The day he died, Jackson Overland remembered not the cold grip of the pond water seizing his lungs, but the watery image of Emily mouthing frantic words at him through the distorted lens of the ice. He tried smiling at her to tell her it was okay and everything would be okay if she stayed safe, but the cold had numbed his face and limbs, and stopped his heart. They'd been skating on the pond near their town and Emily got too close to where the ice was thin. As the delicate, razor thin ice split underneath her, Jack called out to her.
"Emily, we're going to play a game, okay?" Emily, stricken with fear looked incredulously at her brother. "No, I'm scared, Jackson. A game? What are you saying right now?!"
"Just trust me! Have I ever lied to you?"
"Yes! All the time!" She yelped as the ice split again, this time a thundering crack that gushed water onto her skates.
"Trust me! It'll be just like scotch-hop. On the count of three, you jump and the farther you can go, the more points you win, alright? I'll treat you to the berry preserves I've been saving if you win." Emily nodded and he counted down slowly. She jumped and, with a desperate cry, realized she wasn't going to make it far enough. Grabbing a branch near by in a split second reaction, he pulled her to safety, launching himself forward to gain enough leverage. It all went down faster from there in a flurry of brown hair and snow. The last thing he remembered was Emily's face looking down at him.
Dying was painful, excruciatingly so, and as the darkness pressed against his consciousness, Jack could feel something reaching out to him. The vice-like grip of the cold water turned gentle and caressing, like a cat's tongue, and seemed to gather him into a motherly embrace. The cold ceased to be as his body changed and ice replaced warm blood. He didn't know how long he'd been under, but a slim shaft of moonlight like a probe worming its way through his lids woke him. His eyes opened, a brilliant blue like no humans have ever possessed. The moon hovered above him and he could see it through the water as a wobbly sort of pool of light and it spoke to him. "Jack Frost," it said with whispers into his mind, "that is your name. Winter has embraced you as its child because it loved you too much for you to go into the embrace of the afterlife." Even as the voice spoke, gentle incorporeal hands pushed Jack up from the bottom of the pond and towards the surface, cradled in a bed of powdery snow. He stared on at the moon, listening for more. "Winter steward, seek out Mother Nature and know your duty," and that was all.
Jack stood, wobbly on new legs, and noticed he held the branch, a curious thing shaped like a shepherd's crook, still in his hand clutched in a death grip. Gusts of wind swirled around him as he inspected himself, wondering just how it was that he still lived. Whispers of things brushed by his ears like sweet nothings that gradually started to form words. The winds spoke to him, many child like things, but many advisory things. You are the Winter Steward. You control the ice and snow. Experimentally, Jack tapped the shepherd's crook against the ice of the pond. Blue light emanated from his hands and travelled down the stick with quicksilver speed and fluidity, forming icy fractals along the snow. Elated with the rush of excitement it brought, he did more, calling the snow from the sky and holding out his hands, decorating the forest with ice and frost. The winds took him up and started to teach him flight, taking him by the hand and guiding him to the sky. After a few minutes in the air, he spotted his settlement and started to remember.
Emily, his mind said, I must find Emily. Suddenly fixated, he floundered in the air and implored the winds to take him to his home, where his family waited. When he touched down by his family's makeshift cabin, he found the whole town gathered by the well in the center of town. The dozen families that made up the small settlement stood in a huddled group. In the center burned a fire that lit up the solemn faces of his family. A pastor read from the bible as his parents looked unseeing into the fire. Who died, he wondered, and crept closer to hear what the pastor was saying.
"...while there is no body, we must remember that he was once a dutiful son and hope that his was one of the souls destined for salvation." The pastor crossed himself and bowed his head. The congregation followed his example and bowed their heads, faces grave. His sister cried noiselessly and seemed aloof to the pastor's voice. It's me, he realized, I died and this is my funeral. He jumped and screamed at them, "I'm here! It's me! I'm alive! Why are you ignoring me," but they were deaf to him. Jack tried grabbing a hold of Emily to tell her he was alive, but she walked right through him. It hurt like someone punched the air out of him and he felt an icy chill that wasn't associated with the weather. Somehow, he'd become a ghost and he had to watch as the people he loved mourned him. The wind tugged at him, trying to tell him to leave the place, but he was blind with tears and grief, deafened by his own sobs.
Jack spend the next two weeks following Emily around, trying to get her to pay attention to him. He threw things, blew the wind in her face, and even frosted over all the windows in the house. She and his family associated the anomalies with the weather and he found that they ignored him still. In the third week, Jack gave up and found his way back to his pond and sat in the dark at its center with his head in his hands, defeated. The wind circled around him, tugging at him. Let us away, it said, you must learn.
"What do I need to learn? I don't know what it is I'm supposed to do. Why am I still here if no one can see me?" Jack looked around in the night sky imploringly. The moon remained silent.
"You must learn to be the Winter Steward, my child," a voice from behind said. Startled, Jack spun around defensively and saw the most beautiful woman he ever laid eyes on. She was everything and nothing all at once and her face held the look of an alien wisdom. Her hair was laced with shimmering gold and her long, graceful limbs were draped with shimmering cloth that seemed to be woven from strands of light. Jack let his guard down and asked her what she meant.
"I am Mother Nature, the person the Moon spoke of when he brought you back from the dead." She crossed the distance between them and knelt down to his level, for she was tall and seemed to float airily towards him. Touching a pale hand to his cheek, she said, "The winds tell the truth, my darling. You are not one of mine, but you are a spirit of nature. You were beloved by the Winter of this world and were chosen to become its steward. I am here to guide you in your first days as the spirit of Winter. Come, you have much to learn."
Brimming with questions, but choosing to stay silent, Jack followed.