Once, in a time not unlike our own, there were experiments being done to extend the lives of humans and healers alike. The great Quiric healer Kian Dhani was to be the last of his kind, the last of the theoretical Healers. It was he who brought the Chilling Frost to Quirion, spreading amongst her people.

He believed it his right and his purpose to find the answer to death, the cure for early death in healers. He was a good man, pure of heart and intention, but he knew what he was doing was wrong, he knew it would infuriate the gods. And he knew that to infuriate the gods was to receive lifetimes of torture and pain for both yourself and your people. Yet, he continued his research.

One night, though, Kian Dhani didn’t leave his lab. He was lurching closer to the answer, the cure for death, when there was a knock on his window. He ignored it, surely it was the wind. The knock became more persistent, louder, more obnoxious. There was no way to open the window, no way for anyone to be knocking at it. Kian had no way of knowing, though he should have known, that it was his time.

There was suddenly a howling wind that tore his papers from their careful places on the tables, whipped his robes around him, wrapping him in such a bind that he could hardly move. Scream, came a voice in his head. A cold, hoarse voice that belonged to no one he had ever heard. Scream.

He looked around frantically, trying to disentangle himself from his long, flowing robes that still blew around him. His eyes were wide and anxious, he hadn’t heard the door open so how could anyone have gotten in? Had they been hiding the entire time? “Who --”

Scream! yelled the voice in his head, cracking and violent. Scream, it whispered again, almost begging him to comply.

“No,” he said firmly, his voice quavering only slightly. “No.” he repeated with less conviction. He was shivering now, the wind was picking up and he couldn’t move from where he was. He turned his head so he could see the window. There was no more knocking but in front of the window was a shadow, a tall shadow. It looked to be staring out the window.

It turned towards him and the wind dropped, leaving everything in heaps of debris on the floor. You are naïve, growled the voice. Its skin was pale as the Father and stretched thin over its cheeks. He could see every bone and ligament in its face. Its eyes were closed, the lid stretched like no lid should be over an eye. An eye that was pulsing, moving, behind the lid.

It glided closer to him, slowly, and he stared, horrified. His heart was beating faster than he thought it could, his muscles tense into immobility. It had no mouth though there may have been a hole their once. It was stitched shut now, though, the cross stitches a violent blood-red against its white skin.

Scream now, it dared him, stopping mere inches from him. Scream and maybe I’ll be kind to you.

He stared at him, wide-eyed and terrified. He couldn’t speak, he tried to, opened his mouth and nothing came out. He gaped at it, and watched it set its jaw angrily, joints popping and bones crackling.

Scream! it screamed at his mind, its eyelids flinging open to reveal deep black orbs inset in the sockets. Scream, if you know what’s good for you!

Kian stumbled backwards, an involuntary shriek tearing itself from his throat. He fell against the door, shaking uncontrollably. “What--” he stuttered and barely spat out, shrinking into the door.

The voice laughed, it laughed. Its eyes flashed images at him, he was drawn to them. He stared, barely blinking as he watched the images flash over its eyes. The images were of him.

You, it laughed. It was a dark, sinister sound like the tolling bells on Asberia’s temple. Deep and haunting. The images were of him.

He screamed as it came face to face, no space between their bodies. He could feel the cold, the bones, the stiff fabric of its long coat. He could hear its rasping breaths, and the revolting squelch that came when it rolled the black orbs into the back of its head to reveal shining white ones. He screamed as it reached its hand out to touch his face. He could feel his own heat leaving as he stared into the shining white, unblinking. He gasped for air to breathe but it would not come. He tried to scream but all that came was a moan.

The white orbs had clouds in them, mist, that moved and swayed to the off-beat of its heart. They shone and were dull at the same time. It stared at him, and the more he stared back the clearer the orbs were.

He could see the Circle, the Guard. They were in his living room. They were banging on the doors - why couldn’t he hear them? - and the mages were trying to break whatever enchantment that was on his lab. They were calling his name, screaming his name.

Scream for them, the cold voice growled, moving so that its forehead was pressed against his. Scream, tell them I’m here.

The room was dark, all he could see was its eyes, they were level with his own. He screamed. He couldn’t blink, he couldn’t look away. An image was forced into his mind, it was showing him pain, a small locked up room somewhere. He was in there. Screaming, wailing, crying. There were no words only pain, anguish. Terror.

It led him into the room, up to a small, uncomfortable, soiled cot. The room smelled terrible, it was quiet suddenly. He looked down. Scream, it said. He screamed.

His face was white as the Father, his lids closed over what could only be his eyes, moving and rolling wildly behind their lids. The lids whipped open. The eyes, his eyes, were black orbs. He screamed. They both screamed. It laughed.

Scream for me, it said as it backed away from him. All of his heat was gone, he couldn’t feel himself as he fell to the floor. All he could see was the white face, the black eyes. His black eyes. He screamed. Screamed louder than he knew he could.

It was gone.

To this day, there is no record of where it went or why it left. No one knows what it did to Quirion, what was done to Quirion’s people. The Damien Frost, they called it. The Chilling Frost. They say it went away, to a land none have heard of but they say it will return. In time, it will return.