“The old customs of Frostholm dictate that when a king dies, the new ruler wears a hollow silver crown. It is only after three moons pass, and the spirit of the late king ascends, that the risen monarch will earn the supple crown."

In the frost-shrouded realm of the Icebound Isles, power flows like heat. A king rises into a storm of frayed alliances and ancient, unfinished wars.

Eldric Geraphim, newly crowned King of Frostholm, inherits not only a crown chilled by centuries of political tension but also the unquiet legacy of theFirst War—a conflict so catastrophic that no court dares to recount it fully. The wounds left in its wake still bleed beneath the surface: broken alliances, disillusioned Houses, and sacred sites forever tainted by elemental devastation. The isles were united, but peace never truly came.

Now, Eldric stands at the fragile center of a realm on the brink.

Within the halls of Frostholm, Eldric must master the delicate art of court diplomacy. Every corridor echoes with secrets: whispers from the Temple of Thermogenesis, whose fiery rites must be honored but never fully trusted; veiled messages from the monks of the Fringes, who dwell beyond the northern straits, watching the stars and muttering of cyclical destiny; and emissaries from the coastal kingdoms of Xianthos and Veridia, where embers of rebellion and war flare with every turn of the moon.

Worse still, Eldric is bound to the dying wishes of his father, whose reign was marked by both brilliance and brutality—and whose political entanglements left the throne as much a burden as a beacon.

Hovering behind it all is the Divine Hand—the mysterious, metaphysical force that governs the spiritual, magical, and perhaps even physical laws of the world. It is said to rule not from a palace or temple, but from the microcosm, a plane of subtle order and hidden truths. Its dogma, fractured among countless sects, hangs over the realm like frost on glass: unseen, but ever-present.

Eldric himself is a gifted thermomancer, capable of manipulating temperature to weaponize cold, conjure warmth, and control the battlefield. Yet his talents remain bound to foundational forms, and he struggles to advance into the higher arcana.

But as war looms and allegiances fracture, the stars above the Icebound Isles begin to shift.

Ancient patterns reawaken. Forgotten ruins thaw. And strange voices echo through the vaulted sky, speaking of crowns that shimmer like frostlight, of moons that once bled cold fire, and of kings who must choose between survival and sovereignty.