So I spend ages planning out this fic to a frankly ridiculous level of detail so that I can actually get it out at a decent pace, and what do I do this week? I throw in an entirely new chapter that never even came up in the planning.

Ingressus woke from a dream about polar bears to the earthy smell of burning netherrack. He had never quite gotten used to the smell, ever since Galleous set up the stuff for fireplaces to ward off the cold that had settled over Ataraxia the week before. It smelled like a combination of smoke and dirt and lava, the sharp kind of smell that poked at your nose like cactus needles. But beneath the scent of the underworld dirt there was something else to the air; a taste, a smell, a feeling, or some combination of all three, familiar but nearly forgotten after four years in Ataraxia.

He sat up and walked to the balcony, looking out over Ataraxia and grinning at what he saw. Oh, yes. Today would be a good day.

His mood high, he went out to the forge and made himself breakfast. A pair of stray cats had wandered into the forge overnight: the gray-and-white one was curled up on Galleous's worktable, and the cream-colored one was right on the edge of the lava basin.

Ingressus kept one eye on them as he dug his food out of the chest. He knew the cream cat didn't like him much– he had tried to pet it once and it had taken a slash at his hand– but still, right beside a pool of lava was a hazardous place to sleep, even if it was warm. But though the cat shifted slightly in its dreams, it never came close enough to the molten rock that Ingressus thought he'd need to rescue it.

It was another hour before Galleous left his room, trudging grumpily out from his room with a blanket still wrapped around him. He shuffled to the food chest and pulled out some breakfast, then sat down at the edge of the lava basin to eat, idly scratching the cat's head.

"Morning," he muttered to Ingressus.

"Good morning."

"You look happy," Galleous observed, then narrowed his eyes. "No. Smug. Is there something I should know?"

"Have you seen outside yet?"

Galleous gave Ingressus a suspicious look. "No…"

Ingressus nodded to the cave entrance. "Go have a look."

Galleous eyed Ingressus, but got up and wrapped the blanket tighter around himself as he walked to the entrance. A minute later a loud groan echoed back through the caves.

Well. That was dramatic. Ingressus knew that Galleous didn't like the cold, but there was barely any snow on the ground; he had checked.

"You owe me three days off of chores," he said as Galleous slouched back into the forge.

"Yeah, yeah," Galleous muttered. "How did you know this was coming?"

"We got snowstorms all the time in the Barrier Mountains," Ingressus told him. "You learn the signs."

"Ataraxia doesn't get snow," Galleous muttered, sitting down by the lava basin again.

"What kind of mountains don't get snow?"

"Mountains further south than Northwind," Galleous pointed out. "Point of evidence: this is the first time it's snowed since you got here."

"You can't argue the snow into melting, you know."

"I know," Galleous sighed, standing up. "I'm going back to bed until it does."

"Your loss."

"I'll get over it," Galleous said as he shuffled back to his room. "Have fun, do whatever it is you do with snow. I'll see you when it's warm again."

If weather patterns in Ataraxia worked the same way as ones in the Barrier Mountains, Ingressus suspected that would take a while. Then again, back in the mountains this would be considered warm. It was only just cold enough for the snow to stick to the ground, and Ingressus could poke through the ice on the ponds with one hand. The snow itself barely covered the tips of the grass stalks, and it clumped up when he slid his feet through it instead of sloughing off to the sides. But he had learned that the Ataraxians had weird ideas of "warm" and "cold." The past several days the streets had been nearly empty, with everyone staying in their homes and stoking their fires. Ingressus couldn't see anyone out today; only a few lines of footprints and the smoke rising from chimneys gave any indication that Ataraxia was even inhabited. It was silent, empty, and peaceful.

Ingressus kicked his foot though the snow as he walked, watching the clumps sail through the air. They hit the untouched whiteness with a soft poof, leaving small craters where they landed. A tug at a low-hanging branch made the snow it held shower over him and he shivered, invigorated by the chill it sent over his skin. He would never have guessed that he would miss snow this much. The stuff had been everywhere for the first two decades of his life; he'd never even imagined he would one day go for years without it.

He remembered the games his clan would play in the snow: the snowball fights that could last for hours and would have far more strategy to them than was probably normal, burying your friends in snowdrifts so they could jump out and scare the next person to walk by, trying to draw pictures in the snow with your footprints. He remembered the other children banning Sorays from the snowball-throwing competitions, claiming that as an adult, he had an unfair advantage. Sorays had graciously conceded the point, and had become the judge instead.

Ingressus paused at the end of a bridge, packed a snowball, and hurled it off the side of the island as hard as he could. He watched as the white sphere arced through the sky, dropping lower and lower until it landed with a barely-visible impact on a lower island. He sighed, leaning his arms on the railing of the bridge. The valley below had only a faint dusting of snow, forming a mottled pattern of white and green and gray between the snow-shadows of the floating islands.

Ingressus remembered a time when his group had passed near the southern edge of the Barrier Mountains. His father had led them to the top of a ridge and revealed, for many of them the first time, the land beyond the mountains. Ingressus hadn't been able to believe back then that land so flat and green could exist.

Our real home is out there, Dominus had said, pointing with Voltar to the southwest. One day our people will be able to return. Until then, we will endure what the world will face us with.

Ingressus wondered what his father would think if he could see where Ingressus had ended up. It was certainly a friendlier biome than the Barrier Mountains: warmer, more abundant food, no predators to attack or to compete with you for game, less murderous neighbors. But he knew it wasn't the kind of return from the mountains his people had hoped for. He still couldn't leave, didn't have the freedom to travel Ardonia as he pleased without fear. He was tolerated in Ataraxia but not overly welcomed by most, and he wouldn't even have that much outside the town. The world had traded him one mountain exile for another.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled Ingressus out of his thoughts. A cold-looking Nestoris was trudging towards the bridge, his shoulders hunched and his hair brushed over his ears for extra warmth. When he saw Ingressus he paused, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Is this your doing?" he asked.

Ingressus stared coldly at him. "Is what my doing?"

The Nestoris gestured around them. "This unnatural snowstorm."

"No, it isn't. And this is hardly a snowstorm."

The Nestoris squinted at him. "I've got my eye on you."

Ingressus scowled as the Nestoris went on his way. Now the weather was getting blamed on him.

For someone else, it might have been flattering. Magic was hard, especially the kinds that weren't innate to a species. Whether it was enchanting weapons or armor, altering your environment, healing or harming, seeking information, or anything else, it took years of practice to do even the smallest things. Controlling the weather itself had to be an insanely difficult and powerful kind of magic.

Still, like with anything else that could help them survive, the Voltaris had dabbled in magic outside the Songs. Some of it they had learned from the Glacians, others had come from books on magic stolen from a merchant caravan or passed down from before their exile. Ingressus could dry out firewood, and sometimes could make the snow reveal old footprints. He remembered his grandmother knowing some kind of force-enhancing magic, which she'd once demonstrated by punching through a slab of ice several inches thick. And then there had been a wanderer who had claimed he could set off an avalanche. But he didn't know of anyone who could influence the weather on this large a scale. He would be flattered that the Nestoris thought he could, but he knew it was just another reason his clan was demonized.

He kicked another clump of snow. Four years, and the Ardoni in Ataraxia still watched him as though he were a creeper wandering through their town. He didn't even want to consider how they would act if they knew he had nearly been the Voltaris Master. But what the Nether kind of devious plan could he have that involved four years of doing nothing? And what could his clan want with Ataraxia, of all places? It was frustrating.

His father's words echoed in Ingressus's head. Dominus had just come out of a heated debate with another adult about making a strike on Nestoria, to get revenge on a recent Champion by targeting his family. Dominus had refused to sanction such an action, citing the dangers of the journey and the certain repercussions on all of them. After Vedarin had stormed out, angry but cowed, Ingressus had cautiously asked his father about it.

Every day we continue to exist is a defiance to them, Dominus had said. Of course I want to avenge our people, but the risks are too great. That defiance is revenge enough for me.

This was Ingressus's defiance. He remained in Ataraxia because he refused to lead enemies back to his people. He existed in spite of the raiders, the Champions, that would try to kill him, and he would continue to exist. His clan would continue to exist. That was his purpose here, not to suck up to a bunch of winter-challenged Ardoni who wouldn't last a minute in the life his clan led. Even separated from his people, he was still Voltaris. He could endure anything.

Ingressus walked past a building and something smacked him in the face. He dropped into a defensive stance, summoning his blade into his hand as he searched for his attacker. He blinked the cold stuff away from his eye and– wait. This was familiar.

Ingressus reached up and wiped the cold liquid away from his eye. The side of his face stung from the hit, but his neck and shoulder were cold and something was dripping down his ear. It… it was a snowball. He'd been smacked in the face with a snowball. And his supposed attacker was a terrified-looking Sendaris child.

"Sorry, Ingressus!"

Luciren came bounding over as Ingressus dispelled his blade again. "We were having a snowball-throwing contest. We're trying to see who could hit that tree from the furthest away." She pointed at a tree trunk thickly splattered with snow. "But since Terik's snowball didn't hit the tree, that means I win!"

"No you don't, that doesn't count!" Terik protested, before clamping his mouth shut again.

"Yes it does!" Luciren gloated. She lightly smacked Ingressus's hand. "Back me up!"

"Please don't kill me," Terik whispered.

Ingressus sighed. "I won't."

Based on Terik's flinch, he'd probably sounded too annoyed for his reassurance to be effective. With another, inward sigh, he turned back to Luciren.

"Any win is a win," he said. "But that only means so much if you can't do it again."

"What does that mean?"

Ingressus scooped up a snowball and handed it to her with a slight grin. "Do it again, and then you can brag."

"Traitor," Luciren muttered, flinging the snowball at the tree. "Do you know how to make snowmen? Volerik needs help. A lot."

"Why don't you help, then?" Volerik called from next to a misshapen pile of snow. Wait, that was supposed to be a snowman?

"I tried!" Luciren yelled back. "And it didn't help."

Ingressus left the two to restart their contest and wandered over to Volerik, brushing the last of the snow out of his hair.

Volerik flicked a clump of snow off his creation moodily. "The worst snowman ever."

"It's not that bad." the Human beside him said. "It's… tall. White. And it has arms… Okay, it's terrible."

"How did you build it?" Ingressus asked. The snow mound was a weird shape for a snowman; just a tall lumpy pillar that would have worked better as a snow creeper.

Volerik scooped up two handfuls of snow and dumped them on top of the pile, then packed it down. "Is that not how you're supposed to do it?"

Ingressus piled up a clump of snow and packed it into a ball, filled it across the ground. "You need three of these, each a little smaller than the last."

The two caught on quickly, and within five minutes all three snowballs had been rolled into shape. Ingressus showed them how to stack the snowballs one on top of the other, how to pack extra snow in between, and how to smooth out the lumpy parts. A small crowd gathered around to watch as the other children noticed what he was doing. Even Terik was watching, and though he stiffened when Ingressus noticed him, he didn't leave.

In the end, Terrence took off his hat and placed it proudly on the snowman's head. Everyone cheered, and Ingressus was hit with a wave of homesickness so strong it stole his breath away. Playing in the snow, surrounded by others, the light snowfall drifting from the sky– it was so painfully familiar, as if Raiden was about to clap his three-fingered hand on Volerik's shoulder and congratulate him, as if he could turn his head and see Tamera building her own snow creation that would somehow be twice her height and more elaborate than anything anyone else could make. The shadows of lives gone forever echoed around him, as though just behind a veil, just out of reach. It was almost a relief when Selarin appeared to ruin the moment.

"What's this, a snow party? Why wasn't I invited?"

The cheers cut off abruptly, and a few muted groans took their place as the Mendoris strode through the group, pushing a Felina girl to the side when she refused to move. Ingressus straightened as Selarin approached, giving him a warning stare that Selarin either ignored or completely missed.

"Giving lessons, Red?" Selarin said, looking between the snowman and the remains of Volerik and Terrence's original pillar. "Or are these squirts teaching you what normal people do with snow?"

"I'm from the Northwind mountains," Ingressus told him. "I know more about snow than anyone here."

"Well, no wonder you're in such a good mood today," Selarin sniped, turning with arms spread to encompass the snowy landscape. "This must remind you of the barren landscape of home."

"It does, actually," Ingressus retorted. "Except for the fact that you're here."

"Glad I could make your exile more memorable," Selarin smirked, snatching the carrot nose from the snowman.

"Hey, give that back!" Terrence grabbed for the carrot but Selarin held it out of reach, taking a bite.

"Quiet, infant, the adults are talking." Selarin gestured with the half-eaten carrot. "So your clan rejected you, big deal. What'd you do, not kill enough people for them? Don't worry, that's not a bad thing."

Ingressus growled. "You know nothing about my clan. We would never abandon our own."

"Well, you're here," Selarin said, circling the carrot at him. So either you ditched them or they ditched you. What, did you just walk off one day and– ach!"

Ingressus had snatched Selarin's hand and twisted it, his thumb digging into the pressure point. Selarin winced, trying and failing to pull his hand free as the watching children gasped.

"You know nothing about me," Ingressus said through clenched teeth. "You know nothing about what my clan has been through." He pressed harder and Selarin squirmed, staring at him with fury in his eyes.

"Ingressus, no!"

Volerik ran forward and tugged at his arm, trying to make him let go. "Don't hurt him, you'll get in trouble!"

Selarin's grimace turned into a smirk. "Listen to the clanless, Red," he grit out. "What do you think the adults will do if they hear you attacked me?"

Ingressus went still. He wanted to call Selarin's bluff, to teach him a lesson and make him think twice before picking on Ingressus again. But… he and Volerik were right. He couldn't raise a hand to Selarin. The Mendoris would undoubtedly twist the story, claiming that Ingressus had attacked unprovoked, that he was only the victim, that Ingressus was the monster everyone believed the Voltaris were. He couldn't count on the crowd of children as witnesses, either; aside from Luciren and Volerik, they were all afraid of him. It wouldn't take much pressuring from Selarin for them to back up his version of the tale.

Ingressus held Selarin's gaze warningly. You'd better not give me nothing to lose. Then slowly, reluctantly, he let Selarin go.

Selarin smirked as he drew his hand back and folded his arms. "I know plenty about you, Red. I know you needed Galleous and Remus to back you so you could stay here. I know that nowhere else on the continent will welcome you. And I know you're one wrong breath from being handed over to the Masters– if they don't just throw you off the islands instead. I know you need to toe the line, or you'll have nothing."

"It might be worth it."

Selarin ignored him and turned away, giving a jaunty wave over his shoulder. "Enjoy your stay in Ataraxia. Let me know if your clan decides to take you back, I'll arrange a goodbye party."

Cold anger coursed through Ingressus's veins as he turned away as well, imagining ways of getting revenge that he could make look like an accident. The problem was, he wasn't sure any of them would actually shut him up. Selarin was arrogant, conceited, and stubborn; it would be hard to bring him down enough pegs to end his taunts.

"How did you do that to him?"

Luciren's voice broke through his thoughts of retribution. "You were just holding onto his hand, but he was squirming like you were about to break his arm! Can you teach me?" She frowned. "Or was he just faking to make you look bad? He does that sometimes."

"It was pretty great," Volerik said. "I don't think he was faking. There weren't any adults watching, so it wouldn't have gotten Ingressus in trouble by pretending."

"There's a pressure point on your hand," Ingressus said, still sullen. "You press down on it, and it hurts more than you'd think. I can show you sometime."

Luciren looked up at him, taking in the remains of a scowl on his face, his narrowed eyes, his clenched teeth. Then she walked up and put her arms around his middle in a hug.

"I don't think your clan kicked you out," she said. "You're too nice and fun. Selarin's full of more cow poop than a pasture."

Volerik blinked. "Mom said we weren't allowed to use that insult."

"Well, it's true."

Ingressus sighed, his bitterness abating. He rested a hand on Luciren's shoulder. "Thanks."

Volerik shivered. "It's really cold. Do you want some hot chocolate? Mom said she'd make it for us when we got home."

"Some what?"

Luciren stared at him. "You don't know what– oh, you're missing out, come on!"

Ingressus let himself be pulled along as she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the bridge.

Hot chocolate, it turned out, was amazing. It was sweet, warm, and the tastiest drink Ingressus had ever had. He had to force himself to slow down, to take small enough sips that he wouldn't sear his tongue. But even just holding the drink felt so nice. The drink heated the ceramic cup and warmed his hands, as though he were holding a softly glowing ember. There had been nothing like this in the mountains– at best they would have hot water or sometimes tea, if a patrol came across some tea-able plants.

Kittrian leaned against the table as Ingressus stared in amazement at the drink. "Galleous has never made this for you?"

Ingressus shook his head, taking another sip. Kittrian made a sound of disbelief.

"Heathen of a man," she muttered. "Hot chocolate is what winter is for."

A gray cat jumped onto the table as she spoke. It looked at Ingressus curiously, sniffing at his hand. Ingressus ran his hand down its back and it recoiled, one paw raised as though to strike. Ingressus yanked his hand back and glared at the cat.

"Dusk, be nice," Kittrian said, lightly flicking its tail.

Ingressus eyed Dusk. "Cats just don't like me."

"Really?" Volerik said. "They're always nice to me."

"They let me pet them for a minute and then hiss at me."

"Well, cats will do that sometimes," Kittrian said. "But it doesn't necessarily mean they don't like you. They're just not as instantly friendly as dogs are, and they're not shy about setting their boundaries."

Luciren appeared beside Ingressus and held out a piece of raw fish. "Here, give him this and you'll be his new best friend."

Ingressus took the fish, looking over at Dusk. Kittrian stopped scratching at his ears and he linked up at her in disappointment, but then turned around at the smell of the fish. Ingressus held it out and the cat padded over, sniffed at the fish, and started eating it from his hand.

"Cat's just demand that people respect their boundaries," Kittrian said as the cat finished the morsel and sat up to lick his lips. "That makes some people think they're cold or mean, but as long as you're patient in gaining their trust and back off when they tell you, they're usually pretty friendly."

"Kind of like you," Volerik noted.

"What?" Ingressus asked, staring at him as Dusk licked the fish taste from his fingers. The cat's tongue was rough, like sandstone. "What does that mean?"

"You take a while before you like people, too," Luciren said. "And you get growly when someone gets in your face. But if they're nice to you then you're nice to them. And if they're not nice then you'd punch them or something."

"Yeah, exactly," Volerik agreed.

"Not that that would be a good idea," Kittrian said, giving her daughter a pointed look.

"Yeah, I know," Luciren said. "I'm just saying."

Ingressus considered that, brushing a finger over Dusk's head. He could live with that description of himself.

He had just finished his hot chocolate when a Felina girl ran into the cave. "Volerik! Luciren! And Ingressus! Callisto is challenging everyone to an islands-wide snowball fight, wanna come? I need people on my team."

"Yeah!" the twins yelled in unison.

Ingressus set his empty mug down and gave Dusk a goodbye scratch. "Thank you, Kittrian."

Kittrian smiled at the three. "Have fun, kids. I'll see you when you get back."

"Victory or death!" Luciren yelled, racing out into the snow.

(3946 words)

Many years ago, my state had a crippling snowstorm that dumped a couple inches of snow on us. Since then, I've gone to college in a state that hardly batted an eye at a foot of snow. What a difference a few degrees of latitude makes.