"Seton's returned!" a voice in the village called.

Despite the storm forming over the mountains warning those who saw it to stay indoors, Rorun took a step outside, pulling Nalia along with him. Though wind and snow obscured his vision, he could indeed make out a human silhouette walking through the storm, dragging something large and heavy behind it. Immediately, Rorun drew his sword, holding it up to Nalia's neck as the figure approached. As he did, a pair of glistening blue lights cut through the frosty veil, catching his eyes and staring into his soul.

A long silence hung between them as the figure drew closer, until finally it drew close enough that Rorun could see that it truly was Seton--at least, it appeared to be Seton. But his eyes now shone the same ghostly blue that the village had come to fear. Not only that, but his face wore a strange, cold expression--not like the stern but pensive expression the man used to wear so often. Rorun knew something was wrong, and a gradual sense of dread filled him as the thing that stared him down took one step more before stopping.

"So," Rorun managed to say, his voice shaking slightly, "you've done it?"

The man chuckled, giving a wide grin before heaving the object he'd been dragging toward Rorun. It fell at the man's feet with a heavy thud, and he flinched when he saw what it was: the torn, severed head of the wyvern, its eyes open, blood frozen, and jaws slightly agape.

Rorun slowly lowered the blade from Nalia's throat, releasing her to kneel down and inspect the head. When he was satisfied, he stood back up, looking toward the hunter, though deliberately avoiding its eyes. "You've done well. I... I'm sorry. I always believed-"

"Silence."

The voice was deep, terrifying, and entirely unlike Seton's. The figure that spoke continued to grin as it brandished the ax, which was stained a dark, rusty color from the dried blood of the wyvern. It swung it back and forth a few times, feeling its weight in its hands before holding it aloft. Savage winds began to tear through the village, battering the houses and ripping the roofs from some. The bright eyes of the Frost King shone all the brighter as it opened its mouth to release a beastly roar. At this roar, the storm blew in, and the blizzard began.

"Seton! Stop this!" Rorun shouted, getting to his feet and rushing at the king. "Stop this at onc-"

The swift movement of the ax cut off the chief's words. The man staggered for a moment, then fell to the ground, blood bubbling from his mouth and pouring from the massive gash in his chest onto the snow. His terrified eyes turned to look at the thing that stood over him, but quickly faded to lifelessness as the ax slashed clean through his neck. Almost immediately, the body froze, with blood becoming ice and skin hardening like stone.

Then the Frost King turned to Nalia, who looked on in horror. "Seton," she barely managed to whisper as she stood and took a staggering step toward him. "Seton, please."

The king raised its ax, taking a step toward the woman.

"Seton, please don't do this," the woman sobbed.

The king stepped closer, readying its ax to swing.

Nalia shut her eyes, taking shaking breaths. "I'm sorry," she said. "Sorry I told you to go. I don't know what's happened to you, but I see how wrong I was."

The king stopped, but only for a brief moment.

"Seton, if you're still in there, please, stop this. I know you don't truly want thi-"

Like Rorun, her words were cut off. Her eyes went wide with alarm for a moment, then shut as she embraced the figure that was now embracing her. Despite the blizzard, the man felt warm. Nalia held him closely, enjoying the sensation one last time.

"Nalia," Seton said into her ear. "Please, run. Care for Yidna. Help lead the people below."

"What about you?" She asked, pulling away to see Seton's brown eyes. The faint smile he always gave her was on his face. But as she looked into them, the eerie blue glow was already beginning to return, and his expression was already changing back to the strange, borderline-soulless smile of before. "Seton?" She reached out to touch his face, but his skin was as cold as ice.

"I love you," she said, not sure if Seton even heard her. Then she turned and ran, disappearing into the storm.

The Frost King watched her leave, then turned to the surrounding village. It raised its ax once again, then swung it through the air, summoning spears of ice to jut from the ground in the direction of its swing, piercing through and shattering houses, and impaling those who hid within. Winds then ripped through, tearing open their weakened structures and throwing bits of wood and stone into the air.

It turned to the other side and swung the ax again, calling ice to rise from the ground and crush the foundations of houses and barns. People screamed, scrambling to escape the buildings only to be crushed along with them. Those who did manage to escape only managed to make it a few steps before the Frost King leapt upon them, its ax ending them with the swift ferocity only a hunter could show. 

Blood spilled onto the snow, only to quickly freeze as the storm intensified. Screams were cut short by the blade, or by the ice that surged from below, or by the blades of hail from above, or by the cold that froze them solid before they could finish their pleas. The voices became more and more scarce as lives were snuffed, until, at last, the last cry was cut off, and the only sound that remained was the howling of the wind, and the final roar of the Frost King.