In the depths of the northern continent, the coldest and most remote place of the old world, legends rose of an imposing, indestructible being. With its mere presence, it froze the lungs and hearts of those who dared to brandish their weapons within its territory. That being was called Frostmagnar.
The sages named it a dragon, yet it did not identify itself as one. This being believed itself to be the true king of the continent, a cruel demiurge who brought misfortune to all who refused to accept the frost.
For centuries it had remained in the mountains, undisturbed, with no intention of ruling. It knew its place and had no need to flaunt it. Its servants, the frozen beggars, were its ruthless messengers, guarantors, and hunters. They fed it offerings given by the people in the form of livestock or monsters; in the worst cases, they were forced to pay with human lives.
The being was not cruel. It was not the classic creature that demanded a virgin to sate its hunger. It asked only for meat—old, fresh, from anywhere. In exchange, it somehow protected the distant northern villages from the barbarians who sought to conquer them.
This symbiotic relationship with the kingdom led to the creation of a crest known as the Ice Emblem, in honor of the monster. For generations, wise kings brought their children before the being, not only to swear loyalty, but to arrange agreements that benefited both sides. Thus, this bond allowed the country of Arvitia to rule in peace, even as the constant threat of neighboring nations never ceased.
Each country had its own guardian. Frostmagnar was only one of three: fire, ice, and lightning.Ignicorax, descendant of comets and volcanoes, protector of the land of Nurdia.And Fulgurion, creator of storms, lightning, and the ocean itself, guardian of Marasta.
None of the three considered themselves superior to the others. They held absolute respect for their counterparts' territories to avoid unnecessary wars. But this respect did not extend to humans, who—through free will—started wars of their own. As part of the pact, the guardians neither stopped nor joined these conflicts, unless the stability of a nation was threatened. Only then, provided foreign territory was not invaded, would they protect the lives of their vassals.
Unfortunately, three kings proved arrogant and foolish. Childhood friends who believed that human disputes existed only because of fear toward beasts, they formed an alliance behind their guardians' backs and declared war on them. The father of Alexander XIII and his contemporaries began that war.
Alexander was never presented to Frostmagnar. Neither the dragon nor the prince knew of the ancient treaty. In fact, to Alexander, the dragon was a despotic being that sought to restrain and control mankind—just like its brothers. Thus, the unthinkable occurred. In a full-scale battle in the south of the country, the three kings slew Fulgurion. His lightning-infused fangs were forged into spears that pierced the skies.
Only seven such spears were forged: one for each king, another for their captains, and one final spear for a prince deemed worthy. Alexander was chosen.
And so Tristan entered the story—well, the character I control. He was a noble squire, friend and follower of Alexander, who proved to possess an underestimated talent for military strategy and a unique sensitivity that allowed him to understand the frozen beggars. Together with his friend, he formed an army of men and beggars who believed in the independence Frostmagnar had supposedly stolen from them.
After years of war, it was Ignicorax, weary of ungrateful humans, who unleashed his burning beggars across the continent. To Tristan's surprise, this forced Frostmagnar to honor his pact and protect humanity. Despite everything. Despite the betrayal. Despite the fact that they marched wielding weapons forged from the corpse of one of its own kind, Frostmagnar leapt forth to stop its sacred enemy.
Was it merely a territorial dispute to him? Were pacts more important than false friendships? Or did he harbor desires of his own? Whatever the answer, the player could choose to aid one dragon or attempt to slay both in the final battle. Whichever dragon was killed, the reward was a unique weapon—one capable of killing its counterpart.
The truth was simple: the dragon of glacial death was bored. If Ignicorax were slain too early and his fangs used to forge the Sun Greatsword, only a tragic ending awaited.
Now King Alexander XIII marched north with his army, but found no resistance. No beggars remained. All had been freed from their lord's yoke. Upon entering the lair, the dragon waited for a single moment—the moment Alexander would present himself as a prince, not as a king.
—We never had the pleasure, the ancient dragon said, its mere existence freezing all present.
—It was never a pleasure, the king replied, driving back the cold with his flaming greatsword and lightning spear.
—Humans took long enough to make their foolish move, the dragon said, spreading its wings—not threateningly, but as if settling in, at ease.
—I have come to complete the mission my father began. I will kill you and free the kingdom—no, the continent—from all of you heartless beasts.
—Heartless? the dragon spat, almost laughing. Are you an idiot, or is there simply no oxygen in that head of yours? You massacred my brothers out of simple, banal fear, ignoring the fact that we bring order to your world. Have you not noticed?
That question shook me the first time I read it.
—The sun has ceased to rise. The moon no longer shines. All that remains is a dim firmament you are about to shatter.
—Fallacies. Lies of a deceiver who fears his fate.
—Tragic, the dragon replied. Tragic is the fate of your insolence.
Frostmagnar, the glacial death, folded its wings and lay on its back, revealing a frozen heart like a crystal of ice, beating slowly and steadily.
—Go on then, humans—foolish, ignorant, yet persistent. You shall find a life that is not life, a death that is not death. But at least I will finally find the peace denied to me.
That moment was lamentable. Sad. Heartbreaking. For then I realized—we destroyed the world.
Ignicorax was the heart of the sun, pumping warmth each morning.Fulgurion was the moon that purified seas and lakes.And Frostmagnar was the sky, the moon, and the stars—now extinguished, leaving only darkness.
When they emerged from the cavern carrying the fangs of the guardian of the skies, they realized their error—their arrogance. They had doomed the world. The waters vanished. Seas dried instantly. Crops failed. Animals died within days. Humanity soon followed.
All because Alexander XII and XIII failed to understand that nature's balance was fragile. Your character knew it. Knew everything. But was silenced by the king's arrogance. Little remained of your friend by the end of that day, and thus this was the ending we were destined to reach…
Unless you, knowing all this, disobeyed your king. Unless you deserted his army, allied with the dragons, received their blessing alongside the beggars, and overthrew the three kingdoms.
In none of the endings was the hero happy. In one path, he died like a dog—alone, abandoned, blamed by his own friends for the world's ruin. In the other, he was forced to kill his friends, his father figures, everyone he had ever loved.
For months, I was obsessed with finding a third ending—a route where everyone could be happy. But in time I understood that this was the author's message. I accepted it. I fell in love with it. Even when the developers bowed to criticism and released a DLC claiming there was a fourth dragon responsible for all evil and blah blah blah.
The ending wasn't even written by the original author, who resigned after relentless pressure to continue the work.
I respected him deeply for that, and wanted to follow the same philosophy in my own creations. Perhaps that's why, when I arrived in this world—among so many games—I chose Ice Emblem as the one that would carry my legacy…
I opened my eyes, and there it was.It was no longer Babe.Now, it was Fjölkaldra.