1. The village of endless winter

Snow had blanketed the village of Larkhollow for nearly a decade.

What began as a single harsh winter never ended — fields lay dead under sheets of white, rivers froze to the marrow, and breath was a constant cloud in the air. Children born in this cold had never known the smell of spring.

Harua, the village's young healer, knew the cost all too well.
He'd watched neighbors fall sick when their bodies could no longer fight off the endless chill. He'd tried every herbal brew, every old folk charm passed down by trembling grandmothers.

Nothing ever thawed.

But last night, a wandering merchant spoke of a flicker of warmth spotted deep in the northern woods — an unnatural bonfire that melted snow in rings around it.

So Harua packed what little he had, wrapped his scarf tight, and set out into the teeth of winter.

2. The heart of the frost

Days passed in painful blur.
Snow knee-deep, then waist. Trees coated in silver like grave markers.

Until at last, Harua crested a ridge and found... a tiny clearing. At its center burned a low fire, sheltered by runes he did not understand.

Sitting beside it, palms outstretched toward the fragile warmth, was someone he hadn't seen in years.

Jo.

Jo — the boy who used to chase him through wheat fields in summer, who once promised to show him every corner of the world beyond their village. The one who disappeared right before the first blizzard swallowed Larkhollow whole.

"Jo?" Harua's voice cracked from cold and something sharper.

Jo looked up. Eyes shadowed by exhaustion, skin pale and faintly luminous.
He didn't smile. Just studied Harua for a long moment, then dropped his gaze to the snow.

"I hoped you wouldn't come," Jo whispered.

3. The cruel explanation

Harua stumbled closer, heart thudding.

"It's you. You did this — the winter. Why? You cursed us all—"

"To keep you alive!" Jo snapped, the words tearing out of him like shrapnel.
"To keep all of you alive."

Harua froze.

"...What are you talking about?"

Jo took a trembling breath, hands flexing helplessly over the fire.

"There's something under this valley. A deep rot. A poison that was going to rise with spring. I found old writings — they said the only way to keep it sleeping was to bind the land in frost. So I did."

His voice cracked.

"I gave up everything. My freedom. My life in the sun. To hold this spell in place so that you — all of you — could keep breathing. I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want... you to hate me for it."

4. The soft devastation

Harua dropped to his knees beside him, reaching out before he even realized it. His hands cupped Jo's cold cheeks, thumbs brushing over half-frozen skin.

"You fool," Harua whispered.
"I've been cursing your name for years. Mourning the boy I thought abandoned us. And all this time... you were dying for us."

Jo's eyes fluttered shut.

"If you hate me less for it, that's enough."

"I could never hate you."

Harua pulled him in, pressing their foreheads together, letting silent tears warm the space between them. The fire flickered higher for a breath — as if reacting to hope.

5. A fragile promise

When Harua finally drew back, he held Jo's hands tight.

"Come back with me. We'll find another way. There must be something else. A shared spell. A ritual. I won't let you freeze here alone."

Jo managed the tiniest smile, weary but achingly soft.

"You were always the stubborn one."

"Good," Harua said fiercely.
"Because I'm not leaving without you."

So under the strange stars, the healer and the boy who bound the world in ice stood together — hand in hand, breath mingling. Around them, the snow continued to fall, but something new threaded through the frost.

Not quite a thaw.
But a promise that one day, perhaps, the world might wake again.

A tiny flashback

Long before frost ever touched Larkhollow, there were sun-dappled fields stretching on forever.

Tiny Harua would run until his legs burned, laughter torn from his chest as Jo chased close behind. Sometimes Jo tackled him right into the soft grass, both of them breathless and bright with sweat.

"You're too slow," Jo would tease, grinning down at him.

"You cheat," Harua would huff, shoving him off — only to have Jo grab his hand and tug him back up.

And then they'd race again, no prize but the joy of each other's shouts echoing through warm air.

Years later: spring finally comes

It took nearly a decade of hard-won rituals, half-lost spells, and Jo nearly burning through the last of his life force before it happened.

But one morning, Harua woke to birdsong.

When he ran outside, breath caught tight in his chest, he found Jo already there. Standing in the field that had been locked under snow for so long, hair longer now, eyes older but alight.

Together they watched — wordless, hands clasped — as the first stubborn buds pushed up through thawing earth. Tiny bursts of green. A scatter of shy white flowers opening to the sun.

Jo squeezed Harua's hand, voice rough.

"Told you... stubbornness would pay off."

Harua laughed, tears slipping free, and leaned his head against Jo's shoulder.

"It did. You did."

They stood there until dusk painted everything gold, the field coming alive again around them — like the land itself was remembering how to breathe.

And finally, so were they.