A magnificent castle, entirely carved from solid ice, stood vast and majestic. Bathed in moonlight, it glowed with a faint, ethereal luminescence.

This was the palace of the Ice Queen—supreme ruler of the Frost Empire and the world’s most powerful ice mage.

Inside, upon a throne of frozen crystal, sat a woman of exquisite beauty. Her ice-blue hair cascaded to her waist; her flawless face resembled a divine sculpture. Pale blue eyes held not a trace of emotion—cold as unyielding stone locked deep within eternal frost.

She regarded the female knight below with an utterly detached gaze.

“Your Majesty,” the knight reported, “the squad sent to purge the heretical cult has vanished. I recommend dispatching more troops to search.”

“Mm.” A faint, indifferent reply.

Nearby, a man stepped forward. “Your Majesty, intelligence confirms Princess Kaliya was indeed bewitched by the cult.”

“Execute her.” Same detached tone.

“Understood.”

No one pleaded. All obeyed the Ice Queen’s decree without question. In this land, anyone corrupted by the heretical cult—no matter who—faced death. Even the Queen’s own sister.

For the Ice Queen felt no emotion. To rule efficiently, she had frozen her heart, becoming a cold, flawless administrative machine. She felt no sorrow under crushing duties, voiced no complaint. Thus, she punished lawbreakers without hesitation.

Another reason for sealing her heart: to counter the Dark Sorceress.

After the Second-generation Witch was defeated, her slumber lay in the frigid wastes of the far north. Should she awaken, the Frost Empire would face her first. The Dark Sorceress’s power lay not only in strength, but in mastering darkness and fear. History recorded a king corrupted by his own dread, turned puppet by her influence. To prevent recurrence, successors forged a magic to freeze their hearts—devoid of fear, kindness, or malice—rendering her manipulations useless.

Each monarch became a machine. And every machine required one core directive: ensure the nation’s prosperity above all. No bias. No sentiment. Only cold, perfect governance. That was the Frost Empire’s strength.

“Your Majesty,” an advisor said, “prophecy states the Dark Sorceress awakens within a century. I suggest reinforcing the northern border.”

*Unbeknownst to them, they prepared for the Second-generation Witch. The true terror—the original Dark Sorceress—had already awakened. She walked among them now, advancing toward the capital.*

“Approved.”

“Your Majesty, shall this year’s consort selection proceed as scheduled?”

“As scheduled.”

Emotionless, the Queen cared not for love—not even if the candidate were an orc. But for the nation’s strength, her consort must prove formidable through brutal trials. Their union served one purpose: a stronger heir. Generations of this tradition forged a bloodline of rising power. The current Queen? A once-in-a-millennium prodigy. Young, yet master of ultimate ice magic.

Yet the trials were so harsh, no consort had been chosen in cycles. Would this year bring surprise?

Soon after the decree, loyal guards dragged the imprisoned princess from her cell.

“Wait! You can’t do this! I bled for this nation! I risked my life for the Queen! You can’t discard me after I served my purpose! I demand to see Her Majesty!!!”

Trapped in the prison cart, the princess shouted desperately. As the Queen’s sister, she was a gifted ice mage—but unlike the aloof stereotype, she was vibrantly lively.

“Waaah… please! I want to see Her Majesty! I want to see my sister!”

Magic sealed, she cried helplessly. Crowds lining the streets cast sympathetic glances—but none dared speak, cowed by the Queen’s authority.

At the execution grounds, a massive ice spike hung from a T-shaped pillar: the Frost Empire’s standard sentence.

“Hey, buddy—no rush, yeah? Can we… delay? Or switch methods? Dying crushed by ice is just… messy.”

“No worries, Your Highness. It won’t strike your face. We’ll tidy your appearance after—change clothes, no one will tell. Hanging looks far worse. And… please mind your dignity.”

“I’m about to die, and you care about *dignity*? Screw you—”

Cursing, she was bound beneath the spike. None defied the Queen’s order. Today, the princess died.

“It’s over.”

She glimpsed her fate. Gazing up at the ice, she ceased struggling. Slowly closed her eyes. A single tear traced her cheek.

“Sister… I’m sorry… for burdening you…”

“Execute!”

The ice spike plummeted.

*Thwack.*

Cold steel pierced warm flesh. Her eyes flew open—wide with disbelief at the spike in her chest.

“Gyah!!!” A choked cry. Her head lolled. Stillness.

Guards swiftly carried her away. Royalty deserved dignity, even in death.

Her execution sent shockwaves through the kingdom. Because the Ice Queen sealed her emotions, the princess alone handled royal outreach—smiling warmly, bridging the gap between crown and people. To all, she was kindness incarnate: a gentle light in a frozen world.

And today… that light was extinguished.