Bladewarriors Book 1: Refresh

"Stay back, I'm warning you!"

Frost's eyes darted between the members of the brood of creatures that surrounded him. The beasts – Yetis – were covered in thick white fur, helping them blend into the frigid landscape of the realm. The only part of them that didn't blend perfectly with the ice and snow were their disfigured black faces and beady little red eyes.

One of the arctic simians growled, swiping at Frost's back as the teen took a step backwards. He quickly recoiled, spinning around to face the intimidating glare of the yeti's snarling mug. The fool struggled to remember how he had gotten himself in that situation as the yetis closed in tighter around him, but for the life of him, nothing came to mind.

"I-I mean it!" Frost shouted again, trying to sound as threatening as possible. "I'm incredibly powerful! You're gonna be sorry!"

The yetis continued to snarl and growl primitively. Frost suddenly wondered if they were even able to understand. The teen glanced across the dull-witted faces of the creatures around him and decided they probably couldn't. After all, he was very intimidating… despite the fact these beast were roughly twice his size, had claws and fangs, and could supposedly rip a man in two with just one hand. One look at Frost, though, and he was sure if they had the sense to realize what they were looking at, they'd high-tail it out of there.

"Alright, I warned you!" Frost called out again as they continued to close in from all sides. "If you happen to die from me killing you, just know it's your own fault!"

The teen narrowed his eyes, putting jokes and jests aside for once in his life, and reached up, stretching for the hilt of the blade on his back. As he grasped for the handle, though, a sudden realization occurred to him: the sword wasn't there.

"What the!?" Frost turned his head, glancing over his shoulder at the empty sheathe that hung there, the hilt of his blade – and by extension the blade itself – were missing.

"No way, I just had it!" Frost yelled, turning to look back at the yetis as they grew closer. "I put it on when I put on my shirt and pants!"

Frost looked down as a sudden breeze sent a shiver down his spine.

He was completely naked.

"The hell!?"

Frost yelled out in surprise, distracted by the sudden disappearance of his armor and clothes. In that instant, a yeti rushed forward, swiping at his face. The powerful hit struck the young man's face, sending him crashing to the icy ground below with a thud. He blinked a few times before the yeti continued its assault, turning the teen until his back was against the ground. The yeti took in quick successive breaths as it gripped his shoulders tightly, leaning close. It opened its maw and roared:

"Frost! Knock it off and wake up!"

The teen opened his eyes, staring up at the face of a young girl with long black hair as she sat atop his chest, gripping him by the shoulders.

"Oh… Morning, Eira." The teen greeted his younger sister.

"You were making a mess in your sleep again, Frost." The young girl sighed, releasing her hold on his shoulders to plant them firmly on her hips in a disapproving gesture. "And you're on the floor, again!"

"Well the yeti punched me." The teen replied with a yawn. "I'd like to see you take a yeti's punch and not end up on the floor."

"You're weird!" Eira stated, closing her eyes.

"And you're surprisingly heavy." Frost responded, reaching up to lift the girl off his chest and toss her gently to the side.

"I am not!" Eira pouted as she plopped down gently on the floor next to her brother.

Frost sat up, glancing around the small room. The walls, floor, ceiling – even most of the furniture – was crafted from ice. As he glanced around, though, Frost realized his little sister was right: he had made a mess. The blankets and pillows from his bed were tossed halfway across the room, and a few pieces of furniture – like his nightstand – had been knocked over and laid on the ground. He frowned further as he realized some of the icy furniture had cracked and fallen apart, meaning he was going to need to take the time to fix it all later.

The teen turned his eyes back to the small girl sitting next to him. Her pale blue eyes stared curiously back at him – a mixture of what Frost believed was respect and admiration filling her gaze. In actuality it was more akin to disbelief and curiosity at how she had ended up with such a strange brother. The girl had long black hair that fell down over her shoulders. Eight years old, and Eira had never gotten a hair cut. The young girl threw a fit any time anyone tried, though Frost never really blamed her.

"Is breakfast ready?" the teen questioned as he turned his eyes back to the small girl.

"Nope." Eira shook her head. "Lunch is, though."

"Lunch?" Frost sighed, shaking his head. He had slept away the morning again – his father wasn't going to be happy.

"You better hurry up, though!" Eira shouted as she stood up, moving toward the door. "Dad says you had better be dressed and at the table in the next ten minutes or you'll be sleeping outside tonight!"

Frost didn't bother replying as the young girl rushed from his room. He yawned, reaching up to run a hand through his messy white hair, which stood every which way. While it was true he had just woken up, the simple fact was that the hair pretty much stayed that way throughout the day. The teen rubbed the sleep from his pale silver eyes next, trying to force himself to recover from the long rest.

With another yawn, Frost stood, moving to the white wardrobe that stood against his wall – also made of ice. He pulled open the doors, glancing in at the surprisingly uniform collection of clothing that resided there. Living in the Ice Realm, though, there wasn't really much option in what to wear. If you didn't wear the right clothing, you'd freeze to death outside pretty quickly, even if you were an Arctican – a Human from the Realm of Ice.

The teen reached in, pulling out a thermal shirt and thick fur jacket. As the articles of clothing were removed, a small gap in the wardrobe appeared, revealing what lay hidden behind the clothes: a long broad sword, as clear as fresh ice – The Mystic Blade of Ice, The Arctic Blade.

The secret wielder had found the Mystic Blade nearly a year ago. Even then, he couldn't explain to himself – or anyone else for that matter – how he had managed to come across the weapon. He had been randomly selected to help transport Lumi's monthly offerings to The Leopard and – as seemed to happen quite often for him – he got lost. In his defense, though, in the barren and homogenous land of the Ice Realm, where nearly everything was a flat endless expanse of snow and ice, getting lost wasn't always that difficult.

Astray and alone, Frost wandered the wilderness for hours, trying to find signs of his absent caravan. What he found instead was a face full of snow after he tripped over something concealed beneath its powdery white surface. When he had turned to check, he had found the hilt of a blade, and when he had dug it up, he had found himself holding one of the greatest weapons ever crafted. The blade had been cold to the touch, even through his thick gloves and warm clothes, as if it radiated frigid temperatures.

His first instinct when finding the sword was to immediately turn it over to The Leopard, but as he stared at its icy blade, looking at his own reflection on its surface, he immediately began to wonder why he would do such a thing. He still couldn't figure out what had changed his mind, but he decided to hide the weapon instead. He eventually found his way back Lumi and stashed the sword in his wardrobe. Every once in a while, at night, when no one would see him, he would take the sword from its hiding spot, sneak outside into the freezing air, and practice with the weapon.

Frost quickly shifted what remained of the clothing in the wardrobe, hiding the sword from view once more before pulling out a pair of thick pants and closing the wardrobe door. Turning, he headed out to join his sister for lunch.

"What a surprise!" His father exclaimed as Frost emerged from the hallway leading to his room, slothfully dragging himself to the table to sit. "I was sure today would be the day you slept all the way until sunset!"

"Wasn't for lack of trying, I promise you that!" Frost replied jokingly as he stared at the empty plate that had been waiting for him.

"Where's the grub?"

The teen raised his gaze to his father, staring enviously as the man with wavy white hair used his fork to shovel another bite of the steak in front of him into his mouth.

"Oh? Were you hungry?" The man questioned sarcastically as he stared back across the table. "I'm sorry. I only made food for those of us who were awake."

Frost pouted, turning to look at the food on his sister's plate beside him. Her eyes were drawn to his stare and the young girl instinctively slammed her arm on to the table, acting as a barrier between her meal and her brother.

"So there's nothing?" the young man whined, turning pleading eyes back to his father.

"There's a pot of porridge in the kitchen if you want some." His father replied as he lifted another bite to his mouth.

The teen beamed a smile as he stood and – with much greater vigor than he had shown moments prior – rushed to the kitchen, quickly finding the cast-iron pot sitting on the counter. He wasn't a big fan of porridge, but he wasn't a big fan of going without lunch, either; especially when he had slept through breakfast too.

"Thanks for the grub!" Frost shouted as he lifted a spoon from beside the pot and plunged it toward the gruel within.

A clang rang out through the room as the utensil crashed into the frozen porridge. Frost frowned, attempting to insert the spoon a few more times before he reached out to press down on its surface with his hand.

"It's frozen solid!" the teen shouted angrily, pounding on the porridge with his spoon once more.

"Well it has been sitting there since breakfast." His father shouted back from the adjacent room.

The young man frowned, sighing again as he dropped the spoon on top of the frozen porridge and turned away from the cruel temptation. He glanced around the kitchen a moment, opening a few cupboards before finally lifting a crystal pear from the fruit bowl. An odd food, the crystal pear was more ice than fruit – but he no longer had the option to be picky as his stomach growled once more.

Frost returned to the table with his father and sister, taking a bit of the crystal pear. He grimaced as he crunched down on the hard fruit, chewing slowly as he tried his hardest to enjoy the taste.

"We still going ice fishing today?" the teen asked through gritted teeth.

"No… something else has come up."

Frost continued to chew the crunchy fruit as his father finally set down his fork and turned to face him. The teen was all too familiar with the look covering the man's face; disappointment mingled with disbelief, a tinge of regret and a sprinkle of guilt on top. He was in trouble.

"I didn't do it!" Frost yelled immediately. "I don't care what Rylan says, those snow hares were in Mrs. Yule's dresser when I got there! And I didn't take her bra, or use it as a slingshot."

"… I'm going to assume I don't want to know what you're talking about, Frost." His father's troubling look intensified as the young teen realized he had spoken too soon.

"So… this isn't about the spears stuck in Mr. Yule's attic?"

"Now I know I don't want to know what you're talking about." His father sighed, shaking his head. "No, it's not, Frost."

"Oh… well then, forget I mentioned that." Frost laughed, taking another bite of the crystal pear – and partially regretted it the next second.

"No, Frost. This is about what's in your wardrobe."

The teen froze, his face becoming nearly as colorless as his hair as a piece of pear toppled from his gapping mouth.

"…What?"

"How long have you had that sword, Frost?"

"I, uh…" Frost stumbled for words, his mind suddenly completely blank as he stared across the table at his father.

"Do you realize how dangerous that weapon is to have!?" His father's voice began to grow sterner and louder as he spoke. The teen turned, glancing to the now empty chair of his little sister. The brat had been smart and gotten the hell out of there at the first sign of 'the look'.

"I want you to get rid of that sword, Frost."

"No." The word came quickly to the young man, passing his lips before Frost even realized it.

"No?" His father repeated the word angrily. "Frost, having that sword is dangerous!"

"No, it's not." Frost replied, shaking his head, suddenly having the words he needed. "It's dangerous not to have that sword. It can protect us – it can help us! With that sword, we won't have to be slaves to The Leopard or his minions anymore!"

"Are you talking about fighting back!?" His father yelled. "That's suicide, Frost!"

"No, it's not." Frost shook his head. "If we all work together – if we fight as a group – if I use—"

"If you use the sword?" His father laughed. "I forbid it, Frost. I don't ever want you unleashing that blade's power."

"I already have." Frost countered. "I've been training with it at night for a year now! I know how to summon its strength, and believe me dad, its stronger than you'd ever imagine!"

"Frost Blizzard Ice! I don't want to hear anymore!" His father yelled, slamming his palms on the table as he stood from his seat. "You will turn over that sword to The Leopard immediately and forget these ideas of rebelling!"

"But dad—"

"But nothing!" His father cut him off. "Every second that sword is in your possession you not only endanger your life, but my life and the life of your sister! In fact, you're endangering the lives of everyone in Lumi! If The Leopard finds out you're hiding it from him, he'll hail his wrath down upon us like a blizzard!"

Frost was silent, his eyes lowered toward the still empty plate that sat in front of him. Beneath its surface, his clenched fists rested shakily upon his knees. He wanted to shout back, and tell his father he was a fool, but he couldn't bring himself to. Frost slid his chair back, standing, and turned toward his room.

"Frost… what are you doing?"

He ignored his father's question as he returned to his room, pulling open his wardrobe and shifting aside his clothes. He stared a moment at the icy weapon that had hidden there for a year before pulling it from its secret lair, and slinging it across his back.

"Frost!"

He ignored his father's cry again as he reemerged from the hallway leading to his room, refusing to look at the man as he stayed focused on the door leading out of the house. He reached out, grasping its handle.

"Frost!" His father's hand slammed against the surface of the door, holding it closed as he yelled. "Where are you going!?"

The boy didn't answer.

"Frost!"

"I'm going to train." Frost pushed his father's hand aside and pulled open the door, stepping out into the daylight with the Arctic Blade in tow for the first time since he had found it. "I'll be back later."

"Frost!" His father called out again, but the boy would not respond. He walked from the house, and from the town.