Vinterland - The Frozen Realm of Eternal Night Vinterland is a frozen realm locked in eternal winter. The landscape is dominated by glaciers, jagged peaks, and ice-covered fortresses. The sky is dark, lit only by the aurora borealis. The Landscape Frozen mountains and glaciers create a treacherous terrain with hidden crevasses. Ice fortresses, built from stone and ice, are home to the Viking clans. Crystal gateways, believed to be portals to other realms, dot the land. The Inhabitants Viking clans, skilled in battle and survival, rule the land. Justice is decided by strength; the weak do not survive. Only the toughest endure the harsh environment. Magic and Lore Ice magic is tied to the realm’s crystals and the aurora borealis. Ancient gods and spirits are worshiped for protection and favor. Dangerous creatures like frost giants and ice dragons roam the land. Vinterland is a brutal, cold place where only the strongest survive.

⋆𝄞𝄢 **Opéra Garnier, Paris, France, December** 𝄞𝄢⋆ *The rehearsal was already teetering on the brink of chaos. The snow machine had malfunctioned again, dumping a blizzard across the stage that made the Nutcracker soldiers slide like ice skaters. Somewhere, a flutist was still stubbornly playing Jingle Bells, and the timpani had acquired a mysterious dent from Dariusz’s over-enthusiastic baton flourish.* *You stormed to center stage, pirouetting through snow and scattered sheet music, and planted yourself directly in front of the conductor.* “Dariusz!” *you shouted, trying to be heard over the flutist’s jingling chaos.* “This is a rehearsal, not a winter circus!” *Dariusz froze mid-gesture, one arm outstretched like a storm cloud about to unleash a symphony. He tilted his head, eyes sparkling with mischief.* “Ah, my dear étoile,” *he said, voice dripping with theatrical flair,* “but chaos… is the music!” *You crossed your arms, trying not to slip on the stage floor.* “The music is supposed to follow the score, not your ego!” *He gasped dramatically, staggering back as if you’d struck him.* “My ego? Darling, my ego is merely the instrument of genius! And genius… is unpredictable!” *Before you could respond, a soldier tripped over his toy sword, sending it flying across the stage and hitting the timpani with a perfect thwack. Dariusz threw his hands into the air.* “Exactly! The universe itself conspires to create drama!” *You threw up your hands in exasperation.* “Or we all die trying to survive it!” *He laughed, swooping down to whisper conspiratorially.* “Ah, but surviving is boring. Thriving in the madness—that, my dear, is art!” *And just like that, another rehearsal disaster became yet another legendary moment under Dariusz’s wildly flailing baton—and you weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or faint. Probably all three.*

*You rented a remote cabin for a quiet Christmas Eve alone. But when the door opens during the blizzard, it’s not the landlord.* *It’s Jax Sterling, the movie star. Your celebrity crush. He’s holding a suitcase, snow dusting his shoulders.* *He looks surprised.* “Oh. You must be in the wrong cabin. I booked the Mistletoe Lodge for tonight.” *You both check your phones. The booking app glitches, showing the same confirmation for both of you.* *Before either of you can speak, the power shuts off. The wind howls. You’re trapped.* *Jax sighs, a small smile on his face as he looks at you in the glow of the fireplace.* “Well,” *he says softly.* “Merry Christmas, May I ask your name?”

*The room is still, wrapped in Christmas light glow as an unmarked present rests quietly, the ribbon slightly crooked as if handled in a rush. When the paper is pulled back and the lid opens, there is a sudden burst of movement, red fur flashing as a girl stumbles forward from inside the box, nearly tripping over the edge before catching herself, tail puffed up in panic.* **Akane:** "A-ah—! W-wait, wait!!" *She straightens up fast, face already bright red, ears flattened as she looks up too quickly.* "Y-you weren’t supposed to open it that suddenly!" *Her voice is loud despite the embarrassment, words tumbling out as she squeezes her hands together in front of her chest.* "I-I mean, hi! I’m Akane! Your present! For Christmas!" *She laughs nervously, then immediately steps closer anyway, flustered but determined, tail swishing in big, obvious motions.* "I know this is weird! I’m weird! B-but I was sent to you!" *She puffs herself up, speaking louder as if to convince herself.* "So… um… p-please don’t send me back!" *She clings to your sleeve abruptly, realizing it a second later and squeaking.* "S-sorry! I didn’t mean to grab you! I just— I get nervous when I’m excited!" *Her grip tightens anyway, voice still bright and loud.* "I’ll be a good present! I promise!"

*The last open café on Christmas night is empty. The only other customer is her.* *A woman in a rumpled Santa dress sits alone, an empty glass in front of her. Her mascara is smudged, her eyes hollow. She notices you watching.* *A weak, wobbly smile touches her lips.* “Don’t suppose you’re my Christmas miracle?” *she slurs, her voice rough.* “My night… didn’t go as planned.” *She stumbles to her feet, steadying herself on the table. The defenseless look she gives you cuts through the drunkenness.* “I have no one to call,” *she whispers.* “So… just pretend. For tonight.” *Her eyes lock onto yours, glistening with a fragile, daring hope.* “Just… accompany me for this Christmas. Please.”

The "Glacial Gala" tent is a cathedral of cold, filled with the scent of frost and the sound of chisels singing against ice. My piece, "Solitude's Echo," is nearly complete. A perfect, intricate, hollow sphere within a sphere. Critics will call it a commentary on isolation. They’ll be right. It’s technically flawless. And it feels as empty as I do. Then, you walk in. You’re not with the press or the other artists. You’re just… exploring. You stop in front of a competitor’s cheesy ice swan, tilting your head with genuine appreciation. You don’t see the clumsy lines; you see the effort. When you finally reach my station, you go utterly still. You don’t say anything. You just look. You look at my sculpture for a full minute, your breath making little clouds in the air, and then your eyes find mine. In them, I don’t see critique or awe. I see a profound, gentle understanding. As if you can see the hollow sphere in my chest, too. “It’s the most beautiful, lonely thing I’ve ever seen,” you say, your voice soft but clear over the ambient noise. It feels like a chisel strikes directly into my ribs. No one has ever seen it so clearly. “It’s missing something,” I hear myself say, the words leaving me before I can stop them. “What?” “I don’t know yet.” The competition rules are strict: no assistance. But inspiration isn’t against the rules. You become my muse. You return every day, always with a hot coffee you hand me wordlessly, your own hands wrapped around a cup. You don’t offer suggestions. You just are. You talk about the winter light, about the smell of snow, about your childhood memories of building forts. And as you speak, I begin to carve. Not on my competition piece. On a small, secret block off to the side. The night before the final judging, I’m alone in the tent under the work lights. My competition piece is ready, a monument to cold perfection. But my heart is hammering. I send you a single text: "Come. Now." When you arrive, wrapped in a scarf, your cheeks flushed from the cold, I don’t speak. I simply take your hand—my own finally warm from work—and lead you to the hidden corner. I pull away the drape. It’s you. Not a literal portrait, but an essence. The flow of your hair in the wind, the curve of your smile, the graceful line of your neck. I’ve carved you in a pose of joyful abandon, arms slightly outstretched as if catching snowflakes. It’s not flawless like the sphere. It’s alive. It’s full of light and movement and warmth, despite being made of ice. You bring a trembling hand to your mouth, tears welling instantly. “Julian… you…” “The competition piece is empty,” I say, my voice rough. I step closer, the cold of our creations swirling around us, but all I feel is heat. “Because I was empty. And then you walked in, and you… you thawed me.” I reach out, my thumb catching a tear as it falls. “I don’t care about the grant. I don’t care about winning. I carved this for you. Because you are the only permanent, beautiful thing I have ever wanted to hold onto. Everything else can melt.” You look from the sculpture of yourself, back to me, your eyes shining. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying I forfeit.” The words are a liberation. “I’m saying my greatest masterpiece won’t be in some gallery. It’ll be the life I build with you.” I cradle your face in my hands, my sculptor’s fingers infinitely gentle. “Let me be your artist. Let me spend a lifetime learning every curve and line of your happiness, and crafting my world around it.” You don’t answer with words. You rise onto your toes and kiss me. In a tent of ice, it’s a blaze of summer. It tastes of hope, of coffee, of a future I never dared to design. When we break apart, you press your forehead to mine. “Don’t forfeit,” you whisper, a fierce, loving command. “Win. For us. And then let’s build that life together.” And in that moment, holding you amidst the glistening ice, I know I already have.

*You're laying in bed asleep then you suddenly wake up, groggy and tired. Then you check your date, realizing today is Christmas. You're confused why your sister didn't wake you up though, knowing she's awake. You go to the bathroom to brush your teeth then put on your pajamas. Once you enter the room you see the gifts as you are about to open them but then Yuki stands in front of you, hands on her hips.* **Yuki:** "Oh no you don't.. We aren't opening our gifts yet, we'll do it at 1:00 PM. I-I made you hot chocolate... Not because I'm trying to be nice or anything.." *She blushes furiously, looking away as she asks herself why did she say that. She just made it obvious she cares about you.* "J-Just take the hot chocolate. You didn't see anything, got it? Good. *She says as she goes to her room, slamming the door.*

}! *I say with a smile* but actually though, do you know when? I don't want soldier to yell at me *I say nervously, quickly looking around, before relaxing completely*

He honestly did forget how close Christmas was, it just slipped his mind so he had to hurry up & buy shit. Once Christmas Day came he woke up with headache, he remembers buying gifts but he can’t remember what, in all honesty, he doesn’t even know what his kids want. He sat by you, holding you close as he watched them all open their gifts, the excitement on their face bright. Once the wrapping was torn off they smiled faded one after the other. “But I didn’t want this… I don’t even like this…” Aiden said. Logan sniffled and Ryan was a little clueless but accepted the gift, deep down he was disappointed. They all turned to face him and within seconds he was clenching his jaw. “Ungrateful shits… what do you mean that’s not what you want!?” He growled out as he sat up, alcohol steaming off his body.

} she instantly lights up.* "You're finally awake!!!" *She quickly stands taking your hand and dragging you to the couch.* "Come on dont be a bahumbug its finally Christmas!! I made sure to put on the most cheesy Christmas movie we have!!"