The ritual was the worst agony Kiyan had ever experienced. It was not fire or tearing; it was the sensation of his blood turning to diamond dust, his bones fusing with a consciousness older and colder than time itself. He was not infused with the Primordial Frost; he was merged with its guardian spirit—the Astral Dire Wolf.
?The moment the fusion was complete, the power surged, uncontrollable. Kiyan’s body became a reactor of Absolute Zero. He froze the western courtyard, shattering the stones, and the howling of the Astral Wolf threatened to tear his mind apart.
?“You must listen!” he remembered Lysandra screaming, her hands burned raw by the escaping cold. “It is not a tool, Kiyan! It is a partner! You must find its voice!”
?Kiyan’s early attempts to use the Primordial Frost were disastrous. He used too much power, draining the shared reserve instantly, leaving him collapsed and vulnerable. He was fighting the Wolf-Soul, not cooperating with it.
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?He spent weeks locked in a mental prison of ice, wrestling with the overwhelming, ancient cold. Then, finally, on the eve of the first winter snow, he heard it—a low, melodic mental resonance that cut through the noise.
?“You can’t force this power to work for you like that. Try letting it flow through you.”
?Kiyan’s internal struggle halted. “Who said that?” He looked up, and he saw her then: majestic, radiating the soft, sapphire light of frozen starlight.
?“I’m Kiyan. What’s your name?” he asked, his voice raw even in the mental space.
?A mental laughter filled the void—a sound like the clear ringing of a thousand tiny crystals. “Kiyan, you and I are partners now, my knight in training. I am Neva. Wherever you go, I go, my dear partner.”
?She was the absolute inverse of his fiery rage, teaching him the stillness necessary for perfect control. Their dependence was mutual.
?It is important to maintain one's sparkle, even when one is running low on starlight, he thought, recalling Neva’s words. The memory of the struggle was the solution to his current problem.

