On the Night of the Dancing Lights, a frostling is granted the power to leave her city in order to bring back a being of power and sacrifice it to save her people. But is everything all it seems in this wasteland of snow and ice?
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Firn walked beside the Elder, the frozen faces of the Spirits staring down at her as she passed through the city. Each was unspeakably beautiful, frozen in the unmoving steps of dance. She gave silent thanks to each as she passed, knowing that she would soon be among them. As she reached the last in the long line, she paused. It glowed faintly from within, a reflection of the shifting curtains of green and blue above her in the night sky. Shimmering spires of ice thrust up from either side of the street, reaching their spindly fingers towards the moon-mother high above. The mother floated in her sea of light, caring not for the troubles of her daughter so far below.
The light within the Spirit flickered, and died.
“Come,” the Elder said. Firn drew in a deep breath of the icy air and followed.