The first man didn’t even have time to scream. Miura’s blade–crafted entirely from ice–slashed through the night, silent and precise. The sentry crumpled to the deck, his blood freezing before it could stain the wood.


    Miura moved like a shadow, her every step leaving frost in its wake. She glided through the ship, her hands weaving deadly patterns in the air. Ice encased weapons, froze doors shut, and immobilised any sailor foolish enough to stand in her way. The crew fell one by one, their shouts cut short as cold overtook them.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Back on The Frosted Lantern, Sabrina watched through her spyglass, her stomach churning. She saw the flashes of frost and the falling bodies, her mind racing with what-ifs. If anyone survived to tell the tale, the repercussions could be catastrophic.


    “This isn’t right,” she muttered to herself. “This isn’t how we fight.”


    Without another thought, she grabbed her cutlass and swung herself onto one of the lifeboats. The small craft hit the water with a splash, and Sabrina began rowing furiously toward the ship.