The pale blue mist still enveloped the Field of Eternal Frost, as if the world itself rejected the presence of the sun. With every step Fitran took, the thick layer of ice beneath him cracked gently, yet there was no echo—his voice seemed trapped within the frozen walls of time. No creatures roamed, no howls of wolves pierced the silence, just a haunting stillness that lingered faithfully. Since this spiral was built, never had silence felt so profound and sharp.

  In the distance, a small, rhythmic tapping echoed—someone’s footsteps on the ice that should have been fragile. A frozen maple leaf was clutched in the young man's hand. His appearance was simple: tousled black hair, dark yet gentle eyes, a frail body, but his face radiated peace—Junichiro, the ghostly poet, the sentinel of solitude, remnants of love that time failed to bury.

  Junichiro’s voice floated softly through the cold air. “Is it you who has awakened me from this long, slumbering season?”

  Fitran stood tall between two worlds, his eyes dark and watchful. “A spirit? Or merely a fragment of this realm that refuses to fade?”

  Junichiro let out a soft laugh, a hint of bitterness threaded through his voice. “Maybe I am a spirit. Perhaps I’m just a forgotten poem, one that never got burned. I’ve even forgotten who I am… except for one face that always haunts me, one I can never bring home. The Snow Woman—her name is Yuki.”

  Fitran stepped closer, his breath forming wisps of mist in the air. “This spiraling world… it’s filled with frozen layers, lost children, and death reluctant to rest—all of this doesn’t belong to you, Junichiro. Are you a part of this Yuki-Onna’s sorrow?”

  Junichiro gazed at his hands, as if searching for answers in his translucent body. “Yuki… She always sat beneath the ancient tree, waiting for a season that would never come. I am just a human. A human constantly confronted with two paths when faced with eternity: to reject or to burn oneself.”

  Fitran's voice lowered even more, “So, you choose to burn yourself. Leaving everything behind, and her—only because of a difference that runs too deep, right?”

  Junichiro nodded slowly, “There’s no bridge connecting the realm of humans and the season of spirits. Yuki-Onna freezes everything… trapping us all here, constructing a silent kingdom. She wishes for everyone she loves to stay, even if it means turning death into a gate.”

  Fitran stepped across the layer of ice that resembled shattered glass. Beneath the surface, small children sat huddled together, their eyes turned upward: vacant, restless, and half-hoping.

  One child whispered a shattered dream, “Mom said spring would surely come… but I can’t remember the color of those flowers anymore.”

  Another child cried without tears, “Yuki-Onna embraced me and said I wouldn’t feel cold… but it always feels empty here.”

  Fitran paused, his voice cold and firm, “This Field of Eternal Frost… is a space in between. Neither alive nor truly dead. They do not grow, do not decay. All are trapped between endless resentment and devotion.”

  Junichiro walked alongside him, his steps casting no shadow, “Yuki-Onna isn’t cruel. She’s just afraid of losing us. She wants us to stay here—frozen children, souls that failed to return, and me, who chose to die for a love the world can never accept.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Fitran gazed deeply at the figure of the poet, “So, what is it that you truly desire? To be free? Or merely to be remembered as a poem that failed?”

  Junichiro looked up at the frozen sky above the spiral and spoke, “Set us free, Fitran. Every field you shatter isn’t just a reflection of your wish… it’s also a way back for us who are trapped in this season. The Spiral of Yuki-Onna, for us, is a living grave. Nothing truly lives here; all that remains are wounds that continuously reopen.”

  The wind spiraled, lifting the fog that began to glow with a bluish hue. In the midst of the icy layers, Yuki-Onna slowly emerged. Her form now shattered, stripped of its grace, she appeared fragile: long hair cascading, her kimono torn, and her empty, glass-like eyes devoid of depth.

  Yuki-Onna whispered in a strained voice, “Don’t take them away… If this field collapses, their names will vanish. No one will remember the children who froze to death. No one will recall Junichiro. I…”

  Fitran stood, his Voidlight trembling gently in his right hand. “The names you guard are no longer alive. They are frozen, merely waiting for a season that will never come. You haven’t given them a home, Yuki. You’ve only built more walls between them and a world that has clearly rejected them.”

  Yuki-Onna knelt, cracks spreading across her body, reaching even to her hair; her tears froze before finally falling to the ground. “If they go… I’ll be alone again. I don’t want to feel this loneliness…”

  Junichiro gazed at her softly. “Yuki… You don’t have to bear all of this alone. I chose to die not because I wanted to leave you, but because our world is too small for love that belongs to different seasons. Yet, love doesn’t have to become a curse. Let us go home, let my name fade away with the last season.”

  Yuki-Onna sobbed, “If I let you go… what will be left of me?”

  Junichiro smiled, touching Yuki-Onna’s cheek—his touch never fully connecting, “What will remain is a new season. There will be pain, but there will also be a chance to start over. You don’t have to turn this into a prison, Yuki. Be the last snow.”

  Fitran gazed up at the spiraling sky, the Voidlight in his hand glowing a deep blue, akin to flames dancing without warmth. He raised his sword, ancient incantations flowing from his lips, his voice heavy and reverberating across the Field of Eternal Frost:

  “Void Genesis Collapse—Root Severance!”

  A flash of magic surged forth; torrents of black and blue energy crashed and tore through the very foundations of the icy field, severing all magical roots that bound the spirits. Vibrations spread like cracks on the surface of glass, creating a gentle commotion across the horizon; the ice began to melt, mist swirling around.

  The children looked up, their faces glowing for the first time—they vanished into fragments of light, their voices intertwining in the soft whisper of the wind:

  “We’re home, Mother…”

  Yuki-Onna howled, her body dissolving into snowflakes, “I don't know how to live without all of this—without you!”

  Junichiro looked at her once more, “I will wait for you, Yuki. No matter when, or in which season. But don’t let yourself become a prison for a love that has faded. Set it free, and let the world change its seasons.”

  The Field of Eternal Frost began to crumble. Ice melted, the spiral dimmed, and all the souls vanished—except for Fitran, who stood in the empty void. Only a thin mist surrounded him, vibrating gently in the stillness.

  Fitran sighed, the sound barely audible, “Every victory carries a loss. Yet, every wound can also become a doorway to a new season.”

  In the silence, Junichiro's voice echoed softly: “Thank you, spiral. May the next season be born without the burden of old tales…”

  Fitran closed his eyes, listening to the whispers that slowly faded,

  “I understand. The spiral world is a place where love and vengeance, hope and curses, must ultimately be released. So that the world can turn again, and the seasons can change—though the price may be yet another loss.”

  The air began to warm, little by little. Drops of water clung to his eyelashes—whether remnants of ice or frozen tears, he couldn’t tell. But deep in his heart, he realized one thing: each liberated field offers the world a chance to live again, one season at a time.