Hello, fans of Frozen. As of yesterday, I have hit the 50-follower milestone. I would like to thank everyone who decided that they needed to see this story to the end, and I sincerely appreciate that fact from the bottom of my heart. Seriously, I love you guys. If you people were in person, I'd give you the tightest hug a kid with self-esteem issues and a habit for navel-gazing can manage.

Funnily enough, I have always, always wanted to write a sci-fi action series, fighting scenes included. Thanks to Frozen, I will probably never realize that dream. Writing for fantasy came much, much more easily to me, possibly because I have a crippling need for guidelines in a world. If I wanted to do science fiction, I would be compelled to try make it as realistic as possible while still including large combat robots, which is just not fun (for reasons known as physics, which I always founded tedious last year).

For fantasy? Just Google a little, learn a some background info, and throw everything you just learned away. A Fantasy is your world, you can set your own rules however you want it!

Chapter 6

A Stone Heart

You are really going to force Elsa and Anna to fight it in the Helheim?

The rules of the reality do not apply in the spirit. Where their magic and skills will be hardly able to touch it in Earth, that will not matter in Hel.

It's influence will spread wider.

As well as its capabilities. The demon's strength will also be less concentrated, understood?

...What about Arendelle?

...Its people must remain.

What about Kristoff?

...He must remain.

Pabbie... this is a severe gamble. Will Elsa be ready by then?

I can only hope, Helge. I can only hope.

For the first time since the sprouting of its first sapling, the forest was silent. Most animals had either wisely evacuated the premises, sensing something alien that was haunting their part of the woods now, or hid, a futile effort in the latter case. The stars have disappeared from the very sky itself, leaving an inky void above.

The Troll King found little need differentiate sound or motion to find his target tonight. He didn't have to determine between a mouse and a footstep, a deer and a man, or anything of the sort. Rather, he focused on trying to find something, anything that was an anomaly to the current, unnatural stillness of the forest.

The moon was at its highest position when Pabbie finally caught something in his eyes.

It hid behind the trees bordering Arendelle's mountains, a shadow enveloped in a deep, grey smog that spilled downwards, and washed against nearby rocks.

The Spøkelse of Ravendall took a slow step forward, its features and figure indecipherable from the dark miasma it produced. Besides a vague silhouette of something that walked upright, there appeared to be no arms, no eyes, mouth, or body. It moved as if it was underwater, ponderous and deliberate. Even more shadowy mist came forth, first desaturating the grass beneath it, then leaving behind trails of dark rust.

Pabbie tapped his staff into the ground, sending golden sparks that danced energetically on the soil around him. "You have come, monster."

I am no monster

The words were heavily modulated and full of inconsistencies, making it difficult for the shaman's ears to make simple conceptions. It was as if one had listened from one end of a hallway, and several thousand choir members from the other side decided to sing a familiar tune off-key, off-time, and off-volume, until the original melody was near-unintelligible.

"Then surely, you must have a name," the Troll King reasoned. "Otherwise, a monster you shall remain."

you blabbering pebble

you have already delayed me long enough from seeking justice with your irritating walls and wards

"'Justice' is far too heavy of a word to be used here," Pabbie chided. "You are merely pursuing a grudge with a man who is long dead, and at peace with himself."

his loathsome legacy remains

here you stand defending it

your light have splintered and mangled my hands until they were stumps

"I would have to commend you then," Pabbie said neutrally. "Not many creatures of Power are able to break them apart through sheer force alone. I expected them to last longer, even to one of your power and stature."

enough with the niceties

I knew you were trying to lead me here

As expected of the Spøkelse's intelligence; from the very beginning, the purpose of the wards was to prevent the demon from reaching Arendelle before clashing with Grand Pabbie first. The Troll King had only so much power to distribute, especially on Earth; the creature is guaranteed to break through and reach the kingdom, no matter how much energy Pabbie invested in one, two, or infinite wards. The ghost could have invaded from anywhere as a result, possibly before Grand Pabbie could intervene and buy enough time.

Instead, Pabbie had covered the landscape in a labyrinth of wards the last night, with specific weak links and points at certain locations, to force the Spøkelse to close the distance between it and Pabbie. In other words, he expected the demon to be baited into breaking the wards where they were at their weakest, instead of investing time and expense on a much more fortified section.

True, he had not intended the creature to reach him this early into the night, but he will have to make do.

The monster growled, smoke jetting out of where its torso shouldv'e been.

step aside

my quarrel is not with you

Pabbie tightened his grip on the crooked wood of his staff. "I know what you are after," his voice boomed, as crystalline as the mining harvest of the Valley, "and that is why you shall not pass." With one hand, he pointed at the monster. "Turn home, friend. For the first time in three centuries, be at peace."

what does a troll cursed with a simple facsimile of what people call their humanity would want from such pathetic mistakes

"What you call a 'simple facsimile' is how I was able to use my abilities against you," the troll rebuked. He softened his voice to one of admonishment. "And why must you call yourself a "mistake?" You are fortunate to have been blessed with the full gift yourself."

shut up

this is my last warning

"And this one is mine as well." Pabbie slammed the end of his staff to the ground. Wisps of golden light, shining brighter than the moon, sifted from the soil underneath, slithering around him like the lightest silk ribbons in a summer breeze. They were made of his magic, memories of joy and cherished moments he shared with trolls and humans alike.

With one hand, he pointed a shining quartz at the end of his stave to the figure. "Turn back, child. You have weakened yourself against my defenses, and I do not wish to see you in any more pain that you are suffering now."

In response, a hollow sound vibrated in the air, increasing in intensity. What Pabbie initially took as breaths were actually screams, long past any capabilities for vocals. Pabbie's large ears started twitching in irritation, and he covered them with his stone hands, as the Earth began to rumble beneath his bare feet. The trees behind the Spøkelse rustled wildly, shaking leaves down as thickly as snowfall.

The disturbances arrested immediately, and the Spøkelse roared, erupting rust-colored exhaust violently from its entire being, until its vague silhouette was no more. The Spøkelse, now a miniature typhoon of foul air, whirled around Pabbie in a twisted ring, the eye of the miniature hurricane. Lifting his staff's light up for a better view, Pabbie could see vague faces against the light from within the smoke, howling in fury until their voices were indistinguishable from a gale.

The Troll King turned and stepped in place, his beady eyes darting from side-to-side for an attack. He heard the straining of a bowstring, and spun in its direction, his moss cape swishing in the air.

A crossbow bolt, colored so dark it was more black than auburn, buried itself in Pabbie's staff. It hit with a quiet "thunk", and vibrated in place. There was something unpleasant about its shape. Or perhaps, what was inside it...

The shaman cautiously tapped the bolt with his finger, and felt a repulsive sensation grip his heart, as if a chunk of ice, slow to thaw, had settled in his chest. There were faint, unfamiliar images and voices pressing against his mind as well, but Pabbie's stone heart dulled much of their clarity and edge. Even so, the troll understood the source.

Memories.

Until then, Pabbie had been maintaining his poise as he dealt with the creature. He knew it was a truly pitiful thing to exist, one who actively refused to part the world in its death. It was furious at the world for the cruel hands of fate that had toyed with its life, and now seeks blind revenge while absorbing others in its hate.

Such spirit of the Spøkelse of Ravendall's type, if not caliber, needed consolidation.

But...

"These bolts..." He focused golden light, his distilled pride, around his hand to form a gauntlet. Pabbie grasped onto the projectile fully, crushing it in his hands. The weapon splintered into pieces, and caught yellow flames before burning away into nothingness. "They're are made of the memories and despair of your victims!"

Memory Magic had always been Grand Pabbie's forte for centuries; he spent scores of years perfecting the enchantments when he was still a wee little troll, until he was so capable of mental operations, with such deft skill and ease, he could bypass the incompatibility between trolls and the rest of the world's inhabitants. It did not matter if he had to work on a human, a golem, a Fae, or even a mountain; he trained until such little things like separate species did not matter. He was even able share memories and emotions just from mere skin contact.

Thanks to his specialty, the Troll King had assisted hundreds of people; trolls, monsters, and humans alike. Those who came to seek him in the Valley of the Living Rock earned his assistance without pay. He would heal battle-weary soldiers, victims cursed to see things that were not meant to be, lift trauma, and replace tragedy with love and happiness. He cannot calm the minds of everyone who asked for his aid, but he could at least alleviate some of their pain, make their internal struggles easier to overcome.

For Pabbie, the mind was sacred and fragile; it was The Troll King's job to maintain its sanctity, and clear out the nightmares and curses that could threaten it.

To see the Magic of Memories, an art he used for his entire long, long life, centuries upon centuries of use for healing and joy, perverted into a dark weapon for evil, repurposed to maim instead of love, to strike fear and despair to their targets until they lose all hope and sense of being... The Troll King's hand shook with silent fury, his mane bristling with this grave insult. The Spøkelse sickened him.

Pabbie was no longer in a mood to banter. With his words, he made a direct attack at the monster. "I know who you are. This is, after all, your iron."

Even more bolts shot out from the fog. Grand Pabbie coated his entire staff in light, and twirled it like a baton. The arrows bounced away harmlessly, bursting into even more cinders that will show no trace of their existence. From the corner of his eye, he saw the darkly auburn glint of a blade from within the smog. Pabbie alternated on one stone foot, and darted to the side in a roll before an iron spear, elongated and cruel, pierced the space where the King had stood on.

you know you cannot fight once the sun begins to rise

Grand Pabbie contemptuously crushed the scorched spear in his hand with ease. "If that will be the time that I leave from this world, I would gladly fight on until I'm nothing but rubble."

I cannot allow that

From within the rust-colored vortex emerged a figure, clad in a simple plate armor that shone wickedly in the moonlight above. It was tall, taller than any human Pabbie had ever seen before, if he could call it that anymore. When it drew closer, Pabbie could see that there were things inside the openings of its outfit, too obscured by a shroud of unpleasantly grey smoke. It breathed audibly, puffing out a dully grey mist from the visors of is helm. In the Spøkelse's gloved hand was another spear, a massive and dreadful thing whose blade curled at odd angles.

The creature spun the weapon once in his hand, and thrust at the troll, faster than the human eye could see, a slight "pop" accompanying the jab. Dust kicked upwards in a wave, by force of the impact from iron against stone flesh. The Spøkelse of Ravendall snarled, knowing his weapon had reached its mark. The dirt clouds finally settled, and...

There the Troll King stood, strong and defiant, his right hand gripping hard on his staff, and his left intercepting the spear's blade. Its vicious point had struck Pabbie right in the middle of his palm, piercing his stone skin, and the little being winced. Not out of pain from the injury, but from even more memories worming its way into his heart. It was only because of the natural incompatibility between humans and trolls that he could continue his mental processes.

The Spøkelse pushed the blade harder into the shaman, its armored fingers motioning to twist deeper.

even something like you would not try to buy time unless

ah

you believe you have a plan that can defeat me

Grand Pabbie creased his eyes, but said nothing.

if you had them run

I will hunt them down

one by one

until no more can people scream

until no more can humans voice out their curses and despair

until no more can little children breathe to cry

Prince Adam's hard work is mine to exterminate

"You've hurt him, you know," the Troll King said quietly, soft compassion weighing on his eyelids.

shut up

he was one who commenced this hatred first

Pabbie's voice grew harder. "Ah, you're acting more like the wounded child you-"

I cannot believe I am wasting my time talking to you

The shadowed figure twisted his waist, jerking his armored upper body hard to the right. Pabbie's heavy body was thrown off of his feet with ease, and he stopped himself from tumbling by prostrating on all fours. His staff tumbled a fair distance away, the crystals lights adorning it winking in and out of existence, until all of the glow was gone.

you are not affected by my fog

I cannot hurt you

The monster kicked the troll over, flipping Pabbie upside so he was facing the sky. He raised an armored hand, which dissolved back into a vague shadow that somehow stood out against the night sky. It exhumed even more thick smog than before.

I am just going to have to read you

The Spøkelse shadowed hand dove with terrible grace, streaming ash behind it in a neat arc, and plunged its way into Grand Pabbie's chest.

Pabbie was no longer in battle with an angry demon.

He was sleeping back in the Valley of the Living Rock, at the very center of his comfortable home. He was awoken by his fellow trolls and young grandchildren, all of them babbling something about the King.

The memory of Akthar's father was what snapped Pabbie awake instantaneously. He hurriedly snapped his cape on, and rolled towards the waiting Royal Family. Immediately, he could sense that something was wrong; an unnatural chill had hung in the air, especially around the King's two young daughters.

After he had done what he could for poor young Anna, he turned to her older sister, Elsa. The one who was born with Winter at her beck and call.

"Listen to me, Elsa, your power will only grow." He raised his arms to call forth lights, made of the memories he had removed from Anna, and his own understanding of human nature. Everyone present could see the silhouette of a beautiful woman, surrounded by an adoring audience; the projections looked at the lady in awe as she called forth a massive snowflake that floated gracefully in the air.

"There is beauty in your magic... But also great danger."

The snowflake became spiked and jagged, red light bursting outward like lightning in a thunderstorm. The troll shaman could see young Elsa's gasp fearfully in the scarlet flashes. The projection of the audience became twisted and red as well; they swarmed upon the young woman until she vanished.

"You must learn to control it. Fear will be your enemy." Pabbie grimaced. He knew all too well about human fear and witch hunts, although the care of Elsa's parents might suggest that attitude was losing its foothold. Young Elsa hugged closer to her father's chest for protection.

"No," King Akthar said, remaining as determined and resolute as Pabbie remembered him since he was a small, foolhardy child. "We'll protect her. I'm sure."

The Troll King watched the Royal Family with the rest of his companions, as they mounted onto their horses and rode off into the darkness of the forest and night. He could hear the trolls besides him discussing about this sudden visit, some more concerned than others. However...

Something was severely wrong. A tiny little figure stood alone, desolate and sad. Pabbie could hear tiny, weak sobs, and the girl quaked and shivered with sadness and fear. Frost spread out from her feet, covering the stone and moss floor in sharp needles of ice.

Why on Earth would they leave Elsa here?

The Troll King looked around in confusion, realizing the rest of his troll family had vanished. There was no one in Valley besides him, and the girl. The silence was only broken by the Little Elsa's crying.

Pabbie walked forwards slowly and cautiously, ignoring the icy needles beneath his feet. They are made of stone, after all. Elsa showed any signs of noticing him.

Grand Pabbie tugged on Elsa's hand, and immediately recoiled. A chip of ice had emerged from the contact, which bloomed into a thick coating of frost that spread its way up the shaman's arm. He tried scratching it off desperately, sending chilly petals sprinkling to the ground, but more and more ice encased his rock skin, creeping its way into his body.

Elsa turned, and both troll and human stared at each other, eyes wide in horror. Elsa's hair sprouted outwards, until they were a tangled platinum mess that fell down her back. Her face elongated and morphed into that of the Queen's features, albeit one that was agape in pure, feral terror. Her startlingly icy blue eyes were wet with bulbous tears. Elsa grew in size and height, moaning horribly in pain. She clutched at her chest, shaking herself violently from one side to the other. The fabric of the child's clothing was straining and stretching, trying in vain to fit the growing girl.

She writhed, and her garments split and tore apart at the seams. Elsa frantically clutched onto the rags in an attempt to cover herself, her eyes darting back and forth in anxious paranoia. She transformed into a naked, frail shadow of what she could have been; an absolutely stunning and gifted woman. She couldn't be considered one though; she was just too hurt and shattered for her beauty to show.

Grand Pabbie's body was completed trapped in ice now, a tomb to represent his failure to help the one who would have needed him the most. He watched Elsa helplessly as she gave a subdued yelp of terror at him, and scrambled out into the darkness beyond, her rags flapping in the wind.

Pabbie stood alone in his Valley now, alone, voiceless, and serving penance for his poor prediction and neglect.

The Troll King opened his eyes, and woke up back in his home, once more. He scratched his nose, idly noticing that there was no ice limiting his movement anymore.

"Grand Pabbie! Pabbie!" he heard his grandchildren cry. "Kristoff brought a girl home! Isn't that neat! I think he wants to ask you to bless their marriage!"

"Alright, alright," Pabbie groaned. "I'm up, I'm-"

Pabbie's wild hair stood on its ends. The air... it's been thirteen years...

Pabbie rushed as quickly as his age will let him, the Aurora Borealis shining above him as he rolled. He heard the distant singing of his family, no doubt to encourage Kristoff and the lucky woman to marry. Even so... there's strange magic going on in here. He must find out what was disturbing him.

Pabbie stopped himself on a steep hilltop to observe the cheerful chaos below. His family had truly pulled out all of the stops for this one, as they were doing full choreography, flowers, and wedding props. They even dressed Kristoff and his lady with two traditional troll wedding outfits, fitted for humans. Where they had produced the measurements and tailoring in such a short time, Pabbie was not too sure.

The trolls have placed the couple at the wedding altar in plain view, and Pabbie's heart plunged into despair. This woman, whose hair was partially red and white...

It couldn't be. It just can't. Years of good judgement... If she truly was what Pabbie thought she was, then Pabbie would never forgive himself.

He rolled to the center of the valley, where his family had dug a trough for Kristoff and the woman to marry in. In front of the couple, Pabbie stopped on his feet, and his heart sank even lower; she was only five at the time, but he recognized her as Princess Anna, of Arendelle. She had become a beautiful lady, one who vibrated with life, and strained to keep a smile going with her eyes and rosy freckled cheeks, despite her weakened body. In any other situation, he would have remarked that she would make a good spouse for his Kristoff.

Once again, in spite of all the precautions, all of his experience, Anna had been cursed with ice magic. She was exhausted, and Pabbie could see the formation of a white snowflake in her blue irises, a stark contrast to what remained of her fiery red hair. He held Anna's shivering, ice-cold hands in his, forming an empathetic connection as was his usual diagnosis. He felt its chill pierce his own heart, in another body.

No, no. No, please! This cannot be true!

His worst fear has been realized. After thirteen year, despite what he believed to be the correct advice and recommendations, Elsa was not able to control her magic. For the first time since he became King, Pabbie's knowledge and experience had failed him. Right in front of him, an innocent young Princess freezing to a cruel death, was the grave price of his sins.

"Anna," he said, his chest heavy with both Anna's internal suffering, and his own. He just couldn't believe... and here she was. "Your life is in great danger. There is ice in your heart, put there by your sister." He almost crumbled into dry sobs as he continued, terribly regretful for what he has done. "If not removed, to solid ice will you freeze, forever."

His mind raced with every possible method for recovery, but he has only ever learned of only one, vague solution, one that likely was the only cure.

"What...? No."

Kristoff, his beautiful, brave, adoptive human grandson, panicked. It never suited his usually cool and collected features. "So remove it, Grand Pabbie."

What the Troll King said next nearly destroyed him, made him curse himself for being such a weak, incapable, moronic old fool. Pabbie explained, "I can't. If it was her head, that would be easy. But only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart."

As the trolls, Anna, and Kristoff considered the logistics of True Love, Pabbie's head was filled with dark shame. He had failed the late King and Queen. He had failed Elsa, who was fearful enough to have lost control and done this to her sister. He had failed Anna, who remained unsafe despite all of the trouble and isolation she had gone through. He might as well have cursed Anna's heart himself.

He saw Kristoff lifting Anna out of the makeshift wedding chapel. They have been talking about this Prince Hans, who Anna had been engaged to. Pabbie frowned in thought at the two. So Anna did not truly love Kristoff after all.

He watched Kristoff as he carried Anna out tenderly, and his mane suddenly stiffened in suspicion.

The man was Kristoff no longer, but a shadowy outline that continued to hold onto the Princess. There were no remarkable attributes or physical qualities about it, for Pabbie had never met this man.

As Anna slowly leaned in for a kiss, the shadow dropped her to the ground, as one would callously treat a piece of luggage, or perhaps cargo. She fell with an audible thud, shocked into silence. The shadow walked away for her has she screamed at it, confused and betrayed.

Pabbie tried to rush over to help the Princess, but he couldn't move. He looked down and saw that his body was encased in ice once more. He was lame and pathetic. The shaman could do nothing but watch as Anna huddled to herself and her cloak to maintain what little body heat she had left. But he could just leave her alone; how else can a King face himself after doing absolutely nothing right for thirteen entire years?

"Princess Anna! Just... just stay with me. You are not alone, I will be here for you," Pabbie rambled, nearly driven to madness. "Please, Anna, hold on! Help will come soon..." She did not hear him. Every shiver, every mumble, every whimper for heat stabbed Pabbie's stone heart like a mining pickaxe.

A minute passed in a slow crawl, as Pabbie was tortured again and again with the sight of the broken girl.

Finally, she succumbed to the curse; her chest was the first to turn to ice, followed by the rest of her body.

"No! Please! I'll do anything! Somebody! Help her! Anyone!" But Pabbie knew that was useless. Everything that he had ever done was fruitless as of late. Anna was now a lying ice statue, pure and utter despair expressed in her beautiful, eternally frozen face.

If I had never helped, if I had left them alone, none of this would have happened. Why did I even bother learning the art of Memories?

The floor was suddenly veiled by a grey mist that drifted, almost as if it had a mind of its own. A haunting whisper fluttered by Pabbie's ears. It sounded almost... surprised.

you placed your hopes in these desperate sad failures

your failures

you broke them

The Spøkelse! This isn't anymore a memory than it is a nightmare!

Pabbie shut his eyes, and blocked out his surroundings until he could hear, see, or feel nothing anymore.

The shaman concentrated within himself, until he stood in an empty void, without any ice entombing him. Even mired in his internal darkness, Pabbie had several decades of meditation to manage his emotions, to understand them. This was not the first crushing regrets he suffered, and they certainly won't be the last.

None of this is real. These may be my mistakes, but I can recover from them. It is not too late for me to help them. For their sake, I must escape.

Pabbie's magic relied on recollections of the past and the feelings they carry, especially those of love and happiness. It is the emotion trolls feel the strongest, after all. He focused on his most joyful memories; the ceremony that made him leader of his people, decades of singing and caring for his family, and the first night he helped someone who was not a troll. A little girl, that person was, stumbling in the woods while crying for her mother. Pabbie was very young, only age thirty-two back then, and he was looking for some fungus that he heard from his peers could enhance his magical capabilities temporarily.

Because he was still in training, he was only able to review her memories as if they were still portraits, and very fuzzy ones at that. The incompatibility of the two hearts did not help at all, rendering such memories near-worthless. The two had to determine exactly which part of the woods she had described in her mind, which way she faced at the time, retracing the girl's steps, and going in wild circles until they reached the end of the forest, a human settlement within sight. The girl kissed Pabbie on the nose out of appreciation, and waved back at him in the distance as she ran home.

He never saw that little lady again, but from that day forth, he studied harder than he ever thought he would in twenty years of tutoring, determined to help any creature that came to him for help, incompatibility be damned.

Then, he recounted another human of whom he knows very well; his beautiful grandson, Kristoff, and his friend Sven. Bulda had brought them in after the Royal Family visited the Valley. The blond little boy was jumping with utter excitement when he realized the two best friends will have a new, loving family to replace the one that was lost, years ago. Then, Pabbie remembered the pride he felt for the boy when he learned Kristoff had taken his first job as an ice harvester. The Troll King truly revered the boy gifted to his family, and celebrated for an entire night when the Valley's residents learned their adoptive boy had been taken in by the Royal Sisters, finally accepted into a home where he truly belonged.

Now, the Spøkelse of Ravendall's influence was not so overwhelming anymore. Pabbie's memories, a bright, sparkling golden flame that licked at his insides warmly, spread out in a wash of ambient light that evaporated the ghost's smoke away into oblivion. Just as Grand Pabbie was empowered by positive emotions, the demon cannot help but abhor them with every fiber of its being, its attacks and illusions included. Pabbie knew he must fight on, and make up for his past miscalculations to the Royal Sisters, of whom he owes so much.

I will not fail you this time.

Pabbie eyes snapped open, finally conscience. He was back at the borders of Arendelle once more, lying on dirt. Not too far away, the Spøkelse of Arendelle was panicking, waving its arm in pain as a golden flame burned it, chewing away armor as a fire would consume paper.

Coughing slightly and catching his breath, Grand Pabbie's alert mind instantly comprehended the reaction. Despite the armor, the weapons, and sheer power the spirit possessed, it clearly feared the emotions that drove Pabbie's magic. The monster hurriedly produced grey smoke that coated the yellow conflagration, drowning and snuffing it out with its despairing fog.

The Spøkelse noticed the Troll King coming to, and more smoke jettisoned out from its hands with gusto. It gathered around the troll shaman's body, and coalesced into hundreds of dark, iron spears, spanning from every direction. They blotted out the moonlight, forming their own pitch-black sky, complete with the glints of multiple blades that replaced the vanished stars.

I hated Adam

but he was at least a challenge

let us see how his broken little spawn fare

The Spøkelse flicked its wrist, and the many spears sank into the ground, forming a caged outline of the little troll. They interlocked messily with each other, quivering slightly from their impacts. Pabbie found himself unable to budge from his position.

Escape, before he disappears... Grand Pabbie's fingers brushed an iron auburn bar, and set it alight in yellow sparks. The fire spread quickly, charring more and more enchanted metal.

The armored spirit, taking the opportunity presented now that the Troll King was incapacitated, dissolved its form, once again becoming a grey sentient fog. It collected into a dark mass, roughly the size and shape of a small boulder, that settled gently onto the dirt. The spirit then rocketed from its position with an incredible shockwave, creating a deafening crack of sound that reverberated throughout the forest, kicking debris everywhere, bending back trees and branches, and striking Pabbie's makeshift prison, creating an incredible ringing din that mixed disagreeably with the sonic boom. Miasma streaked behind the Spøkelse as it soared over Arendelle's high mountains, a dull comet in the night sky.

Grand Pabbie watched the spirit as it made its course, and lowered his head in despair and disappointment.

Once again, the Troll King has failed. His knowledge proved useless. His limitations were too great. The night was still young. The Spøkelse was not sealed. It had won.

It would reach Arendelle within hours.

No! There's still hope!

Pabbie glanced at the staff lying on the ground. He almost never used the thing for years until today, but he crafted it with his own two hands, early into his leadership. The yellow crystals and aged wood that made up the staff were rare in quality, designed to amplify and control his magic abilities. It was what gave Pabbie a fighting chance against the Spøkelse in the first place.

The staff took the shaman nearly a decade of labor to finish and put to use.

After this sealing enchantment, he would have to spend another decade of work.

Grand Pabbie pulled himself free from the cage of spears. He ran and picked up the staff, its crystals relighted and shining bright. The troll shaman set his body and posture into a stance, and murmured in Ancient Norse. He flicked the staff in various geometric polygons and angles, then into glowing runes that remained etched into the air in front of him, before aiming the staff toward the grey comet in the dark sky.

Pabbie needed a link to the Spøkelse, to guarantee that this will work.

Without moving his staff away from the target, Pabbie swept a near-perfect circle into the dirt with his stubbed toes. He knew the Spøkelse's true identity, although it was never recorded by human memory. Grand Pabbie had to go through a lot of trouble just to hear it from a stubborn elf hermit. By speaking its name, he can direct this seal to the very heart of the darkness flying above.

This part needed no runes or incantations. All he only needed is the identification. Pabbie opened his mouth, and breathed.

"Hólmgeirr."

The Earth began to moan a deep, hallowed resonance. Golden light sprouted from the soil, the woods, the rocks, and from Pabbie himself. They snaked their way into the crystals of his staff, until the minerals shined with such brilliance and heat, The Troll King was nearly blinded by their intensity. He held tightly on the staff, which was now vibrating against his fingers from all of the energy stored within, threatening to escape his grasp.

The runes, an old poem commonly sung in the realm of Hel, spiraled and elongated, whispering their pronunciations as they whistled in the air, before collecting into the staff. A high-pitched trill, loud and sharp as a magnified birdsong, pierced the quiet of the night, and the miniature suns the shaman had restrained exploded spectacularly. Shards of yellow quartz flew in all directions, and the wood splintered into dust and shavings beneath Pabbie's hands.

As his arms lowered, what was left of his staff now useless trinkets, Pabbie watched as a dazzling lance of golden lightning, trailing sparks behind, and infused with his will to imprison, chase the smoking demon down, a harpoon for the great monster. Both vanished out of sight behind a mountain peak.

"I'm sorry, child," Grand Pabbie spoke sadly, exhausted. The stars, now uninhibited by dark magic, returned to dotting the night with their twinkling brightness. "From now on, you will have carry out your misguided efforts on foot." He looked up at the skies to determine the time, pinching a yellow crystal on his necklace. It was cut from a much larger piece, its sister located a few hundred miles away, in Arendelle's Royal Castle.

The Spolkese is now locked in Helheim.

My role in this plan is done.

The Royal Family will have two days left, not three.

Would you guys kindly review on this chapter, please? I'm serious this time. Not that I want to ruin anything, but this is essentially a preview into what you can expect of soon. Still plenty of fluff! You can guarantee that, but yeah, this is important.

I need to know every way possible to improve this thing, or else this will defeat my entire purpose for writing this story. So please, please review, like, or fav. Doesn't matter if you don't have an account, I need some advice and encouragement.

See you guys soon, fans of Frozen.