Frost stumbled forward, her breath ragged and each step heavier than the last. The cold gnawed at her bones, and her vision blurred with exhaustion. She collapsed into the snow, the world fading as icy sleep claimed her.
Frost awoke, her body aching but transformed—wings unfurled behind her, scales shimmered along her arms, and fins rippled at her sides. Confusion twisted inside her as she touched her altered skin, feeling the sharpness and coldness that had become part of her. The snow no longer bit; instead, it felt like home.
Frost glared at her captors, their voices muffled by glass and their eyes wide with awe. She tested her restraints, feeling a power stirring within her—one that grew stronger with every heartbeat. "You think these chains can hold me?" she snarled, her voice carrying a chill that made the nearest scientist shudder.
Frost broke free, drawn to the crown as if by fate. She placed it upon her brow, and a wave of freezing energy surged through her, making the air itself crackle and shimmer. Fire alarms shrieked, but the flames in the lab extinguished instantly, unable to stand against the endless cold. "I am the cold that fire cannot melt," she whispered, her voice echoing with newfound authority.
Frost returned to her domain, shaping the castle with a sweep of her wings. The land bent to her will, the cold deepening into something beautiful and eternal. She stood atop her highest tower, wind whipping her hair, her crown gleaming in the night. "Let the world remember the reign of ice," she declared, her voice carrying across the endless snow.
Frost knelt and drank from the well, agony lancing through her veins as pain threatened to tear her apart. She blacked out, collapsing onto the icy floor. When she awoke, intricate ice patterns adorned her skin, glowing faintly with blue light. She rose, stronger than ever, her wings unfurling majestically. She had become the dragon queen of the endless ice, her rule sealed by death and rebirth.
