King frostwalker's Arc

Chapter 1 of 6

King Frostwalker was a gray and white cat, and he was the only one left who could crown a king. For three winters the frozen north had bled itself dry over an empty throne. Frostwalker held the old right of the icemaker: he alone could place the sacred ice crown on a rightful head and end the wars. But this morning the crown was gone. A rival faction had smashed the vault door and stolen it in the night. Frostwalker stood over the broken vault. Melted ice pooled where the crown once sat. Without it, any king he named was just a cat in a cold room. His whole purpose sat inside those raiders' hands now. "You look like you've lost a fight you didn't get to start." Muffin Hensley leaned in the doorway. She was an orange cat who walked upright, in a purple sweater and jeans, and she had scouted the ridges for Frostwalker since the wars began. She tossed him a scrap of blue cloth. "Their banner. They went north on foot. Heavy crown, slow legs." Frostwalker gripped the cloth. "If they hide the crown, the north stays broken. I have to take it back today." "Then we don't chase," Muffin said. "We cut ahead." She knew a narrow gorge the raiders would have to cross. Frostwalker trusted her more than his own guard. They ran the frozen ridges while the raiders trudged below. By dusk Frostwalker crouched above the gorge. Six raiders. One carried the crown wrapped in fur. He had no army. He had a scout and a plan. Frostwalker did not have strength to beat them. He had cold. He pressed both paws to the gorge wall and pulled the frost from the stone. Ice crept across the path. The raiders slipped. Their legs shot out. The one holding the crown fell hard. Frostwalker dropped down and seized the crown from the raider's arms. He turned to run and stopped short. The crown was cracked. The fall had split it clean across the brow. A wide fracture ran through the sacred ice. In his paws it looked less like a crown and more like a broken cup. "We got it," Muffin said, sliding down beside him. Then she saw the crack. Her ears fell. Frostwalker held the ruined crown. A cracked crown crowned no one. The raiders scrambled up and fled north, leaving him with the thing he had chased and no way to use it. "It's broken," he said. "A broken crown means no king. It means the wars go on." Muffin touched the fracture. Inside the split, pale light pulsed. Old runes glowed along the crack, deep in the ice, hidden until now. "That's not just ice," she said quietly. Frostwalker leaned close. The light matched no crown he knew. It matched something older. He had come to save the crown. Instead he had opened it.