The Frostveil Kingdom stretched across Eryndral's northern frontier, a land of unyielding winter where jagged peaks clawed at the sky and glaciers shimmered like frozen veins. The air bit with a sharp chill, and the pale sun cast a silvery sheen over the snow-draped expanse. At its core rose the Crystal Palace, a masterpiece of Ice Elf artistry—its spires twisted upward like frozen flames, their translucent walls refracting light into a cascade of blues, purples, and silvers. Within, the palace buzzed with quiet anticipation, its halls adorned with frostweave tapestries tracing the Frostveil dynasty's storied past.
In the birthing chamber, Queen Lysandra paced restlessly, her silver-white hair flowing like a river of moonlight. Her blue eyes, piercing and luminous, flickered with nervous excitement as she twisted the sapphire ring on her finger—a gift from King Theron, bestowed centuries ago on their coronation.Her frostweave gown shimmered faintly, catching the glow of ice lanterns suspended from the ceiling.
King Theron stood nearby, his presence a steady anchor. His own silver-white hair was bound in a long ponytail, swaying as he watched his wife. His stern features softened as he stepped forward, grasping her hand. "Lysandra," he said, his deep voice warm yet commanding, "you'll wear a groove in the ice if you keep that up."
She paused, offering a faint smile. "Can you blame me, Theron? After three hundred years…" Her voice trembled, and she pressed a hand to her swollen belly. "I've longed for this, but now I'm terrified it's a dream."
Theron's grip tightened, his calloused fingers steadying her. "You've faced frost wyrms and traitors without blinking," he said firmly. "This is our triumph—yours and mine."
Their love was the heart of Frostveil, forged through centuries of trials. Theron, an Ethereal-tier legend, had once cleaved a glacier in two with his frostblade to shield their people. Lysandra, a Transcendent-tier mage, had woven spells to turn blizzards into walls of defense. Together, they'd ruled with unmatched might and wisdom, yet their one unfulfilled desire had been a child—until now.
The midwives, three elder Ice Elves in shimmering white robes, moved with practiced grace. Their voices rose in a soft chant, weaving a spell of calm as frost traced delicate patterns along the walls. The head midwife, her hair streaked with gray, approached Lysandra. "It's time, my queen," she said reverently. "The ice spirits are with us."
Lysandra nodded, squeezing Theron's hand before settling onto the birthing bed—a slab of polished ice cushioned with furs. The midwives guided her through the labor, their chants swelling as Theron stood by her side. "You're stronger than the storms, my love," he murmured, brushing sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. "Almost there."
A sharp cry cut through the air, clear and resonant, echoing beyond the chamber. Lysandra gasped, collapsing back as the midwife lifted a small, wriggling form. The newborn's skin was pale as fresh snow, his tiny ears tapering to elfin points. A shock of silver-white hair crowned his head, and his eyes, when they opened, gleamed a vivid blue, like a glacier's heart.
"A son," the midwife declared, wrapping him in frostweave before handing him to Lysandra. She cradled him, tears freezing into crystals on her cheeks as she laughed softly. "Aelar," she whispered, the name Theron had chosen after the hero who tamed the first Frost Drake.
Theron leaned closer, his voice thick with pride. "Aelar Frostveil," he said, resting a hand on her shoulder.
"He's perfect," Lysandra said, brushing a finger along Aelar's cheek. "Those eyes… he's got your fire, Theron."
"And your grace," Theron replied, a rare smile breaking through. "He'll be our pride"
As the royal couple reveled in their joy, a chime rang in Aelar's mind, unnoticed by all. A translucent screen flickered before his newborn eyes, glowing with crisp text:
________________________
Host: Aelar Frostveil
Race: Ice Elf (Royal Bloodline)
Ascension Tier: Initiate (Level 0)
Stats:
Strength: 5 (Above average for newborn)
Agility: 7 (Exceptional reflexes)
Intelligence: 12 (Genius potential)
Mana: 10 (Royal lineage bonus)
Abilities:Frostborn Legacy (Innate): Enhanced affinity for ice magic, resistance to cold, and accelerated growth in frost-related skills.
Skills:None (Yet to be developed)
Greetings, Host. I am Sylvara, your guide and protector. Welcome to Eryndral.
"Sylvara?" he thought, his inner voice weak but curious.
"Yes, Aelar," Sylvara replied, her tone cool and precise. "I am an AI, bound to this system. My purpose is to assist—analyze, advise, enhance. Your potential is extraordinary, even now."
"Stats?" Aelar asked, his thoughts fumbling.
"Your attributes," Sylvara clarified.
"Strength, agility, intelligence, mana. Yours surpass any newborn here." A comparison appeared:
Typical Ice Elf Newborn:
Strength 2
Agility 3
Intelligence 4
Mana 3
Aelar Frostveil:
Strength 5
Agility 7
Intelligence 12
Mana 10
"Your intelligence is a seed of genius," Sylvara said. "Your mana reflects your royal blood. This is your starting point."
"What do I do?" Aelar thought, grasping at the blanket.
"Grow," Sylvara answered. "Absorb this world. I'll guide you as you mature. Your destiny is vast."
The screen faded, and Aelar nestled into Lysandra's warmth, her heartbeat a soothing rhythm.
_____________
Aelar's first five years unfolded within the Crystal Palace, a blend of royal care and quiet discovery. Lysandra doted on him, her voice a constant comfort. "Look, Aelar," she'd say at two, weaving snowflakes that danced above his crib. "The spirits sing for you." Her laughter rang as he swatted at them, his giggles echoing.
Theron shared his own lessons. "A king must be unyielding," he'd tell Aelar at three, sitting by the hearth with the boy on his knee. "I slew a frost wyrm at twenty. You'll surpass me." His deep chuckle rumbled as Aelar babbled back, mimicking his tone.
Their love was fierce—Lysandra's tenderness balanced Theron's strength, forging a bond Aelar treasured. "They're powerful," he thought to Sylvara at four, watching Theron spar with guards in the courtyard.
"Indeed," Sylvara replied. "Theron is Ethereal—Tier 8. His might could sunder mountains. Lysandra is Transcendent—Tier 7, her magic a marvel. I'll analyze them fully when you're ready."
__________
Aelar's beauty was striking. His silver-white hair grew long enough to tie into a small ponytail, framing a face of sharp elfin elegance. His blue eyes gleamed with cunning, and his pointed ears twitched at every sound. He was smart—charming servants into extra frostberries with a sly grin—yet kind, sharing them with palace children.
"Elara, catch" he shouted one snowy day, tossing a snowball at a silver-haired girl his age. Elara, daughter of the High Mage, giggled as it splattered against her cloak. Her blue eyes mirrored his, but her spirit was gentler, her tiny hands conjuring frost patterns. "You're too fast, Aelar!" she protested, chasing him through the courtyard.
By five, his stats advanced:
Host: Aelar Frostveil
Race: Ice Elf (Royal Bloodline)
Ascension Tier: Initiate (Level 2)
Stats:Strength: 15
Agility: 20
Intelligence: 25
Mana: 30
Abilities:
Frostborn Legacy (Innate): Enhanced affinity for ice magic, resistance to cold, and accelerated growth in frost-related skills.
Glacial Chains (Level 1): Conjures enchanted ice chains, flexible yet unbreakable. Bind foes, form barriers, or swing across gaps. Scales with mana and skill.
Skills:
Basic Mana Manipulation (Level 2): Improved control over mana flow.Ice
Crafting (Level 1): Shape ice into simple forms.
Your progress is swift, Host. Most Initiates your age stagnate. You're exceptional.