

On the other side, the watcher is swaggering in the dark, frustrated.

It's bigger than a mountain range. It's small, isn't it? Lisandro hopes so. She never dared to test the defenses of the big guys—they seemed to be capable of devouring gravity and time itself, and they were not only devourers of the world, but of the entire plane's reality. They made her feel small, insignificant, like a grain of frost in a blizzard.

She focused on the huge, terrifying creature in front of her.

Its dreams became hers.

The other Lisandro was waiting there, in a dream. The eternal being towered behind a black sun, her hair fluttering to the sky, her eyes clear and bright, crystal blue, shimmering with celestial energy, it was the last dawn of this world.

She's beautiful. She is a goddess. She struggled to push the sun back below the horizon.

The black fireball was resisting, trying to rise again. It is burning the fingers of the goddess.

She saw a long shadow of the sun cast over the frost-covered mountains. The land is a twisted Freljord, losing all life and magic......

Life. Life is the most crucial thing. All the creatures on Freljord, this frozen land was once sacrificed to the monsters below. She lured the throbbing watcher away from its dark thoughts, cautiously, trying to soothe it with other dreams.

The entire clan was divided into three camps. This was done at the behest of the Iceborn War Mother. In order to prevent the enemy from assassination, she said, so that no one would know which tent she was sleeping in.

With the glacier beneath his feet, the starry sky overhead, the priest lay on the cold stone platform, and by candlelight he recorded his observations on an Erniuk leather scroll. His pen hand is steady and strong. He had to send his records to the Frostguard Fortress every night.

He wondered, did the power hide the fear? Whether—

He saw his own breath and realized that he was not alone. Shame choked him. He respectfully picked up a strip of cloth as a tribute to the greatest of the three sisters, Lisandro. After he had said those vows, the only thing that could make him feel so cold was her gaze.

"Don't be blindfolded," she said, emerging from the darkness of the night. Her voice was smooth and cold.

"I beg forgiveness," he said, "I'm late." My report—"

"What I seek is not your words. You're in a dream. I need you to listen. Listen to the sound of ice. ”

The Frost Priest's eyes widened as he heard something. Ice speaks of hunger.

No. Not ice. But...... What's next?

"What does this mean?" He asked, but Lisandro had already left.

The priest woke up. He reminisced about the dream. His oath was for him to obey blindly, to freeze, to shed blood. He took out the strip of cloth and blindfolded it.

Before dawn had fallen, he had already walked several miles, leaving the Mother of War and her three camps.

So Lisandro drifted into another person's dream.

Seven ice eagles flew past the blue sky, flapping the frost on their wings. A bleak mountain abruptly slid into the shallow sea on a grey pebble beach.

The little girl walked alone, and no one remembered her name, except herself.

She picks up a crab. It was swarthy, with a pair of square eyes swirling overhead. She held it carefully, her pointed crab feet gently poking her palm.

She looked up and saw a huge ice floe floating in the dark waters, carried onto land by the near-frozen waves. The ice floes stumbled onto the rocky beach and began to melt. It shrinks inch by inch, revealing a woman curled up in a cradle of ice, a monster born of Winter.

The girl let go of the crab's grip.

The way Lisandro stood up from the broken waves, like—

"Witch!" The girl exclaimed. The wind of ice and snow gushed out of her mouth with a burning cold.

The witch vanished, leaving only the little girl crying out of a blizzard.

She woke up from a fire that was about to be extinguished, and the other children around her were still sleeping. They were all orphaned in the blood-colored snowfields of Freljord. A resolute-looking woman was watching over them, carrying a sharp axe behind her. They all knew that she was willing to protect them with her life.

An ember rose from the furnace and landed on the tattered fur at the little girl's feet.

She touched it with her fingers. The embers immediately froze.

Lisandro had gone into another dream, but she knew she had to keep an eye on the child. She's an Iceborn. She may become the new weapon in the coming war.

or new enemies.

High on the mountain, it wasn't the bitter cold that brought the poor traveler down.

but his own ignorance.

He was hunched over in a shallow cave. He hummed muttered, for he could no longer sing the ballads of his youth to comfort himself. He couldn't bear to breathe in the frozen air. His beard was covered with white frost and frozen snot, making it painful for him to open his mouth, and his lips were blue and chapped. He was unconscious in both legs and hands. He was no longer trembling. He's gone.

He surrendered. The coldness will take away his heart, and then it will all be over.

It wasn't the end he wanted. But he feels warm now. Freely.

"To the fertile soil! To the sun! The lyrics slipped vaguely into his head. When he opened his eyes, he saw not snow and ice, but pastures. He could feel the summer breeze in his hair.

Lisandro approached the man from the back of the shallow hole. She could see death on his fingers and toes, slowly creeping in. He won't wake up again. This will be his last dream.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. No one has to face the end alone.

"Your people are waiting for you, friend," she whispered. "Lie down in the tall grass. I'll watch it for you while you rest. ”

He looked up at her. He smiled and nodded. He looked much younger.

Then he closed his eyes and dissipated.

Lisandro stayed on the edge of his dreams until finally the dreams were gone.

War cries and death lead Lissandra to the south. She could smell blood and fire in the wind, and the sharp aftertaste of angry steel. This is a land where grass can grow, and the snow and ice here sometimes melt. It's not a sunny pasture, but it's the closest thing to a pasture known to the various tribes of Freljord.