Frozen Fire
Chapter Eleven: Symbiotic
xXx
Sam stared at her plate. She poked at the pile of star shaped berries with her fork, pushed them around until they rolled into the fluffy pastry that Tsuel and her team of foxen had just made for her.
Tsuel, who was seated next to her at the small kitchen table, was exchanging pleasantries with an equally cheerful Frostbite, where he relaxed across from them. Mugs of something steaming and aromatic were raised to both their muzzles.
"It was delightfully snowy this morning on my walk in," Tsuel said in a pleasant tone. "Though a bit too warm, if you ask me."
"Ah, yes. The thaw appears as if it may start early this year," Frostbite mused amicably. "Perhaps we will have a good yield of fish this year because of it."
Tsuel chuckled. "The foxen would appreciate that."
"Indeed, they would," Frostbite agreed. "As would my brother."
Tsuel chuckled and sipped her tea, the soft fur of her arm brushing against Sam's shoulder with the movement. "Yesterday seemed to have gone well."
"I concur with that sentiment," Frostbite said. He tilted his head to glance at Sam. "While there is still some suspicion, the majority of our people appear most curious about our human guest."
"A good sign indeed," Tsuel agreed. She nudged Sam with her elbow. "Is the food to your liking, dear cub? Your appetite appears less zealous this morning."
Sam froze, just as her fork pierced one of the little berries. "The food is great. Delicious, actually," she said too fast.
Tsuel's golden eyes narrowed. "Dear cub, are you alright?"
"Uh, yeah. Totally fine," she lied.
She was totally not fine.
Because this table was small. Too small. Its setting was a lot more intimate than the grand monstrosity she'd dined at with Frostbite's court a mere two nights ago. Because it was Phantom who was seated across from her, while his sister sat at their father's opposite side, as far from Sam as she could get.
Her stomach was a roiling mess.
Phantom appeared unbothered by her presence. He ate the food provided, strips of smoked meat and steaming eggs, without sparing her a second glance. His dark cloak was a stark contrast to the ethereal glow of his ghostly aura.
Sam's fingers shook as she looped them through the handle of her own mug. She took a long sip, and nearly groaned with delight as a rich black tea warmed her from the inside out.
Phantom said something to her then, and she jumped, choking on her tea.
Sputtering and coughing, she wiped her chin with her sleeve. "What?"
He looked at her as if she'd just grown two heads. "Do you want some syrup for your tea?" He raised a small, spouted pewter dish for clarification.
"Uh," Sam said awkwardly. Her eyes shifted around the table, her cheeks burning as she realized the other three seated there were watching their interaction in sly amusement. "Sure," she drawled.
Her hand raised, and she froze again, her own awkwardness creeping in. Was he going to pour it for her, or was he merely handing her the dish? Her eyes flicked between his hand and her cup in uncertainty.
Whether he sensed her inner dilemma or not, he didn't show it, but he did set the dish down on the wooden table and slid it until was within her reach.
"Uh, thanks," she said.
"No problem," he replied.
A heavy blanket of awkward silence enveloped the room.
Stiffly, Sam reached for the syrup and poured it into her tea, her movements nearly robotic. When she set the dish back down, the sound of metal clanking onto wood pierced the silence, too loud in the quiet tension.
After another pause in which Sam fiddled with the spoon in her mug, Phantom sighed heavily. "Can we just acknowledge the yakk in the room here, already?" he said.
She froze when she realized he was addressing her.
Her brows furrowed at him. She felt her stomach drop when their eyes met. The luminous green was unnerving to look at, and having his full attention on her felt like a one-way ticket to Uncanny Valley. She used whatever bravado she had left in her to school her features into a calmness she didn't have.
He stared at her for a moment, his expression bored. "This is weird." He gestured between them. "I think we all can agree on that."
"You don't say," Sam deadpanned, leaning back into her chair to cross her arms.
He nodded once. "I have no interest in harvesting your soul or whatever it is that you think that ghosts do to humans," Phantom intoned wryly, just as Elle snorted from her end of the table.
Sam rolled her eyes. "And I suppose I won't be ripping you apart molecule by molecule anytime soon." Like she could. She knew Phantom could end her in seconds if he wanted to. She was powerless against him without her weapons, and barely stood a chance against him with them, if at all.
Was she imagining when his mouth curved at a corner, as if in amusement?
He asked, "So, truce?"
"Truce . . .?" she echoed in confusion.
"I'll refrain from giving into my big bad ghostly instincts and you'll spare all of us from the untold horrors of your human prowess?"
Sam gaped at him and had to smother her shock. Was that . . . Sarcasm? Was he actually joking with her? She felt a twitch at the corners of her own mouth and smothered the smile before it formed. "I guess," she sighed, as if it had been a tough decision.
His slight smirk widened into a lopsided grin. One that Sam found she couldn't look away from. It was just so strange.
Phantom was a ghost of untold power and infamy. He was literally on the same level as the Fright Night, so powerful that he could level entire cities if he deigned to. And he had done just that, when he vaporized the GIW facility several years ago. He was a dangerous being.
And here she was having fucking breakfast with him. Joking with him.
She sipped her tea again, if only for something to do.
Then she heard Elle mutter, "Thank the Ancients. I can actually eat now."
Phantom smugly raised his mug to his sister, as if in cheers.
Sam glanced between them, just as mortification welled inside of her. "You guys can sense what I'm feeling, can't you?"
"Sure can," Phantom said cheerfully. "It's actually one of the few things you humans have gotten right about us." At her horrified expression, his own became slightly wicked. "I could tell how uncomfortable I've made you all morning."
"You could cut the tension with a knife," Elle grumbled, sawing into a slab of meat on her plate. "It was ridiculously off putting."
"Cubs," Tsuel scolded them, "do not tease her."
Sam's cheeks stained pink as she took her first bite of the fluffy pastry. It was delicious. Sweet and still warm somehow, considering she'd been pushing it around her plate for a while now. "We were always taught that ghosts feed on emotions," she mused aloud.
"We do." It was Elle who spoke. Her eyes glinted mischievously at Sam, as if she were a predator assessing her prey. The smile she bore was not a friendly one. "If we want to. It depends on how tasty you are."
"Danielle!" Tsuel gasped, just as Frostbite chuckled. Even Phantom smirked at her dark humor.
Sam looked to Phantom for clarification.
He shrugged. "She's technically not wrong." At the alarm on her face, he added, "Don't worry, terrified human isn't really our cup of tea."
Sam frowned at him. "I'm not terrified," she snapped.
His half-lidded expression and the tilt of his head seemed to say, Yeah right, I can sense your emotions, remember?
She scoffed and returned her attention to her meal. "You guys suck," she muttered under her breath, ignoring Phantom's light chuckle by continuing to glare at her plate as she ate.
"So, cubs," Tsuel said. "What do you have planned for the day?"
"Danny and I are going to patrol and then father wants us to appear at court," Elle said. She glanced at Sam, her eyes cold. "Apparently the human has ruffled some fur."
Tsuel nodded and looked to Sam next. "And you, Sam?"
"Sam will be with me," Frostbite answered instead, his teeth gleaming from his wide grin.
Sam jerked her chin at him. "What he said," she said dryly. She wished she could spend the rest of the day with Tsuel, as far away from the yeti king and his courtly bullshit as she could get, but she knew that was not an option. That, and she couldn't deny that she was, perhaps, a little curious. Because today, she would be getting some answers. Finally.
"I see," Tsuel said enthusiastically. "Well, I suppose I will return for dinner, then. Lunch is already prepped. Thank you for the help again this morning, Sam."
"It's really no problem." Sam shrugged. Then something occurred to her, and she glanced around the table. "Hey, where is Frostbreath? Is he okay?"
"He is well, dear cub, and will be most pleased to hear that you have inquired of him." Tsuel's eyes glittered at her with fondness. "He is merely home with our cub. He does not typically come to the castle until my duties here are complete."
Sam's eyebrows rose into her hairline. "Wait, you and Frostbreath?"
"Mated for over a century now." Tsuel laughed at Sam's shocked expression. "I apologize, dear cub, that information did not seem relevant before."
"Oh, uh, it's fine," she said. Her brows pinched in confusion. "If you and Frostbreath are together, why don't you guys live here?" she asked, then glanced at Frostbite. "Aren't you brothers or something?"
"Indeed, we are," Frostbite said. "But Frostbreath and Tsuel prefer a smaller den."
Tsuel sniffed. "It was my den prior to our courtship. I simply told him he was to move in if were to proceed." She winked at Sam as she popped a berry into her mouth. "Never let a male think they have too much power, cub."
"Noted," Sam deadpanned.
Then, one of the small foxen leapt onto the table next to her plate, startling her, and nudged her hand with its snout until she relented and stroked the silky fur between its ears. She didn't fail to notice that Phantom unsubtly tracked the movement of her hand the entire time.
Tsuel said to Frostbite, "Do you intend to hold a ball soon in honor of Sam?"
Sam inhaled sharply, her shoulders tensing as she glanced between the two yeti. A fucking what?
"In a couple moons, perhaps," Frostbite replied, and Sam visibly deflated with relief. "I would like to spend some time training her first."
She tensed again. Oh, great.
Tsuel nodded and returned to her meal. Meanwhile, Sam picked at her food some more, still doing her best to ignore the commanding, roiling presence still skulking across the table. The remainder of their breakfast had been quiet after that.
It was sometime later when Sam sat in one of the rocking chairs in Frostbite's study, warming her hands over the fire.
Frostbite's chair creaked as he rocked and stared pensively into the flames. Tsuel had brought them a large metal carafe, tendrils of steam wafting from within, and set it up on a small round table between Sam and the yeti king before she left. Sam used the silence to pour herself a cup of tea, relishing the warmth from it.
Finally, Frostbite said, "You may ask your questions now, human child."
"So, what is so special about the Writings?" she asked, while she sipped her delicious tea. An herbal one this time.
"They are the framework that shapes the Infinite Realms," Frostbite said. "Forged more than a millennia ago. The Far Frozen has guarded the ancient Writings since the beginning, and we have been most honored to have been chosen by the fates to do so."
"But what are they?" Sam asked. She glanced around the room, eyeing the aged texts lining the shelves of his study. "Books? Scrolls? Post It notes?"
"Better!" Frostbite grinned. "They are illustrations and runes carved into the stone itself."
Sam stared at him for moment, letting his words sink in. "So . . . you're telling me that you guys base your entire existence off of pictures carved into a freaking cave?" She shook her head. "Hate to break it to you, but that just sounds like vandalism that some fanatic happened to find first, dude."
"The caves of Cinomrah are a most peculiar place, human girl. Those carvings are special because they do not present themselves in the same way to every inquirer. They are ever changing, linked to all our worlds on a quantum scale. It is why it is proper etiquette to only discuss the Writings with those of us who have already traveled and toured the caves ourselves."
"So, there's no chance of getting around the 'no spoiler' policy?" she asked, jokingly but also with a tad of hopefulness sprinkled in.
"I do not know what that means."
"Figure of speech. Don't worry about it," she said with a snort, waving him off. "But you still can't tell me what it means when you say I'm The One, or whatever?"
"I am afraid I cannot." His great head tilted so the firelight gleamed along his large, curling horns. "I can tell you that you are of great importance, however."
Sam blew an errant strand of hair out of her face in annoyance. "And here we go again with cryptic non-answers. Great."
Frostbite sighed. It was strange to see such a normally cheerful creature so somber. "Sam, you have much to learn. I can see that you have grown quite frustrated, but—"
"Now that's an understatement," Sam muttered, rolling her eyes and sinking into her seat, arms crossed in petulance.
Frostbite's eyes flashed with paternal ire. "But, you have yet to begin understanding my people and this realm. Which is where you must begin."
She arched a brow, urging him to continue.
"The yeti put great value on the pursuit of knowledge. It is a rite of passage for my kind." He stoked the fire with the metal agitator rod. "It goes against my very existence to willingly give you the answers that you crave, for it is my belief that you must learn them for yourself so you may formulate your own conclusions."
"Well, that's annoying," Sam sighed.
Frostbite's ruby eyes twinkled. "My cubs would agree with you. I have been having this very conversation with them for nearly two decades now."
Sam chewed on that little piece of information and tucked it away to ponder later. Instead, she mused, "That actually sounds like something the Fentons would say."
She didn't know why, but the great horned beast stiffened at her words. The creaking of his chair halted abruptly, while the long claws of his icy hand dug into the wooden arm of his rocking chair. His gaze on her became razor sharp.
"Who are these . . . Fentons . . . as you call them?" His voice was low, nearly a growl.
"Uh," Sam said, surprise etching her features, "they're scientists. Back home. They also believe in the pursuit of knowledge." She punctuated the last bit with exaggerated finger quotes.
Frostbite's red eyes gleamed with sinister fire. Sam was taken aback, unused to seeing such malice in him. So much so that she abruptly straightened in her chair.
"How do you know them?" he asked.
"They're practically family to me," Sam said, her brows furrowing at Frostbite. "Why, do you know them, or something?"
"In name only," Frostbite said. "Your weapons and armor were emblazoned with their name as well."
"Oh," Sam said, unsure of what else to say. Her heart galloped in her chest. She hadn't even been trying to piss him off. And now that she had, she was left reeling as she struggled to think of a way to diffuse him.
"I will make something clear to you now," he growled in a voice edged sharper than the claws digging into his chair. "You do not speak that name outside of this study, understand? That is an order."
Sam understood the subliminal message buried in his words immediately. It hadn't just been an order, but a threat, too. She nodded once. "Yeah, sure, dude. You're the boss."
The shadows ebbed away from his face, along with the flickering embers of his anger. "Good," he said. And then his smile returned, his features softening back into his usual jolliness, though she still shifted uncomfortably at his gleaming white teeth. "Glad we came to an understanding."
She took a moment to sip at her tea, hating the way her hand shook. Again, she glanced around the room, her eyes grazing over the thick leather tomes and gleaming artifacts, her mind grasping desperately for anything she could think of to change the subject.
"How do you speak my language so well?" she asked as her eyes roved the spine of a tome with a word scrawled on it in an unfamiliar language. Hell, even the lettering was strange. A different alphabet entirely. She was genuinely curious.
"The yeti speak every language known to the realms." Frostbite's gaze followed to where hers still lingered on the ornate tome. "We are a realm of scholars and artisans. One may never learn too much in the long existence our kind has."
Sam nodded, but another question had already formed, fueled by his words and an offhand remark Tsuel had made earlier. "What did you mean the other day when you said that the yeti are spirits that never were? What does that mean?" Before he could respond she added, "Tsuel said that she and Frostbreath have been together a century." She shook her head, bewildered. "Does that make you guys, like, immortal?"
Frostbite was silent for a moment as he reached for the shining silver carafe and poured himself a cup of tea. "We are not ghosts, because we were never mortal beings. We did not pass on to an afterlife to become what we are. We simply exist as we have always been. We are spirits. But here on our realm, we are living." He sipped his tea. "And though we are very long lived, we are not quite immortal, as you say. A century is but a fleeting moment for us."
Sam was quiet as she ruminated on what he'd told her. Her mind swam with so many more questions, and yet, she had no idea how to ask them. Wasn't sure she was ready to ask them—or that he'd even be willing to answer her. Not yet. She knew they were still in that delicate dance of figuring out how to trust each other, with neither of them yielding more than an inch.
For example, if they were a realm of benevolent spirits, what the hell were they doing with two overpowered ghosts living among them? Why did they keep implying that they'd raised the ghost twins? What did that mean?
And why—why were the twins so different from the other ghosts she'd seen in Amity?
Her thoughts drifted then to her first encounter with Phantom, of how he'd flashed with both rage and power, terrifying her—and then saved her goddamn life. Aided Frostbreath in bringing here. Fucking joked with her earlier at breakfast as if he was just some dude her age chilling at the cafeteria, just as Tucker normally would.
Sam swallowed past the tightening of her throat, pushing thoughts of Tucker down, down, and the fuck away. That was too dangerous of a place for her to be mentally. Especially when she needed to remain as focused as possible.
Finally, after she'd cleared her throat and recomposed herself, she said, "So what else can you tell me?"
"What would you like to know? Beyond the Writings?"
Sam chewed on her bottom lip. "Who is Pariah Dark?"
The yeti king's grin faltered. She stiffened again, worried she'd said something wrong, but was relieved when his ire did not seem directed at her this time. "He is the Ghost King, and the one who started the war against the Realms."
"The Great War?"
Frostbite nodded gravely. "Indeed."
Sam stewed in silence on the question before she asked, "What's the deal with ghosts, anyway?"
"What do you mean?" Frostbite responded. She was relieved when she observed that no venom laced his words, and his expression was open, curious even.
Her fingers clenched around the handle of her mug. "They destroyed my world," she said, though her voice came out a mere whisper.
And here you are harboring two of them, she didn't say.
But Frostbite, being the intelligent being that he was, seemed to glean what she hadn't said, what she was too afraid to ask. He leaned back into his chair, ruby eyes distant as he observed the flames again.
"My cubs are different," he said. "They, too, have been long prophesied, as you have been. It is destiny, woven by the universe itself, that has brought you all here to this realm."
"You realize that you just answered nothing again, right?" Sam deadpanned.
To her surprise, Frostbite chuckled. "Much of this is hard to explain when you have yet to grasp the basics." He shook his head. "There is much to learn. About this realm, your realm, the war, the ghosts, the—"
"About the ghosts?" Sam interjected. "I get that there's something special about Spooky and Spookier the twins, but aren't ghosts all, like, evil?" Then immediately winced at her own words. Perhaps she would be three for three in pissing him off tonight.
But instead, his ruby eyes grew distant once again, as if he'd drifted somewhere far away from where he sat with her in his study. Firelight danced within them, along the planes of his face. "I once agreed with you."
She didn't know why, but something in her chest hitched, and she felt as if she were suddenly teetering at the edge of a chasm. Like she was about to plummet to the depths of some earth-shattering discovery.
"Maybe we're wrong about a lot of things."
The words threatened to catch in her throat, but she managed to force them out when she said, "What changed?"
An expression she had yet to see on the yeti's face dominated his features. Sam found herself stricken by it, her mug of tea growing cold in her hands as ice snaked through her veins.
Grief. Loss. Pain—Emotions she knew and understood all too well shone within his ruby eyes, at the tense set of his jaw, the way his teeth seemed to gnash together. She realized in a bout of horrific clarity that was wrenched from somewhere deep within her own heart, that Frostbite had lost someone. Someone important to him.
"Perhaps," Frostbite said slowly, his voice cleaving the tense silence that had befallen them, "We should start at the beginning. I have no doubt that you will learn all you need to with time, but I feel that we have jumped headlong into a story without first having read its preface."
Sam nodded down at her lap. Something like shame spiraled within her, and she fidgeted in her chair. "I'm . . . sorry."
"You have done nothing wrong, human child." A fond grin pulled at his muzzle, but Sam could still see the sadness in his eyes. "I admire your inquisitive nature. Perhaps you have more in common with my people than you realize."
"That's the nicest way someone has ever told me that I'm a pain in the ass," she joked. She smiled softly at Frostbite and was relieved when his own grin widened in return, amused by her.
"I assure you, Sam Manson, that you are not a pain in the . . ." His brows furrowed. "Ass, was it? Such a strange word. Ass."
She couldn't help it when she burst out laughing so loud and so suddenly that cold tea lapped from her mug and splashed down the front of her coat.
"Damn it," she hissed as she set the mug down on the table next to her.
Frostbite eyed the stain marring the white fur of her coat. "Perhaps I should request a more liquid repelling hide to be used for your next set of clothing," he said. "You appear to spill and drop things often."
Sam blushed in embarrassment but said nothing. Instead, she stared at the fur lining of her moccasins as she swung her legs, contemplating what to ask him next. So far, their conversation had been an absolute roller coaster, and she wanted to avoid pissing him off again. Since she was going to be stuck here for . . .
It occurred to her then that she had yet to ask a very important question.
"How long?" she asked. And at his look of confusion, she clarified, "How long . . . am I stuck here?"
"Ah." He grimaced as he stared at the fire. "It is impossible to say for certain. The veil shrouding the Mortal Realm is near impenetrable. And though we do have ways of predicting when it will thin enough to allow a rift, I am afraid it will be several moons before it is even possible."
"I can't tell if this is another of your non-answers or not," Sam said. "I just want to know when I can go home."
A claw drifted through the white fur of Frostbite's chin. "I would say, six moons at the very least. The rift Dark opened was large. It will take some time for another to form naturally."
"Wait, wait, wait," Sam said, her face paling. "Six moons, as in six months—and at the very least? Are you serious?"
Frostbite's nod was solemn. "I am afraid so."
Sam drew her knees to her chest while her fingers clawed into her hair. "They probably think I'm dead," she rasped into her knees, the words burning from her throat as she said them. A small part of her, the part of her borne by years of training and discipline, was enraged at the display of such vulnerability in the presence of a potential adversary.
But the rest of her—the larger part—was tired. And frankly, no longer gave a shit.
"I am sorry, Sam," Frostbite told her, his voice soft.
Sam shook her head. "I need a minute. This is . . . a lot to take in."
"I understand," Frostbite said. "Take all the time you need. This is why I have not been in a rush to explain everything to you. We have plenty of time, and you have much to learn."
After some time, in which she attempted to tame the ragged hitches bursting from her chest, she finally uncurled herself from her knees. Her head rested against the back of her chair, suddenly exhausted as her eyes watched the fire still writhing from the glowing pit of stones in the fireplace.
With a long breath, she reached for the agitator rod that Frostbite had left leaning against the side of the jeweled mantle and stoked the stones until they bristled hotter, burning so bright that she had to squint, the heat a sharp bite against her numb fingers.
"If I do everything you ask of me," she began in a voice that was too soft, hardly sounding like her own, "will you tell me everything?"
Frostbite's ruby eyes glittered. "No," he said. "But you will learn everything. The knowledge you seek is available for you to grasp. It is a journey you have been long prophesied to go on, human child, as it has been Written since the Dawn of Infinity."
She didn't have it in her to argue anymore. So, she nodded instead.
It was sometime later when Frostbite led her through a large extravagant room lined with windows. The floor was incandescent, seeming to shimmer beneath them as they walked. She grinned when she saw Tsuel appear around a corner, tucked away at the peak of a grand staircase.
"Human cub!" Tsuel grinned happily at their approach, and then turned Frostbite. "Good evening, Frostbite."
"Good evening, Tsuel," Frostbite returned easily. "I was just finishing up with Sam for the day and was returning her to you for any evening work you may have for her."
Tsuel's smile was one of genuine warmth when her eyes met Sam's. "I am afraid I am not in need of any help as dinner is already prepped, but I would gladly welcome her company."
Sam grinned back at the female yeti. She truly liked Tsuel.
"How are my cubs doing?" Frostbite asked. "This is the first time they have held court together since Danny left for the Infinite Realms."
Tsuel chuckled softly. "As you can imagine, Ellie has done most of the talking."
"As I figured," Frostbite said, amusement in his voice.
Sam reached where they stood and peered down the long shimmering staircase. She felt her jaw slacken at the view.
She'd been here only yesterday, when Frostbite had led her through those enormous twin doors and into the kingdom beyond, but she'd been so enamored by the wall of beautifully crafted windows that she'd completely missed the details of the parlor. Or was it a throne room?
The stained-glass windows and gigantic set of frozen doors wrapped the room from the outside in, though now that she stood atop a tall balcony, she could see smaller windows above the colorful glass. They were clear and offered a panoramic view of the snowcapped mountain range that bordered the kingdom, the warm glow of sunset now a distant gilded fire warming horizon.
Her eyes followed the streams of sunlight filtering through rainbowed glass, tracing the colorful array of shadows and rainbows that bathed the entire icy room in a kaleidoscope of waltzing pastels. The incandescent floor seemed to be lit from within, constantly shifting between soft shades of pinks, blues, and purples. Elegant columns and a sloped cathedral ceiling rose higher and higher above her head, even from where she stood atop a great balcony, and ended in a five-tiered crystal chandelier that could dwarf even Frostbite.
And there, atop a gleaming dais at the far end of the room opposite the doors, were the Phantom twins.
They stood flanking either side of a large empty throne, their backs straight and their hands clasped behind them. On the floor near the dais, Sam could make out the various members of Frostbite's court peppered amidst the swell of the other yeti standing there. They seemed to be in a deep discussion, with Elle responding often. Phantom, however, did not speak, and if anything, he seemed bored to be there.
Sam studied them both. The way Phantom's dark cloak contrasted Elle's glowing white one, as if they were light and shadow incarnate. So similar and yet so different.
While Elle seemed to thrive in whatever courtly bullshitting session they were having down there, Phantom appeared to merely tolerate it, though he scanned the crowd, as if in search of any lurking threats he may find in the shadows. Sam recognized the subtle shifts, the way he seemed to be looking at nothing and seeing everything—just as she'd been trained to do.
"How have the yetifolk responded so far?" Frostbite asked Tsuel.
"It has gone as expected," Tsuel sighed. "Though many are optimistic."
Sam heard the smile in Frostbite's voice when he said, "Good."
"You know I have no mind for court eloquence so please forgive me if I speak ignorantly," Tsuel said, "but I am proud of them. You have raised your cubs well, Frostbite. They are greatly respected and revered here, by this kingdom, and the Far Frozen as a whole." When Sam looked up at her, Tsuel's golden eyes shined with warmth as she stared down the dais, to the two ghosts lurking there. "If fills me with so much hope for this world."
And then Sam felt those golden eyes land on her. Tsuel's soft fur caressed the back of her neck when the female laid a gentle arm across her shoulders.
Tsuel said, "And fills me with hope to have you here, too, human cub."
Sam swallowed back a thick lump of emotion. She didn't know why she was so moved by Tsuel's words, but she was. All that hope and admiration thawed something deep within her, as if her very soul warmed at the words. As if she believed them.
In his scope of the crowds, Phantom eventually gazed up at her, his expression unreadable. And she stared back at him.
It was . . . strange.
With so much space between them, she found herself unaffected by that ominous veil that always wound itself into her nerves in his presence. She could observe him freely here, and for a moment, glowing aura aside, he almost looked human standing there at the dais, which was a curious observation in itself because ghosts typically always floated.
Imperceptibly, she saw his eyes narrow on her.
Sam stifled the petty urge to flip him off.
And perhaps it had something to do with Tsuel's words, and the hope in them, but Sam decided to wave at him instead. The motion was awkward, as if her hand and her brain operated on two separate wavelengths entirely.
Phantom stared at her a moment longer, then nodded once in response.
Truce, indeed.
xXx
The weeks that followed Sam's introduction to the frozen kingdom passed by in a whirlwind of snow and fire.
Much of her time was spent in Frostbite's study, where she tried her best to remain attentive as the yeti king rambled on about the interwoven structure that was yeti sociology. The early hours following breakfast were spent with him, and Sam would warm her hands over crackling flames as he lectured her on things that were beyond her understanding.
"So, let me get this straight," Sam said to him one morning as she nursed a mug of hot tea, "you're telling me that the Far Frozen is actually one of several dimensions to a single multiverse, and we're somehow quantum mechanically linked together, and that each world has its own alternative history and laws of nature and relativity . . .?"
"That is a bit of a crude translation, but you have the right idea, I suppose."
Sam scoffed and shook her head. "I think my brain is melting."
"I am merely trying to explain to you how this realm functions so you may understand how it connects with your own."
"Quantum mechanically, right?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.
Frostbite sighed. "Of any of the existing realms, the yeti are the most similar to humans, both biologically and socially." He idly rapped a single claw against the rim of his steaming mug. "We are a result of convergent evolution. Two unrelated species that have acquired similar traits because of adaptation to an analogous environment, and because we both maintain a similar niche in our ecosystems."
"And this is relevant, why?"
"Because information is essential to understanding the paradox of our universe!"
Sam's eye twitched and she groaned. It was like being in a Fenton lecture all over again.
.
.
Her late afternoons were less intellectually taxing, spent with Tsuel as the two of them strolled about the large frozen village of Ec'Nelis.
Tsuel would lead her on long ambling walks through the pathways, while Sam openly gaped at the artful twists and vibrant coloring of the homes and structures built by the yeti. She found herself marveling at every intricate detail imbued into their work, all of them so different and stylistic, not unlike the snowflakes themselves as they cascaded from the skies in regular intervals.
Sam had been fascinated the first time she'd seen snowfall. While it did snow in Amity Park, the snow here was different. Fluffier and softer as it landed like a gentle frozen kiss into her cupped hands. She'd stared at the little flakes, watching as they slowly melted into the palms of her hands, the resulting droplets beginning to freeze against her skin almost immediately.
Several weeks later, and she still marveled at the flurried snow.
They visited various shops and interacted with townsfolk, too. And Sam found that despite the cheers she'd garnered upon her introduction as some fated cosmic vestige, or whatever that hell she was to them, the yetis' enthusiasm for her presence had quickly evaporated until all that was left was wary toleration of her. They never spoke directly to her, only to Tsuel, and when she looked at them, they often turned away and avoided her like the plague.
Children were banned from coming near her. If they so much crossed her path, their mothers would scold them, ushering them to their homes in haste. Sam learned quickly to look down at her feet whenever they happened to be near, lest she incite any unwanted wrath on herself.
Even Tsuel did not bring her child around.
"It is not meant as a slight on you, dear cub," Tsuel had said by way of explanation one morning as they prepped breakfast together. "I personally believe you to be harmless. But the yeti are especially protective of offspring. Not many females are able to conceive, so to us, cubs are a treasured rarity. Many mated pairs hope their entire lives for the honor of raising cubs, and most do not succeed." Tsuel paused, as if mulling over her words. "The others would not appreciate my bringing him around you quite yet."
Sam had nodded solemnly at that.
Even though they avoided her, Sam still found herself studying the yeti as they mulled about the village and was oddly fascinated by them. They were thoughtful and humble creatures, many of whom shared a passion for knowledge and other forms of intellectual stimuli. Frostbite had told her that they were a civilization of artisans, and she could see why.
In the large market that sprawled in the wide-open expanse at the base of the castle stairs, Sam eyed the stalls as she and Tsuel strolled past them. Pastries, attire, hides, art, fruit, meats, metalworking, a stall of candles with colorful flames—and that was just to name a few of them.
She paused at a stall that had paintings rendered with lifelike precision. Many of which were of the Far Frozen's royal family. Her eyes swooped over the various depictions of Frostbite, the twins standing together with their faces impassive, one of Frostbreath grinning madly and holding a giant silver fish, Elle poised with twin swords and fury in her eyes, until they landed on one of Phantom, and her eyes widened.
It was an image of what looked like a younger version of him floating in the sky against the celestial moons and glowing just as bright in the velvety night. His dusky tattered cloak spanned across the canvas like wings of darkness. A ball of green fire was in his palm, rendered so realistically that she swore she could actually see it glowing. The same green fire burned in his eyes. Pure rage dominated his features, and Sam hated the way her stomach hollowed out the longer she stared at it.
"I remember this," Tsuel said softly from behind her, and Sam jumped.
"Wait, this actually happened?" Sam asked, horror in her voice. Not only at just how fucking scary he looked in it, but that he looked younger, as if he could age.
"It did," a voice rasped.
Sam gaped at the gangly old male that stared at her from his stool just beyond the table. His watery grey eyes were impassive as he watched her. She was shocked he'd spoken to her at all.
Her eyes trailed lower still. This time to an image of Phantom and Elle, blue energy coursing from their hands in a wall of frozen light. They both looked like hell. Battered and with green stains marring their clothing.
"And this . . .?" Sam asked.
"I can only paint what I have seen," that old voice rasped again. A thin bony hand with blunt tipped claws shook as he gestured to his wares. "All of my paintings are from memory."
The next image in the row was another depiction of the twins. It had clearly been referenced from the same day as the previous painting, with the same tattered clothing and spattering of acid green marring their clothing, their faces.
Sam felt a roaring in her ears. They were definitely younger here. Mere teenagers. Phantom, with his face rounded with youth, looked absolutely ragged as his arm slung protectively over his sister. Or was he holding her up, as if she was unable to stand on her own? Elle was looking up at Phantom, smiling widely at him, her hair split between two loose braids that trailed down her shoulders. They both looked exhausted, as if they'd just won some great battle.
Those images lingered in her mind, long after she and Tsuel had bid the old male farewell and continued down path of market stalls.
.
.
Between her lessons with Frostbite and her walks about the village, Sam spent much of her time utterly mesmerized by the abundance of creatures that existed in this realm, outside of the yeti and foxen.
"The Far Frozen has a diverse ecosystem," Frostbite told her during one of his lectures. "Similar to the way your own world functions. With many symbiotic relationships that aide in a most harmonious existence here."
Sam could see it. And was often amazed into stunned silence by it.
White-furred doglike creatures with hooked faces and talon claws ran about the town freely, chasing laughing yeti children and often being treated to morsels of scraps tossed into pathways by various food vendors.
She noticed one day with glee that there were birds, too. They flew amongst the cerulean sunlit skies with grace, their wingspans so wide that they often eclipsed the sun as they flew overhead. Many of them were darkened grey with the faintest hints of blue at their wingtips and tailfeathers, and their beaks were long and curved.
There were more, she was told, in the wilds outside the kingdom. At the coast and in the mountains. What she had once thought to be a frozen wasteland teemed with life and beauty instead.
Of all the creatures she'd seen, what amazed her most were the horses.
They were monstrous—big enough to support a yeti—and six legged. Their tails were long and sinuous, with course fringe dusting the ends. Two large curving horns led into a wide, flat head, supported by a long and muscular neck. Big chests, along with thick legs and cleft hooves, made them excellent for navigating icy and mountainous terrain at a brisk place. Or at least, that's what Frostbite had told her one day when she'd asked about them, awe in her voice
The colors and patterns of their fur varied, but mostly consisted of varying hues of grey, accented with faint blue markings. It was reminiscent of the color scheme of a typical yeti. From what both Frostbite and Tsuel told her, they were used for transportation, and hunting the yakk, the yeti's main food source.
Sam had always had an affinity for environmentalism, so everything she learned about this new world fascinated her. She found that she enjoyed learning about it. The lessons, coupled with her time spent working and wandering with Tsuel, did well to distract her from the troubling thoughts that often slipped like an oil slick into her mind.
She could almost stop thinking about home.
Almost.
.
.
At night she was always locked away.
As soon as the sun began to dip into the horizon, illuminating the otherworldly moons, Sam would be led back to her room without preamble. There, she would spend the remaining hours of wakefulness curled before the stonelit fireplace in her room, wondering to herself about the fate of her friends, her family.
In truth, part of her preferred the lonely bits of isolation. Because the more time she spent with Tsuel and in the town, the more attached she became. Her morals, her principles—everything that ever had defined her as a sweeper and a member of the Resistance—were slipping away, bit by bit, and it was leaving her more confused than ever.
And it scared her.
.
.
Sometimes, she would wake to the rumbling of explosions.
The first time it had happened, she panicked.
She jolted from her bed, her feet skittering across the floor in a tumbling flurry of blankets and pillows. Thoughts of being buried alive and suffocation flooded her mind. She went utterly rabid as she clawed at the divider of ice separating her from freedom.
"Let me out of here!" she screamed! "Let me out!"
No one came, and she screamed until her voice was raw and hoarse. She hugged her knees with her face pressed to the freezing barrier, tears streaking down her cheeks, and eventually fell asleep there.
The next day, the town was in shambles.
By the time she emerged from the mountain castle with Tsuel, the yeti were already working to restore it, unified and efficient. Many of them were wounded. No one answered her questions, not even Tsuel, and it was the first day she'd spent in the Far Frozen that she didn't see a single smile, nor hear the pealing of laughter.
It was easier to handle the second time it happened, and even more so by the third. By the fifth time, her sixth week there, she'd simply stayed in her bed and listened.
.
.
And then there was Phantom.
He was an enigma she couldn't solve.
They dined together almost every day. Of course, it was always in the presence of Frostbite and Elle, as well as a rotation of Tsuel or Frostbreath at dinnertime, and yet they'd hardly spoken in the weeks that followed Phantom calling for a truce between them. He would talk if spoken to, otherwise he would quietly eat his meal and vanish beyond the kitchen's threshold, barely sparing her a passing glance.
During her afternoon walks with Tsuel, she would often see him about the town, sometimes in the company of Elle, and other times alone. Sometimes she would catch him glancing at her, and other times he would be the one to catch her, but never would they interact beyond that.
When she saw him in the town, he was thin-lipped smiles, nods of acknowledgment, and a posture rigid as the ice weaving throughout the kingdom. He hardly spoke, but when he did it was equally polite and authoritative. Strictly politics. He didn't laugh, and he didn't mingle. Not like the yeti did, anyway. It irritated Sam that she couldn't make sense of who—or what, rather—he was.
Tsuel grimaced when she mentioned it one afternoon. They'd been diligently at work in the castle's kitchen, preparing lunch for themselves as well as prepping for dinner. Tsuel worked with the meats, while Sam prepared the fruit and vegetable platters.
"Yes, if I know anything about that boy is that he can be a bit stiff," she said. Her claws clattered against the marble countertops as she bustled about.
"Why is he like that with the yeti though? Frostbite isn't like that?" Sam asked as she worked, jumping to avoid Tsuel's swinging tail. Despite the enormity of the castle, the kitchen was rather cramped. She and Tsuel had quickly developed a system to avoid collision.
Tsuel sighed. "His relationship with the other yeti is complicated. They adore and respect him, as I am sure you have noticed, but when so much weight is placed on the shoulders of a boy as young as him, well, it tends to make interactions a bit tricky."
Sam's brows pinched. "Why?"
Another sigh. "Sam, dear cub, I do not know if you have noticed, but the townsfolk have placed Danny—and Ellie, too, really—on a pedestal. They expect so much from him." She paused to meet Sam's gaze, and her eyes gleamed with sadness. "It is hard for me to see him this way. So grown up and aloof. But once you get to know him, he truly has a heart of gold. I should know, seeing as I have practically raised him. When he was a cub, he was nothing but smiles and laughs . . . " She trailed off and her fangs bit at her lip. White-furred knuckles fisted themselves into the fabric of her apron.
Again, the strange feeling regarding the phantom twins growing—being raised—returned, niggling at her, almost as if she was missing something momentous. It made no sense to her. Even if the yeti were not, Phantom and his sister were definitely ghosts.
Sam fidgeted with the long knife she'd been chopping fruit with, idly slicing a fuzzy blue fruit into too small pieces. Finally, she asked, "How old is he, anyway?"
Tsuel dropped the cup of seasoning she'd been using on the meat. It clattered as it hit the floor, rolling and spilling its contents, before coming to rest at the toe of Sam's boot.
"I apologize, dear cub," Tsuel said quickly, "what was that again?"
Sam's brow furrowed. "I asked you how old he—they are. You said you raised them. From what, a child? A pile of unformed ectoplasm? I mean, they are ghosts, right?"
After a few moments of stunned silence in which the female hadn't even so much as glanced her way, Tsuel whispered, "Frostbite would not like me talking about this."
Sam heaved a sigh and bent to pick up the small dish that a foxen had retrieved and was helpfully handing it up to her.
If it was one thing Sam knew about Tsuel, it was that the warmhearted yeti often spoke without thinking, and inadvertently gave away more information than was probably acceptable. It was one of the things Sam loved about her. But that didn't mean that she wanted Tsuel to get in trouble because of her prying.
"Listen, I'm sorry," Sam said. "I don't mean to weird you out so much by asking questions. The last thing I want to do is get you in trouble with Mr. Snowman. I'm just trying to make sense of all"—she gestured around the room, as if the gesture alone could explain the vastness of her woes—"this, y'know?"
"Yes, yes. I know, dear cub. I know," Tsuel huffed. She turned to face Sam, leaning her haunches against the counter, her long tail swooshing. "And I would love nothing more than to tell you all I know about him. About them. But even I do not know much. I do not know where they came from. All I truly know is that Frostbite loved them unconditionally from the moment that they were brought here. And well, so did I."
Sam began to roll the cup around in her hands, watching carefully as Tsuel's muzzle curved into a faint, reminiscent smile. She mirrored Tsuel's movement and leaned her own back against the counter. Her finger tapped at the crook of her crossed arms.
"Everything is so weird here. All I've ever known is Amity Park, and war, and destroying ghosts—" Realizing what she said, she winced.
Fortunately, Tsuel merely appeared thoughtful. "Ghosts have only recently been accepted here into our society as well," she said, much to Sam's astonishment. "It was quite the phenomenon for us, too, I assure you. For so long now, the Far Frozen, as well as many of the other realms, have been at war with them. Like you, we never thought they could be anything . . . more."
Sam's incredulity lit her widened eyes with violet fire. "What changed?" she breathed.
But when Tsuel's emotion laden eyes met hers, Sam knew. Tsuel didn't even need to say it.
"It was them, wasn't it?" Sam asked. That strange feeling of looming at the tipping point of a chasm returned, and her feet were now swinging as she teetered above it.
"It was."
Pushing away from her leaning position on the counter, Sam returned to her menial task of pulverizing oversized fruits and veggies into smaller bits. She tried her best to focus on the rhythmic chop, chop, chop of the knife in her hands, but it seemed too loud now as it pierced into the heavy silence. Tsuel was never this quiet. There was tension thick enough that Sam wished she could cut it away with her knife. She almost regretted asking questions in the first place.
"He is twenty-four."
Sam started, fumbling with the knife. "W-what?"
"The human categorization of time would make him to be twenty-four years old."
Sam took a moment to steady herself before she began chopping again, nodding silently in response. She pretended as if everything was fine, that the world continued to spin on its axis, and that Tsuel hadn't just dropped the biggest bombshell yet.
There was no way any ghost could be as powerful as Phantom after only twenty years of existence. At least, not without disregarding the theory of ecto-molecular expansion and radiation, developed by Maddie Fenton. What that meant, Sam wasn't sure, but she did know that whatever it was, it was big.
Behind her, Sam heard the clacking of Tsuel's claws as the yeti resumed her task of preparing food.
Conversation had been sparse after that.
.
.
There weren't many mirrors or reflective surfaces in the Far Frozen. Not that she particularly cared that much. But Sam would take a moment to study her rippled reflection as she bathed in the hot springs every morning, intrigued by the changes she saw in herself with every passing day.
By her seventh week in the Far Frozen, her violet eyes shone, free of the dark soulless pits they'd once been, no longer bleak and sunken into her skull. Her cheeks became fuller, her hair softer, the burnt strands slowly regrowing. Hipbones that had once protruded jaggedly were now softened. As were her ribs.
They were slow changes. Stuble and curious, but Sam marveled at them all the same. She'd always thought herself lanky and shapeless, but the more she ate and the more she slept, she could see the soft curves beginning to form, the sallowness receding from her skin, and for the first time in her life, she thought that maybe she wasn't so terrible to look at, after all.
Even Tsuel had noticed it.
On one morning in particular, while Sam sat on an icy stool in the medical sector as Sleetjaw examined her, the female yeti raked a gentle claw through Sam's ebony locks. "We should have your fur trimmed soon, dear cub," she said in that warm motherly tone that she so often used with Sam now. "Even everything out a bit. I can do it for you, if you wish."
Before Sam could respond to Tsuel, Sleetjaw said, "I must say, I do admire human resilience. You certainly could use some more weight on your bones, but you are looking much better than when you first arrived here."
Sam nodded, pretending to care. Her feet swung in impatience. "Thanks, doc," she quipped.
"How is your shoulder doing?" Sleetjaw asked.
"It's fine. Aches sometimes, but nothing terrible."
Sleetjaw grimaced. "I do apologize. I had wished for it to heal completely."
Sam shrugged. "I mean I was pretty wrecked when I first got here, so you definitely got the worst of everything."
"I suppose so." His claws clacked against the keyless screen that was his keyboard as he typed. "Let me know if gets any worse, human girl. I will continue with my research of fully healing you in the meantime."
Sam nodded, and then Sleetjaw had sent her and Tsuel on their merry way.
And later that day, after Tsuel had badgered Sam enough about cutting her hair, Sam relented with an exaggerated sigh. And in a flourish of white fur and her light blue dress, the female yeti had a small station set up at the kitchen table before Sam could so much as blink.
She was pleasantly surprised when it ended up looking . . . good.
Her fingers twined through the silky strands of hair that now ended just above her shoulders, no longer singed and uneven. Tsuel had procured a small round mirror from the little kit of sharp blades that she'd trimmed Sam's hair with, which Sam now used to gape at her reflection, stunned by the differences she saw, not just with her hair, but with herself overall. It was like night and day.
With good humor, Tsuel scoffed at Sam's amazed expression. "I do not understand why you are so surprised, cub," she said, crossing her arms. "I am predominantly comprised of fur. That small tuft on your head is nothing."
Sam snorted. "Touche," she drawled. "I guess I'm just surprised that you're this good at cutting a human's hair—fur—whatever you wanna call it."
"I have been cutting the twin cubs' fur for many years now," Tsuel laughed. "Elle has more than she knows what to do with." She winked. "So, I have had much practice."
Sam grinned as she watched the foxen gather her discarded tresses in a little pile and then run off with them, its tail wagging excitedly.
She had just stood from her seat at the kitchen table when a voice said, "What have you been practicing on me?"
With a start, Sam glanced at the kitchen's entryway.
To where Elle Phantom stood, glaring at her.
A/N: Lol I'm trying to fight through a writing block right now so bear with me. I couldn't make myself like this chapter for some reason. It's okay. I give up. Hope it doesn't suck.
Your feedback is always so appreciated! Hope y'all are well!
*Sleetjaw belongs to CaptainOzone