In his primary years as a winter spirit, he managed to end up in several places where a snowy season never appeared. Sure, it did become colder in these areas, but that task didn't tend to require his presence. He merely asked the wind to carry his chilled breath and went of on his merry way (later on, he would learn this was not the entire story).

One such instance was when he found himself flying high over an expansive sandy environment. Washed in moonlight, the dunes had first appeared to be vast waves in a rolling ocean; a closer look as he swooped down towards the surface corrected his initial belief. He experimentally placed one foot lightly on the sand, and when the surrounding silence was the only response, he shifted his weight to stand fully upright.

The clear horizon drew his gaze. Unconsciously, Jack relaxed his arm, and his staff tapped the sand beneath them. He yelped in horrified surprise as the surface immediately around him turned into a sheet of ice.

"What are you doing to my desert?"

Jack yelped again and spun in the direction of the vexed voice. "What the f-"

"Be polite." She ordered playfully (but he did as she said anyways and didn't swear.

"Sorry," he said, referencing both his slip up and the sheet of ice that he stood on top of. He instinctively recognized the stranger to be a very ancient spirit, especially in comparison to him. She was gorgeous: her black hair shone like obsidian against the light, silky materials that covered her from her neck to her wrists and ankles. Her eyes gleamed like the golden necklace and earrings that contrasted well with her tanned skin.

The woman narrowed her eyes in confusion as she stared at him. "You're a winter sprite."

"Spirit," he corrected. "The sprites are much smaller."

"It's been a while," she shrugged, causing her long, tied-back hair to sway side to side. "Well then, Mister Winter Spirit, what brings you this far south?"

Jack looked down at his feet in embarrassment. "I'm not very good at riding the wind yet."

The spirit laughed. "Clearly." She stepped forward slightly with a kind smile. "Don't worry. You'll get the hang of it."

"Thanks, ma'am."

"You're quite young, aren't you?" She asked, surveying him more closely, her irises gleaming golden in the moonlight. Jack nodded in confirmation.

"Name's Jack Frost; I think I'm approaching my first decade."

The other spirit looked mildly surprised. "As-salāmu ʿalayka, Jack Frost. I am the guardian of these desert lands and all who travel them."

He frowned in slight confusion. "No offense, but what should I call you? That whole 'guardian' thing is a mouthful."

Her soft laughter filled the still air. "It's been a while since anyone has used it, but you can call me Jasmine." Her smile hinted at a multitude of bittersweet memories that existed with the name. "It's the name I was given before all of this," she said, gesturing at herself although clearly referring to her spirit form.

"Oh," was all Jack could manage to say. The mention of her past life only brought up the anguish he felt at his lack of any memories before being the winter spirit.

"Is something wrong?"

"I can't remember anything before the Moon turned me into a spirit," Jack muttered sullenly. His grip tightened on his staff, causing the temperature to drop.

Jasmine hummed in understanding. "You would not have been chosen if you lacked greatness," she consoled, moving to place a hand reassuringly on his arm. "Live for the present with the knowledge you are worthy, and accept the past when it returns to you."

That advice kept him going during his more troubled times (and after the whole Pitch thing, he was rightfully scolded by the ancient spirit for forgetting it).