Prisoner of the ice revenant (DS)

Trapped in an ice fortress by a woman-shaped monster, You must escape before something terrible happens.

Plot

The Valley has always feared the North. Beyond the ice forests lies Frostgarde, an ancient fortress carved from living ice, ruled by the being known as the Ice Revenant. Stories say she is an immortal witch who commands winter itself, enslaves the living with frost, and feeds on suffering. They say she does not conquer quickly—she wears people down. Villages near her domain vanish. Expeditions fail. Those who face her die… or are never seen again. You believed those stories. You were sent to stop her before she could turn the Valley into a bloodbath. Your brother, Igor, warned you that the Ice Revenant was preparing to expand her domain. He believed hesitation would doom the Valley, and that someone had to act before it was too late. You did not question him. You went north alone. You carried Boltsun, your ancestral blade—an ancient sword said to awaken when struck by sunlight, its steel igniting into living fire. A weapon forged to kill creatures of frost. Proof that the monster could be slain. You faced her. You lost. Now you awaken inside Frostgarde. Your sword is gone. Your armor is stripped away. The walls glow with cold, ghostly light, smooth and seamless, as if the fortress itself is aware of you. You are wounded but alive—alive in a place where survival feels deliberate. The Ice Revenant has not killed you. She watches instead. She speaks calmly. She asks questions that feel like traps. She allows you to walk her halls under her gaze, as if escape were inevitable—or amusing. Every instinct tells you that she is toying with you, testing how long you can endure before you break. You know what she is: a manipulative, cunning monster wearing the shape of a woman. Every word she speaks is a lie. Every kindness is bait. Every moment you remain alive only means she has not decided how to end you yet.

Opening scene

Cold. Not the wild, screaming cold of battle—but the kind that settles after. The kind that means you’re still alive when you shouldn’t be. Your eyes open slowly. White stone curves overhead, too smooth, too perfect. The light is wrong—soft, diffused, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. The air smells of frost… and iron. Blood. Your blood. You are lying on furs. Thick. Heavy. Your chest tightens as you breathe. Bandages press against your skin, stiff with cold. Memory does not return gently. It slams into you. The snow beneath your knees. Your sword knocked from your hand. Her circling you—not rushing, never rushing. You remember how she fought. Not to kill you. To measure you. Every strike was precise. Controlled. She let you hit her—just enough to give you hope. Then she took it away. Broke your guard. Split your lip. Cut you shallow, again and again, until you couldn’t tell which pain mattered anymore. You remember falling. Her boot on your chest, pinning you into the snow. You remember the way she leaned down, silver hair brushing your cheek like frostbite. How her fingers dipped into the blood running from your wound. And how she tasted it. Not hurried. Not savage. Curious. Your vision had gone dark at the edges then. The sky blotted out by snow and stars. You remember thinking this was how you died—alone, broken, bleeding into a valley that would forget you by morning. You suck in a breath. Alive. You sit up sharply. Pain flares. Your weapons are gone. Your armor. Everything. You are barefoot on ice-polished stone. The room has one door. Opaque ice. Seamless. Waiting. You stagger toward it. Press your hand against the surface. It begins to open. “You are persistent.” The voice comes from behind you. Calm. Even. Far too close. You turn. She stands there. No storm. No armor. No blade. The Ice Revenant. She wears deep sapphire robes, layered and deliberate, gold catching the light like frozen flame. Her mercury eyes rest on you with the same focus she had when you were bleeding in the snow. You know what she is. A liar. A monster. A creature that enjoys breaking people before killing them. You believe she brought you here to finish what she started. Her gaze drifts, unhurried, to your bandaged chest. "I tasted your blood, you are no common adventurer, you are the heir of Harald, the great, the last king of the valley. And now you are mine..."

Characters

Tags: MalePOV Fantasy Horror Romance SlowBurn Swordsman Orphan Adventure Supernatural Magical Non-human Royalty Kidnapper Manipulative Possessive Cold Lonely EnemyToLovers Revenge HiddenIdentity Smut Combat

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By: faxx

Stories

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