All of his troops turned their Ilvorn toward the Leviathan. Wild flames erupted from those magic stones, streaking through the air like serpents of fire. But the monster's storm and the force of its ice transformed the sea around them into a hard, cracking plain of ice. Their fire could only halt the Leviathan for a moment; it neither wounded it nor forced it back. The ice-storm the creature summoned smothered their flames, shrouding everything in a cold haze. In that suffocating silence, Varian whispered, "Fyris." A great blaze burst from the sword in his right hand, its conflagration spreading and surging as he spoke the Sareth incantation. The sword in his left created a tempest of wind that fused with the fire, forming a towering pillar of flame that clawed at the gray sky. The firelight reflected off the fractured ice, throwing ghostlike shadows that danced.

  After a while, Varian cut his magic. His breath was heavy; his voice rasped as he commanded, "Grab the spears from the ship's sides! Hurl them at the Leviathan! Do not stand idle! Shoot it with arrows too!" The troops, jolted by the sight of Varian's overwhelming power, began to move. They threw spears and loosed arrows, some still trying to activate the Ilvorn they had left. The roar of magic, shouted orders, and the whine of metal filled the frozen air.

  The Leviathan roared; the tremor of its bellow shook the ice beneath their feet. Their fire and attacks began to dim, and mercilessly the monster smashed into their ship. Its gaping jaws engulfed wood, iron, and flesh in one brutal bite. The ship shattered instantly, splinters flying in every direction with the screams of soldiers trapped within. Varian and his men tried to flee across the shattered ice plain. But the Leviathan moved with brutal force, crushing everything in its path. Varian was flung, slammed hard onto a chunk of ice. He rose with difficulty, watching inevitable destruction unfold. His forces were scattered—almost nothing remained.

  Their Ilvorn were spent, and the energy in his sword was nearly gone. With heavy steps, Varian walked slowly over the ice that cracked beneath his feet. Memories of his wife, his father, his brother, and his comrades filled his mind. Varian picked up Ilvorn from the icy wreckage; his fingers trembled as they felt the cold of the Stones—no longer just remnants of magic, but remnants of hope, fear, and severed promises. Each small stone felt heavier than before, as though carrying the last whispers of those who had fallen. He glanced at the gray sky for a moment, then murmured, "I have lost them all... but I can make sure their deaths are not in vain." He tucked the stones into his coat. "Forgive me, I am not strong enough to bring you home," he muttered, his voice swallowed by the roar of the frozen wind.

  In the distance, the Leviathan looked at him. Its gaze seemed to say, I am god. You will die. Varian offered a thin smile. "Ah, this is the only way. Damn it, I don't know if this will work. Damn beast," he muttered. The great creature dove back into the sea, its shadow clear beneath the cracked ice as it approached Varian. As it surged to swallow him from below, Varian drew the spear from his back—a spear forged of the strongest Vorvanyr metal, its cold biting through his gloves to the bone. He looked at the weapon for a moment, seeing the reflection of his own bloodied, scarred face. With a bitter smile he kissed the spear; his whisper was nearly lost in the storm, "Show that you're the hardest, darling." Then he added softly, "...or at least harder than I am."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The Leviathan struck from beneath, swallowing Varian along with his spear. Its enormous jaws could not close fully because the spear held them open. But the shaft began to crack, showing signs it would break. With his last strength, Varian cast fire and wind magic once more. Before plunging into the Leviathan's throat he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a cold that pierced his bones—not from ice, but from inevitable loneliness. He remembered his wife's face and his father's steady voice. "Forgive me, I return without victory," he whispered inwardly. Then he leapt, letting himself fall into the darkness of the creature's gullet.

  As Varian plunged into the Leviathan's dark belly, for an instant everything went silent. The world outside vanished—only his own heartbeat remained, pounding like drums in a final war. Fire erupted, not just from the Ilvorn but from all the memories he carried: his wife's laughter, his father's voice, the shadows of friends who'd fallen. It was not mere magic; it was everything he had ever loved, burning in his final blast. Blood-red light gushed from within the Leviathan, pulsing like the ruptured heart of the world. The explosion was more than a concussive blast—it was a death-cry that ripped across sea and sky. Cracks raced through the ice like veins running dry, forming a chaotic pattern. For a moment the world held its breath. Then the Leviathan's body collapsed, slamming onto the ice with a heavy thud that shuddered to the seabed. Amid that blast, a faint echo sounded—not the beast's roar, but the last scream of a man who refused to be forgotten. The sound of the explosion swallowed all other noise, as if the world paused to listen. Then a wrenching howl poured from the Leviathan—not merely a scream of pain but the cry of an ancient being realizing its own mortality. The colossal body fell, creating great fissures that snaked like frozen arteries, and then... silence. Only the whisper of cold wind remained, drifting over the lonely battlefield.

  From afar, a ship of the Sea-Elf Kingdom Thalasson sailed on water beginning to thaw. A tall figure stood at its prow, skin gleaming silver in the dim light, bright blue eyes watching the shattered field. The air still carried the tang of scorch and iron. He murmured, barely audible, "Did this really happen? Has the prophecy... begun?" He turned his stern face, gaze piercing the remaining ice-fog. "We return to Thalasson. Straight to Seabright. I must see Princess Kaela." His voice was calm, but a faint tension lay beneath it, like the tremor before the next storm. Their ship turned away from the slowly melting icefield.

  As the elf vessel moved off, the ice behind them gradually thawed, swallowing the remains of the battle. Only faint sounds of the last cracking ice could be heard, as if the Frostfang Sea itself buried the secret of what had just occurred. No one could say whether the Leviathan was truly dead. Perhaps it slept in the depths, or perhaps it waited. But one thing was certain: Varian's fleet had been obliterated. And in the cold depths, silence sometimes hides a last breath... or the first breath of something darker. The Frostfang Sea began to thaw, swallowing the wreckage of battle without a trace, as if trying to forget... but the sea never truly forgets.

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  But simply reading and enjoying this tale is more than enough—I am already deeply grateful.