Disclaimer: This is fanfiction based on "The Inheritance Cycle", owned by Christopher Paolini, and is also heavily influenced by the Disney movie "Frozen". I do not own either of these titles or any part of their contents, as they are trademarked by their respective owners. The only part in which I have the ownership in are my original characters. This fanfiction is meant strictly for nonprofit enjoyment only.

Edit: 23th Jan. updated to 2.3.1; Changed the rifle and modified the memory sequence once again.

This is my first fic. I would like constructive criticism and even flames are welcome, if they make a bit of sense. Feel free to point out every mistake. Knowledge of "Frozen" is not required but is recommended.

Warning: Blood, bad language and darkness, with occasional specs of ice, frost, and twisted timelines. And slow, irregular updates.

The night was cold, very cold, and quiet. I snuck closer to the camp of three bandits, as silently as possible. The sky was lightly clouded and the moon was close to full. The camp was at the edge of a rather dense spruce and pine forest, close to a dirt road. Far behind the forest jagged mountains rose from the ground, with the tallest ones tipped by snow. On the other side of the road a huge plane of grass and shrubs extended as far as my eyes could see, covered lightly in snow.

Earlier this day I had witnessed the bandits ambushing a carriage of a small family; only a father, son and a daughter. The children couldn't be older than 10. The carriage itself was very simple, just a big wooden board with some planks nailed to it sideways on the underside to strengthen it. Obviously, it had wheels, and those things that you attach to the horses. I can't remember what they were called. Anyway, they were moving at a leisurely pace along the dirt road, probably heading to a nearby town for some supplies. I was walking by the tree line, a bit to the side, maybe 200 meters behind them; I did not want my appearance to startle anyone. I doubted that battle dress uniforms were a common sight.

The father was the first one to fall. Three arrows flew, straight and true from the forest. He fell from his front seat on the carriage, looking down to his chest, where the arrows now sprouted from. He let out barely any sound as he slowly fell off sideways, only a slight thump as his body landed on the snowy ground. The children didn't seem to notice at first, as they sat at the rear, gazing into the distance in a trance. Soon they awoke, as the carriage bumped into his body, the left wheel rolling over his legs. They looked to the front of the carriage and froze for a small moment, seeing nothing where their father was supposed to be sitting at. They looked around and saw their father lying sideways on the road, only the shafts of the arrows holding him from turning face-down into the red-stained snow. Immediately they jumped from the carriage and ran to their father, yelling – screaming even - in fright.

I quickly hid behind a medium-sized dark green spruce and watched them from between two frosty branches, my hand curling around the handle of my combat knife. As their attention was devoted to their father, two bandits snuck from the forest. They took their bows and notched their arrows; And in synchronization, fired them deep into the throats of the children. The arrows did not stop there, but kept on flying and sank into the ground , splattering a massive amount blood and pieces of tissues on the ground, painting it red. I did not hear any sound to my hiding spot, which I had taken moments before, as I spied on them from the shadow the tree. The bodies of the family were dragged into the forest and left to rot.

I hadn't reacted, and I was deeply ashamed by the fact. I could have grabbed my rifle and simply shot the bandits. I would not let this scum live. Ammo was precious, and I would not be wasting any .338 rounds on these worms. They would go down by knife, slowly and painfully.

The bandits stopped the horse pulling the carriage, and looted the family's property. They continued their days as normal on the stolen carriages, nibbling on most likely frozen bread and congratulating themselves. The temptation to pull out my rifle was great, but I was resolved to not to. I couldn't really keep up with them while staying hidden, but I was confident that I could track them down. And I did; The tracks left by the carriage were easy to follow. They had stopped for the night at the tree line.

I observed the bandits and their camp. The horse that was pulling the carriage was tied to a pine a few meters away, with the carriage sitting next to them. The bandits were huddling beside a fire, one of them preparing food. They sat silent. Their back bags and thick slabs of cloth laid beside them. All of them had bows and a quiver of arrows. That was the end of the similarities, at least mostly. The first of the three had generic clothing. Brown uncolored leather tunic, and loose grey, probably woolen, pants. His face was slightly rounded. He had brown hair and a strong jaw line. He seemed slightly like a newcomer, sitting a bit farther from the others and looking awkward. The second was dressed in some kind of basic leather armor, brown again. It had small pauldrons, nothing more but a bit of extra leather at the shoulders. It also looked hardened at the chest region. He was much older, probably the oldest of the group, his hair was balding and turning gray. For the pants he had loose leather ones, with a piece of string holding them up, and a small dagger dangling on his side. The third one was obviously the leader. He had a rudimentary, slightly rusted sword lying beside his mattress, without a scabbard. He had a collared chain mail byrnie that was dulled and looked unkempt, riddled with holes of varying sizes, pulled over a dirty white shirt. He also had proper leather boots, with light gray woolen pants His face was hard and he had a white scar on his tanned cheek, extending from his chin upwards and left.

The newcomer stood up and walked towards the forest, quietly saying something about relieving himself. He was coming right towards my hiding place. I was hiding behind a small spruce tree, a bit into the forest. I carefully moved myself closer. As the bandit started to relieve himself, I stepped behind the bandit, into his own foot print to prevent noise. I stood behind the bandit, thinking of what to do to him. I took out my combat knife. "Aim with the hand, shoot with the mind, kill with a heart like arctic ice." Lyrics which I heard in a video. The bandit was still oblivious of me. He finished up, raised his pants. The bandit only let out a slight surprised sound that could have been "What?" as I grabbed his mouth from behind, turned him to the side with my left hand, and swung the combat knife as hard as I could. I stabbed down at him from an upwards angle, to his left shoulder, into the small gap between bones, and into his heart. His eyes widened slightly, and he stared me squarely in the eyes. He had gray eyes, like one of mine. And then it was gone. All life was gone, and he became as soulless carcass staring into space. His head fell back and eyes rolled up, and I pulled my knife out of him with a slick sound.

The body hitting the ground caused some noise, mainly shuffling and a crack something breaking. I winced. The two other bandits were starting to get worried, shouting for the newcomer. He was apparently named Aubrey. The two remaining bandit started walking towards the forest, and I started to panic slightly, thinking of what to do. Not holding the first bandit up had been a mistake. Luckily it was rather dark. Moon was covered by light clouds, cutting a part of the light shining down, and making it much easier to hide. Making a quick plan in my head, I quickly grabbed a rock, frosted, smooth and slightly larger than my fist. I aimed at the second bandit with the leather armor and threw the rock as hard as I could with making as little noise as possible. I hit the left side of his face, just skimming , but enough for him to lose his balance. He fell directly into the fire. And he screamed. It was loud beyond imagination, and the tone was unholy. Even with knowing what they had done, I couldn't help but regret. The screaming was an excellent cover for switching positions, and I moved right to get behind the leaders' back. The leader of the group didn't even try to help him; It was probably a wise choice, because if he did, I could've snuck up on him right away. I sneered at him, hidden behind a large pine trunk, disgusted by his behavior.

The screams died down, and the smell of charred flesh, mixed with burnt hair, spread. The leader was now very wary, gazing around, mostly trailing the edge of the forest. I grabbed another rock, a small one, and threw it in a high arc through a hole in the branches as he turned away from me. It landed where I wanted it to, Into the forest, into his field of view. It seems that today is my lucky day. The rock startled some critters, creating additional racket. The leader shouted: "Who goes there?" The shout echoed in the night, critters still moving and making noise. I crept towards the leader from the forest. He wasn't far from the edge, standing with his knees bent, ready to move, next to the fire, with his sword in his right hand. My luck however ran out. Typical. I stepped onto a small branch, hidden by snow. It was almost classic, a branch cracking and attracting attention. He started turning towards me, I started to sprint, and kicked him in the side with the full force of my body behind the kick. He spun around once was thrown onto his back, next to the fire. I grabbed my combat knife, and with my left hand, held him down at stabbed him right in the middle of his throat. The small links of the chain mail covering his neck broke, slowing the knife down only by a fraction as it sank deep into him. This time I didn't make the mistake of looking him in the eyes, and kept my own locked to his neck. He reached for the knife with his hand, trying futilely to do something about the knife in his throat. His head fell. Lying on his back on the ground, half of him was painted in orange, flickering light, and the other half was kept in darkness. His neck was soaked in bright red blood, and so was the snow under him. I pulled my knife from his neck, and examined it. It was of fine make, the handle covered in rubber for a good grip, with the hand guard extending a bit to the both side of the blade. The Blade itself was matte black, seven inches long high-carbon steel coated with Teflon and dripping with steaming blood. It was sharpened on both sides, with a bit of serration on the back. I wiped the blade clean in his pants.

It seemed oddly peaceful. The critters had calmed was beautiful; calm night, moon shining lightly, snow glittering in the cold light. Then my gaze went back to the bodies. No matter how many times I was forced to kill, by whatever or for my country, I always hated it. I can't stand seeing the life slip away from the eyes of my victims, or feeling the recoil of a gun on my shoulder, knowing that the bullet is likely to end another life. Except for now. I had no regrets for ending these persons, who probably had nothing left except for each other, just trying to survive the winter. I grew afraid of myself. "What am I turning into?" My mind set on to clear the last few events from my memories, but instead sunk deeper into them.

I am not originally of this dimension, world, or whatever you like calling it. I was serving in Afghanistan during a terrorist attack as a recon specialist. I have always been branded weird, not being interested in things like dating or clothes. I had few hobbies and only had a very small circle of friends. The rest of friends consisted of guys and a few girls I met online, but had never seen in real life. Eventually went to army, and none of my friends followed, choosing civil service, delaying, simply ending up elsewhere, and one outright refusing. The training was grueling, but I thrived and got stuck in sniper training. So, I ended up with a M98B Barrett .338 on my back and a slightly modified version of the standard desert uniform. My face was also mostly covered by a dark gray balaclava, only my eyes and the area around them remaining uncovered.

As I served in Afghanistan, my primary method of spending, or sometimes wasting, time was driving unmanned aerial vehicles, or UAVs. The rest of my battalion mates started referring to me as "Tactical Wall Hack", testament to the numerous surveillance equipment carried upon the UAVs. It had everything a team could dream of: A camera that could in addition to normal light, also receive Infrared, Night vision, even Ultra-violet. Add a large zoom, laser designator, and on top of those, a motion sensor. Then my orders changed, and I was called to serve as a sniper. That's when I got my first real kills, and first real regrets. Even through the scope, I still saw the faces of the soldiers that I shot and sometimes the faces their squad mates, looking horrified, startled, and once even happy, among others. I hated it, but it had to be done. To save my friends and comrades, I'd do practically anything.

So how did I end up in this primitive country? I got shot, or more like blown apart. The last memory of my time in the city was that of a barrel of a T-72 Main Battle Tank pointing at the window from which I was shooting from. I knew this was it; .338 couldn't do anything to that thing, except for scratching the paint, and I didn't have time to get up. I saw a flash, and nothing. No blackness, whiteness or any other color. Just nothing.

I had woken up in this infernally large plain, still crouched and holding my rifle ready to shoot from a window, as if I hadn't moved at all. I released a slow breath and dropped my rifle. I started shaking and ended up on my butt, sitting. It was rather hard to comprehend what had just happened. I stood up quickly, the ground was freezing cold. Wasn't I just in a boiling hot desert? I grabbed my rifle and slung it to my back. In every single direction was just more and more grass, covered in lightly snow. And to the west, in the distance I could make out the forms of mountains. I set towards them, walking across the plains. Every now and then there'd be a small shrub, or a small iced over puddle. Mostly it was plains. It was boring as hell. But Hell probably isn't that boring with the torture and all. I sank into my thoughts. As I walked towards the mountain range I noticed a forest, just barely. The surface of earth starts curving noticeably away at around 5km, so the forest was likely only a bit farther than 5km away, I thought. I started checking my equipment. I had, like I said, a modified version of the standard kit. I had a Glock 17 strapped to my right leg in an adjustable pistol holster, and an assault backpack strapped onto my back, with the rifle hanging on to the side. In the pack, I had rations for seven days and a shitload of ammo. On my torso I had a vest with multiple pockets holding eight magazines for the sniper, four for the pistol, two fragmentation grenades, two flashbangs, a holster for my knife, and an auxiliary pocket with a map, my radio, compass, GPS and name tags on the Velcro-covered surface. Of course, the 6kgs of SAPI armor plates were included with the vest, bringing the weight to 10Kg. Adding in the pack, the rifle and the pistol, the total weight was closer 25Kg.

The electronics didn't work. This was bad, very very bad. No contact to anyone. I carried on walking, swearing lightly under my breath. Soon I fell into a trance, called "the flow". I thought about my death and how amazingly well I was taking it. How would everyone be back at home? How would my friends feel? Would I ever get so see my computer again? It was surreal,odd. My emotions seemed distant and clouded, unlike normal when my emotions were constantly in the surface, even though covered up. Time passed quickly, and soon it was dusk. The sunset was beautiful as the last rays of light shone from the mountains. I ate some rations and took out a rolled-up mattress. It took me a small forever to fall asleep, but eventually I did.

I woke up in the morning to hear something walking a distance away. I carefully rose up, and peeked over the tall grass. Two people were on horseback, walking along a road that was barely distinguishable from this distance, next to the forest. An old man with balding head, dressed in a blackish leather clothes with a cloak over him, and a young boy, maybe fifteen, with him, dressed in similar gear. Both had a heavy-looking backpack, and the old man had a long package strapped onto his pack. They both also had weapons. The old man had a sword, in a scabbard, hanging from his belt, with only the handle and a bit of the scabbard being visible from under the cloak. The boy had a bow and a quiver of arrows, with a long knife at his side.

The boy was what had caught my attention. He had short brown hair, was young, and holding a floating stone in his hand, his palm shining in the dim morning light like a beacon. "What the hell?" I said very lightly, under my breath. That, if something, was weird. But apparently I said it too loud, as the older man turned to my direction. I ducked slowly, hoping that the grass would hide my silhouette. Luck was on my side, once again, and he continued riding along with the boy. Instead of standing up, and continuing my journey, I began to think. These two reminded me of something. Then, I heard a loud, low, teeth-jarring "THUMP", several times in a rapid succession, getting louder and louder. I took my rifle and raised it to my eye as a makeshift telescope. In the distance, the boy had dismounted his horse and was walking to the side. And then a fucking dragon landed next to him, and he climbed onto a saddle in its back. A big, blue dragon. With a saddle. I fainted.

When I regained consciousness, dusk was already falling. I had to get shelter and probably food soon. The rations weren't going to last forever. I began walking towards the forest, and thought about what I had seen. The stone and the dragon... Inheritance cycle. More specifically, Eragon. So I had died, woken up in a book. Or a movie. Please let it be the book, please...

I snapped out of my memories. I still needed food and shelter, I couldn't get distracted now. So I looted the bandits, as they had the family. They didn't have much, only a small bag of coins, and some bread with strips of meat packed in paper. Still, better than nothing. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with 20 golden, or brass, coins. I resolved to burn that bridge once I come across it, and concentrated on the more important things. The bodies must be disposed of, and I dumped them under a spruce and was done with it. The blood was covered with snow to hide the worst of it. I took one of the mattress, and laid down by the fire, ready to sleep. It was hard to fall asleep as every single sound was magnified, and the howling in the distance didn't sound too good either.

Sleep didn't last long. I woke up, in the middle of the night. The fire was nothing more but a pile of embers, emitting a slight crack every now and then. I threw some wood onto the embers that the bandits had fetched before. I scanned my surrounding, doing slow rotations. A light closing in on my position from the fields. I grabbed my Glock in my right hand and my knife in my left hand. I pointed the gun towards the light, and held he knife under the gun, blade pointing forwards. The light was moving jerkily; speeding up and slowing down, wobbling from side to side. The light split into one large ball, with smaller particles orbiting it. It was now close enough for me to hear a slight, constant tingling noise. "A Spirit", I quietly remarked to myself, and holstered my weapons. It came closer, until it was right in front of me. It shrunk down to a size of a tennis ball, and switched to purple color. The smaller particles of the spirit started spinning around it, and flared out in a firework-like pattern. And then they fell back towards the ground, accelerating, right towards me. "Well fuck." Was all I could say before the particles hit me. It felt kind of nice, and warm. Then the visions assaulted me. The Spirit showed me its life. I could see flashes of life from various instances across ages. I saw him growing up in a farm, finding a girl in the annual dance festival, troubles, and other. He had had two children, a boy and a girl. Their mother died at childbirth of the younger girl, and he was devastated. But even with all the things life threw at him, he pushed on. Life went on, until it started throwing arrows at him. Déjà vu. This was the spirit of the father who was shot by bandits.

The visions faded, and reality slowly took place. He was still floating in the same place, and the particles were back, orbiting it - him. I reached out to touch the spirit, lifting my right hand to his side, if he had a side anymore. I was close to touching him and a bolt of lightning snapped out of the orb, and struck my hand. "Okay, I won't touch!" I said quickly, but the damage was apparently done. He retreated a bit, changed to a red color, then back to purple and then to blue. And then he started hurling towards me at an alarming speed. I walked backwards, and stumbled on the rock I threw at the second bandit earlier. I took the impact of falling with my left hand, jarring it, and lifted my open right towards the spirit. It flew right intomy hand, through the glove, and I could feel warmth coursing within my hand, spreading; it actually felt kind of nice. Then it changed. The whole warmth in my right hand, and the side of my chest, switched to ice cold. And then it was burning hot. Then it reached my head. The pain was extreme, and I fell. I was distantly aware of my helmet rolling from my head, and my knees hitting the ground. Everything disappeared.

I could see myself. My life was rolling infront of my eyes, like a movie. I watched myself live from a window, with the spirit particles flowing around, weaving complex patterns and leaving glowing trails in all the colors of a rainbow. The film finally reached current events after rolling through my entire life, and the particles changed to red. I guess the spirit didn't like what it saw; All the scenes of death lingered a bit longer than others. Sharp pain. Blackness swam into my vision, cloaking everything in cold, cold darkness.

The birds were chirping. I slowly opened my eyes, and the world swam into my vision. I quickly got up, and fell down right after to ground, as blackness slowly threatened to envelop my field of view. "Shit…" I muttered under my breath. My heart couldn't keep up with such rapid movement right after waking up, damned low blood pressure. I slowly rose, and sat on my helmet. I closed my eyes, dropped my backpack behind me onto the ground with a thud, rifle clattering beside it, and pulled off my balaclava. My hair covered my eyes, released from the confines of the cloth. I rolled my shoulders and massaged my skull. It was very tender and sensitive. I opened my eyes, only to see white. Why was it white? Sure, the ground was covered by snow, but I wasn't looking at it. And my hair wasn't white. I started panicking and grabbed my aux pocket, hands shaking, and ripped it open. I took my GPS. Even though it had no power, the blank screen could be used as a mirror. My hair was a very pale shade of blonde, almost white. My light gray eyes stared back at me; at least something had stayed as it was. My pale face stared back at me. "Pale..." Were I sick or something? I wiped my face clean with my free gloved hand to get rid of the dirt, dust and ash around my eyes, the area that wasn't covered before by the balaclava. I stared at the glove. It was supposed to be light brown. It had turned white, with the padding on the back of it staying black, even though being slightly frosted over. The left glove was still normal.

I began to lose control. I stood up, knocking my helmet over. My breath hitched, and I was shaking as I stared at the GPS, which was slowly frosting over, hiding my reflection. I dropped it. I lifted my shaking hands before my eyes and slowly removed the gloves. My hands were pale. Not healthily tanned. Ice spread in a circle from my feet. I rolled up my sleeves. Pale. All my anxiety and fear, and everything else that was bottled up since my "death", was released in an uncontrollable blast. Spikes of ice burst hungrily outwards, glittering with blue particles. Freezing winds started to pick up and the sky was being covered in clouds. "The fuck is going on in here!" I shouted in to the heavens, high and clear, startling the nearby animals and sending them darting away. Everything went blank.

As I slowly regained control, and vision, I quickly picked up my gloves and slipped them back on. I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. And Again, and again. "Conceal, don't feel. Conceal, don't feel..."The storm calmed down with me, and I saw spikes of ice. I turned around only to see more spikes. I grabbed one of them with both hands and tried to break it off, braced myself against the base with my foot and pulled harder, whacked it with the handle of my pistol. No matter how I tried, it didn't even budge. I looked towards the tip of it. Maybe two and a half meters from the ground up was my helmet, impaled on it with the spike going clean through the hard composites. "I really hope this works." I thought, grabbed my pistol, covered my face and shot once at the spike. Shards flew everywhere, one of them embedding itself on the padding on the back of my glove. I looked at the ice, and didn't find a single fault in it. On the padding, was a shard of metal. No marks, no cracks or dents could be seen; Just smooth, clear, beautiful, light blue ice. I had trapped myself in an impenetrable cage of deadly sharp, sparkling spikes of ice. The wind was picking up again.

Fuck.