Cold. Fresh. Sweet fragrance. The air ruled the room, carrying a comforting breeze that brushed his hair into gentle waves and drew his gaze—yet the fourteen-year-old did not flinch.
There wasn't any sound at that moment, but suddenly footsteps kept approaching him from his back…Silence…Again… A voice followed.
"Young master, his highness and her highness awaits you in the dining chamber."
A well-mannered lady in her sixties stood behind him, posture impeccable.
'Guess it's already time for lunch. ' He thought, this is not unusual for him, he always hears the same words from the same person.
The servant suit was instantly recognizable, a household livery and an apron tied snugly around her waist between her ribs and hips.
The young lad did not respond. His delicate hair shimmered like freshly fallen snow styled with flawless precision. A hairstyle neither too long nor too short. The color of his suit added on his mysterious and cold presence; Deep black silk accented with a subtle red perfectly trimmed along the edges. Polished boots of charcoal hue completed the ensemble, gleaming faintly beneath the soft golden sunlight.
His posture did not seek flatter, he sat steadily, legs placed neatly together beneath the table. In his right hand, he held an old eye-catching book, while his left arm rested against the top of the chair.
One could easily make assumptions after seeing his room—a man who lived in a world of books. A towering wall of shelves stood beside him, their contents neatly arranged, many volumes bearing subtle signs of use. From a single glance, one could tell how many had already been read—and how many more awaited his attention.
"You may go, I will be there in a minute."
The words left his mouth in a cold, manly voice.
To the eye, he might appear as a normal kid—yet his mind was steeped in mystery, one even an old man could not fully grasp.
The dining table is made of rectangular shape with a cloudy fabric covering it entirely. Six chairs are divided into 2 units at each corner of the table. There is a single chair that stands out, an armchair sat at the head of the table—not even a fly dares to step on it.
A well-cooked steak perfectly placed on all 6 pearl-like plates, and a single plate with roasted chicken on top of it.
Each chair was taken and only a single spot was left. Snow-like hairs gathered, mixed emotions collided in the atmosphere.
'This time, it'll be interesting. ' Even his mind is thinking as if he knows what's about to happen.
The maid bowed, and began knocking the door.
*…Knock, knock, knock*
Three quick, consecutive raps broke the tranquility.
"Your highness, Young Master Zylo is about to enter the dining chamber"
Zylo finally entered, bloody moon-like hue painted on his eyes. For a second—a noble figure appeared in his shadows but instantly swift into something familiar to them. A clumsy smile crept across his face.
Their eyes turned to him.
'Argh. I could never get used to this kind of setting. ' Zylo thought for a second.
A voice echoed around the room, it was familiar to Zylo.
"You are always giving father a hard time, do you know that, Zylo? "
"—Oh I completely forgot—how could the stupid youngest understand that?"
The people sitting were aware that it was meant for mockery, however not a single one dared to interrupt.
"Silenced."
The word fell like a weight, a command that denied even the air its passage into your lungs.
A cold pressure that lurks in from his shadow. His hair once as white as a fresh snow—had darkened into pale steel, swept neatly across both sides of his forehead, beneath his golden crown a dark blue stone sparks independently under the center. Sharp eyebrows framed eyes the color of frozen lakes. To meet that gaze for too long was to feel measured—and found nothing but a mere prey.
He wore robes of midnight dark blue layered with silver embroidery, the Frostveil sigil woven subtly into the fabric.
"Chris, I had presumed you were already aware that one does not make a mess in front of the food. "
"B-but Father—"
*Bang*
A loud force struck the table, an action meant to warn someone.
Chris didn't even get the chance to complete his word, he immediately rested in silence.
Zylo kept his stance steady while enjoying the show in front of him. He then sat on the empty seat meant for him. For him, this was already calculated and let the things do their part.
'I wonder what my father will have to say this time' as an observant, he won't miss a single minute to think about his situation.
This kind of environment is something not a single kid could handle, however—Zylo won't flatter, a mysterious kid that appears to be normal, hides a dark secret in his shadows.
Zylo did not receive even a little affection from his parents—least of all from his father, the ruling head of the family, who placed a crushing weight of expectation upon him. Born the youngest of five siblings in the Frostveil family, he was regarded less as a child and more as a burden yet to prove his worth.
***
The Frostveil bloodline bears a deep, inherent affinity for ice mana. By a long-held tradition, both Zylo's parents shared the same lineage, for the family believed that uniting blood with blood would yield greater power and fortune.
Over generations, the Frostveil name expanded— eleven families now bore the same bloodline, each powerful, dominant, and bound by the same creed. The Frostveils ranked third in the empire among the most influential families—not by raw strength, but by contribution. Yet for Frostveil, contribution was merely a display—one that performed to earn admiration. Those who had fought beside the Frostveils knew the truth; their authority and power far exceeded what rankings could measure.
In this world, every infant receives a single blessing from one of the Twenty-Four Heaven Rulers. Among them stand six supreme beings, whose favor is coveted above all else—so rare that many would weep upon receiving it. For generations, the Frostveil family shared one certainty: each of their kin was blessed by the same goddess—the Ice Ruler.
That certainty shattered with Zylo's birth.
He was born without the blessing of Goddess Silvhine, the Ice Ruler. Instead, an unfamiliar crest manifested upon the back of his palm—one belonging to no known god. Its origin was a mystery, its existence unrecorded.
By tradition, this should have marked him as defective.
Yet despite lacking Silvhine's blessing, Zylo miraculously manifested ice mana of equal potency. An impossibility—one that unsettled the family far more than weakness ever could.
He was born with the soul of another time trapped within a child's body. Fragmented memories flooded his mind—foreign, distant, and incomplete. By the time he became aware, he was already living as a child in a world he did not recognize. Most of those memories faded into obscurity, leaving behind only his intellect and personality—intact, unexplainable. One thing for sure he's an alien on this planet.
For years, he dared not leave his room.
Instead, he buried himself in books—learning how the world functioned, the truth of his situation, and the role others expected him to fulfill. But beneath that quiet obedience stirred something dangerous.
A growing urge.
A desire to live freely—to live as he pleased.