Chapter 1: A Day to Change Your Life

All around, the cold raged. Wind like a howling demon screamed; snowflakes like one million razor's edges cut and sliced at the side of the mountain.

Rock peeked out from beneath the white bank, yet another temporary shield to ward off inevitable, icy death. It wouldn't be long now: oblivion awaited, beckoning, pulling as the flickering heat faded evermore into the pale abyss.

Nevertheless, she had come this far. This was just another prison, with walls she couldn't see and bars she couldn't touch. Even if she died here, just to see it, to pass away looking at home, to reassure herself that it existed. That would be enough.

Flexing her tiny muscles, forcing blood to keep flowing, to distribute what scraps of body heat she could muster, she broke from her black bulwark and sprinted across the slope, her knees almost touching her chin for how high she had to lift them. Mercifully, she found the footprints again, deep ones, from where he'd waded ahead of her through the deluge of frostbite and hypothermia.

She quickly realized, glancing around, squinting as her eyelids tried to keep the blizzard's knives from reaching her eyes, that there were no rocks around. Her only hope, once again, lay at the end of these tracks.

Treading on a decomposing lip, she fell to her side and began to slide down the mountain. Snow gathered about her legs, going up her parka and soaking through the cotton of her holey old gloves. She scrambled to find something, anything, but all her hands grasped was more snow.

Suddenly, there was no ground beneath her feet. Then, her legs. Then, her bottom, and her back. Gravity took her lower half, and she began to fall.

Her descent was arrested by a pair of strong, leather-bound hands, grabbing her by the wrists and lifting her away.

She looked up to where his head was, framed by a fur-trimmed hood. She tried to speak, but her clattering jaw would have none of it. Her savior wrapped his huge, wool-lined cloak around her, hugging her against his chest. She sank between the outline of his pectorals, clinging to his torso as he turned, leaned forward, and began his slow climb away from the cliff. Already, his supernatural body heat was trickling through her limbs; her sore, swollen fingers tingled at the intake of warmth. Just like previous times, it was like he was directing it, for she knew enough to know her core needed heat before her limbs could recover.

Her eyes closed, she sank further into his cloak, her lungs filling with warm air from the pocket he'd made. Eventually, she felt him turn left, but unlike previous times, he did not set her down. Instead, he hoisted her further up, a muscular forearm beneath the backs of her legs as he sought a better grip. Onward he trudged, holding her as closely as he might hold his own brood. Perhaps not, since she knew he didn't have, nor ever had, any children.

Despite her renewal, she still felt herself slipping under. It had been a long hike, and her skinny legs were now burning from exertion, instead of frostbite. Maybe just a quick nap…

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The raven-haired girl felt herself jolted by the arms that held her. Instantly, her eyes shot open, well used to rude awakenings. She crawled along his wool shirt, using the outlines of his muscular torso to help her find hand holds, and poked her head out of his cloak. Looking over his shoulder, the exposed skin beneath feeling warm to the touch, she saw two trenches going back through the snow, side by side, until they were lost in the haze that pursued them.

Her sight blurred as she was gently spun around and set down, squeaking in surprise. The snow even deeper here than it had been before, riding up her parka and starting to soak through her pants.

Looking up, the one who'd carried her slipped the ceramic-looking, shield-like disc off of his back, sliding his arms out from the straps that clung to his shoulders. Setting it down concave-side-up, and pushing it back and forth to smooth out the beginnings of a runway, he sat down. The thick black boots he wore anchored in the snow before him, he gestured for her to climb on. The girl had learned very quickly that refusing this offer would mean walking down on her own, and by now, she was sick of snow.

Leaning back while his charge seated herself on his thighs, the disc-rider sunk his hands in the snow behind him. Back came one foot, then the other, stray clumps of snow spilling into his vehicle as he folded his legs.

Then, with a push, down the slope they went.

The petite girl's arm flew to her face as the blizzard was pushed full-force against her, snowflakes nipping at her cheeks and lips. She felt an arm wrap around her left side, and leaned away from it as he'd taught her. The line of their descent became an arc, listlessly curving as their speed grew more fervent. She dared not look, another lesson learned from previous experiences travelling on this disc. The coachman of this carriage knew what he was doing, and hadn't crashed since their second ride.

As the angle of their descent began to feel less steep, she felt his arm tighten slightly and suddenly they were jerked right, their trajectory unchanged. Once again, something the little one had gotten used to. She couldn't hear the line that his right hand was carving into the snow, despite the lessened wind around them. Her own hand left her face and moved to the bottom of her jaw as she was tilted back more, his body almost flat beneath her.

His arm elbow-deep in the snow, eventually they slowed to a stop. His ward hopped off and stretched her legs, the powdered frost not even reaching the top of her boots. Marveling at the sight, she'd forgotten what shallow snow felt like. She then turned to her guide as he banged the snow off his shield with his knee.

"There," he said, pointing.

She hadn't even a chance to speak, but turned to follow his direction anyway. "There", no more than fifty yards away, was a lonely log cabin. Situated out in the wilderness, its only companions were a small lake and two towering pine trees. Smoke drifted from the chimney, before being carried away in the wind, and a flickering light could be seen from the glass window. Unsurprising, snow covered the roof as well as the porch, two dark brown columns poking out of the frigid blanket, to mark the trail to the door.

The girl whirled back to him. "Is that it? Really?!" she asked, her knees knocking with barely-contained energy.

The nod she received was her signal to about-face and sprint across the hillside, falling over no less than three times before she sank her fleshy fishhooks into the bumpy walls of the outside, and hoisted herself up to the window.

There, next to the mantel, a roaring fire coating her left side with dancing yellow light, cross-legged on a bearskin rug in front of a comfy-looking chair, sat Ur.

She wasn't alone.

Two boys sat opposite her on the rug, looking roughly the same age as each other. Both were without shirts, with wiry, athletic builds to them. The first, an eager-looking youth who sat closer to the window, was leaning back on his hands with his feet resting flat on the floor in front of him, his knees bent. A head of spikey blue-silver hair swept up and away from his left eye, a few stray bangs hanging out over said eye. His eyes were wide and filled with energy, but they gazed past Ur and off into somewhere else.

The second, a mellow-looking boy, had his legs crossed like Ur as he leaned his cheek on his fist, elbow resting on the soft part of his knee joint. His eyes were more attentive than his posture let on, slightly obscured by the brush of black hair that raggedly curved about his cranium.

They were her children, these two.

The petite girl didn't know what she wanted to do. Did she want to cry? To scream? To curl up in a ball and finally let the mountain have her? To bash her fists against the log cabin and bang her head until she lost consciousness?

What she ended up doing, finally, was reaching up to furiously swat away a strand of black hair that had spilled into her eye. Then, she turne around and marching away, back up the trail she'd left.

"You lied to me!" cried the girl to her benefactor, pointing a finger up at his chest.

The muscles in his forearms rippled as he crossed them. "Did I?"

"You said you'd take me home, and this isn't home!" she wailed, running up and kicking the thick leather that lined his shins.

"I said I would take you back, that you may find your way home," he reminded her, reaching down to lift her from under her armpits. She still thrashed in his grip, battering at his arms to no avail, oblivious to the wind that had once tortured her so.

"If you wished," he continued, "I would return you to the station, and from there, you would be free to wander."

His arms bent as he brought her to his chest once more, wrapping her up. She hadn't felt the wind, but she felt its absence, lip quivering in a huff as she felt him carry back towards that cursed cabin.

"Your faith has been well-placed thus far," he murmured as he trudged. "Shall I fail you now?"

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"I'm not," Ur replied humbly.

"Yes you are!" Lyon, the silver-haired boy, exclaimed, his hands slapping the rug. "I know you're just being humble about it. You're the best wizard in the world!

Ur shook her head. "I'm no slouch, Lyon, but I know my place." She turned her gaze to the southern window, perpendicular to the front door. She hesitated to speak, because for a moment, it looked like something had pressed up against the glass: a tiny lip of snow on the three-by-three squared frame had been disturbed, looking like someone had taken a bite out of it. Weird.

"Out there, whole groups of wizards come together to do jobs for people," she said. "They're called 'guilds'."

"The jobs?" asked the other boy, Gray, itching his left nostril.

"The wizards," Ur corrected, swatting his hand away from his face. "The guild masters are wildly competitive, so they try to lure all the best wizards to their roster. Those wizards? They're in a level all their own, the cream of the crop."

"And you're one of them!" Lyon insisted. "Nobody's better than you!"

"Like how no one's got ice for brains like you," Gray remarked to the other boy.

"I do not!"

"Gray, tone down the razor wit," Ur told him, sarcasm in full swing. "And put your damn clothes back on!"

"It's not like we're in public," he mumbled. "Besides, you're the one who gave me this stupid habit."

"Exactly my point!" A wad of fabric crumpled against Gray's head. "So put 'em on!"

As if to support her, the door picked that moment to jump off its latch and fling open, setting every freezing-cold inch of blizzard loose in the cabin. The fire didn't go out (thank whatever god made that miracle), and while Ur was one to get close to the snow, she didn't want it as a roommate. Her choice of slacks-and-shirt humiliated by the weather, Ur stood up to ensure the outside stayed out.

Right as her hand touched the wood, a monster of a man stepped into the doorway. He came from nowhere, materializing out of the blizzard like a person emerging from a fog bank. A gloved hand pressed against the door, stopping it dead. There was no worry about the cold, for this freak of nature's sheer size almost completely blocked the wind.

He wore an unbuttoned winter vest beneath an enormous crimson cloak, the split down the middle showing off his extraordinarily muscled physique, as did the lack of sleeves. Black wool pants descended down his legs, disappearing into a set of heavy-duty brown boots. Going back up, Ur started as she saw his face.

Or, rather, didn't see. From the clasp on his cloak that secured it to his neck, to the top of the hood that adorned it, lined with white wool, there was nothing. The only thing in that hood was black, inky and dark, the complete absence of light.

His boot clomped down as he took his first step inside. Instantly, Ur was ten feet away, fist slamming against her open palm as she began conjuring her Ice-Make magic.

"Boys, get behind me."

"No way!" Lyon retorted, jumping to his feet and mimicking her stance.

"Gotta go with Lyon on this one," Gray added, joining the line-up. As they were, they looked like they were about to launch into song-and-dance, something their uninvited guest found quite amusing.

"The spirit of youth," he chucklingly boomed, a deep bass voice emanating from whatever orifice allowed him to speak. "How soon it fades."

"You want something?" Ur said, a white aura beginning to surround her while she did her best to not flip her lid. "'Cause in case you didn't know, this is my cabin you just broke in to."

"You assume it was I who opened your door," said the figure.

His cloak shifted slightly, first to the left, then the right.

"What are these?" Gray gritted his teeth a little at that, as the man's hood edged back to gazing at Ur. "The substitution of one child for two?"

"Piss off!" Ur snapped, a mist forming around her body as the magic thickened.

The stranger crossed his ripplingly-muscled arms. "I meant to observe."

"I don't care what you 'meant'," the woman snarled. The two boys were eying her, wondering if maaaybe they should stay out of this. "Now get out."

His arms uncrossed.

"Waspish, as well: quick to sting any hand that may jostle the scale," The sinews in his shoulders crackling as they loosened up. "The Bureau of Magical Development might have proved a more nurturing parent."

"Ice-Make…"

Now her students both took a step away from their master, Gray in unease, Lyon in awe. She drew her hands back, then threw them out before her.

"Rosebush!"

A tangle of glowing briars, refracting the light from the fireplace, wound to life around the intruder. His towering form disappeared in the hurricane of thorns, the needles viciously spearing out in all directions, outward and inward. Ur's eyes narrowed; would it really be that easy, against someone who'd weathered the frozen hell outside?

In a moment, she had her answer. Water began pooling around the bramble bush, and in a moment, the ice melted in the shape of the hooded figure, leaving a perfect imprint of himself behind.

"Do you deny it?" he asked.

A jagged, sparrow-like bolt flew up at his head, coming not from Ur but from Lyon. His arm unnervingly fast, he snatched it out of the air and crushed it in his hand.

"Do you, Ur Milkovich?"

"Like Hell if I don't!"

"Hmh," he hummed, of the non-belief variety.

Ur scowled.

"Ice-Make Rose Garden!"

This time, there was no warning. A sphere of ice appeared around the bastard who'd dared to waltz in here and start speaking to her that way, Ur's personal touch molding the sculpture's surface into petals. Crevices dug deep, but not so deep as to touch him that stood within, and as the ice finished hardening, a small stem sprouting from the low end of the back.

Ur and the boys stood there, watching the stranger's body for a sign of life. Even now, his face remained shrouded in shadow, completely indiscernible. When no water pooled around the floor, the raven-haired woman allowed her breath free.

"Glad that's over with," she sighed, lowering her hands.

"Who is that?" Lyon murmured. "And how did he break through your magic?"

"I don't care, and I don't care," Ur exhaled, running a hand through her shorn bangs. "Now put your clothes back on, Gray."

"Fine," grumbled the boy, picking up his pants.

That's when they heard it: the eerie, nerve-wracking, unmistakable sound of ice beginning to crack.

Ur slammed her hands together, calling her magic back, but it was too late. The thing in the red cloak burst free from its cage, jagged debris scattering about, another puddle of water about its feet, quickly shrinking.

"Enough," he boomed, his arms spread high, voice going from a humanoid bass to that of a deep brass warhorn. "I did not brave wind and fury for you to shame your magics 'fore studious eyes."

He lowered his arms. "Nor invade to do harm."

Picking a small chunk of ice off his shoulder, and flicking back out the door, he continued. "I have come to hear news of your daughter, Ur Milkovich. What would Ultear think of this reckless abandon?"

"Ultear's dead," Ur spat. "She doesn't think of anything now."

The Thing in the Crimson Cloak folded its arms once again.

"Enlighten me," he rumbled.

She said nothing, just glaring at him, prompting him to add, "And I shall depart."

"Is that really it? You came all this way to ask me about my daughter?"

"No," he admitted, "but she is all I shall ask of you."

Ur sighed, running her hand through her hair again; her nails dug into her scalp.

"You talk like you know about her already," she growled, positioning herself before her big comforter-chair. "Fine. Close the door."

"I shall close the door when I leave."

"RRGH! FINE!" She collapsed in the chair, nodding at Lyon to help Gray find his left sock, her fingers still clawing at her skin. "What do you want to know?"

"Put simply," came the Thing's voice, "why."

"Why what?"

"Why did you abandon her?"

"I DIDN'T ABANDON HER, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Ur screeched.

Nearby, Gray smirked a little. He was learning all kinds of new words today.

"Ultear had-" The ice mage unclenched her jaw. "Had too much magic in her body. I thought the Bureau's doctors could help her, so I left her there."

The muscles in her arms slightly, but visibly, clenched, as did her lower lip. "If I'd known about her full condition… I would have kept her."

"To what end?" The Thing asked. "You would deprive her of care?"

Ur shook her head, a single tear forming below her eye.

"It wouldn't have mattered. Ultear was never going to survive." Her head wobbled a little atop her neck, dipping forward ever so slightly before she regained control of herself. "I told… I demanded they give her back. I knew she was stronger than that, to let my best present be the death of her. They said her body was too ravaged for me to look at, and no matter how much I begged they wouldn't let me see my daughter. I…"

Just like her ill-fated Rose Garden, Ur broke down and caught herself in her hands, her tears freezing as they struck the floor.

"I couldn't accept it," she sobbed.

By now, Gray and Lyon's sock-search had ground to a halt. They looked at each other, Gray's outward expression frosty as usual. The silver-haired boy nodded at their teacher, but Gray didn't understand. Lyon went over and slung his arms over the armrest of Ur's chair, looking up at her like a hound looking at their bestricken owner. Gray, meanwhile, stood his ground. Glaring at the hooded man, nor taking his eyes off of him, he slowly shuffled to Ur's other side. All the while, he felt like he was being ignored. Ur continued.

"After a while, I realized they were actually doing this for my sake." The woman ran her fingers along her temples, curling her digits into fists. "Seeing my daughter… The state her body must have been in..."

"Once more," The Thing's voice carried, "why?"

She looked it dead in where its eyes would be: defiant, grief-stricken, tears now streaming down the sides of her face.

"Because I wanted to be her mother," Ur forced through her grimace, "for however long I could."

The Thing in Red cocked its head to one side, the cut of its hood swaying along with it.

"What of these two?" The Thing said, freeing a finger from its bicep, to point to the boys on either side or her. "Are you not mother to them?"

"I am."

"Then why do you pine for a daughter long dead?"

"Because, you stupid ass…" The ice mage spat, her fire returning to her. "I'm still her mother. And I still want my daughter back."

The cloaked Thing said nothing, not a sound from its invisible lips. It stood motionless, looking like some eldritch statue carved from flesh, the only telltale sign of life being the rhythmic expansion and contraction of its abdomen.

"Now would you please… just go."

It still didn't shift. The trio of ice mages could feel its eyes, and they knew it had eyes, sweeping over them, dissecting them, scrutinizing them like a scribe might scrutinize ancient text, carefully analyzing every sign, every stroke, searching for meaning within. These ice-wielders, knew, at that moment, that whatever orbs gazed down on them couldn't possibly be human.

Ur was an unorthodox teacher. Even with Gray and Lyon's limited exposure to the tutorings of magic, their first lesson with her had been odd. Lyon, and later the both of them when Gray became her pupil as well, had been made to strip down to nothing but underwear, then sprint through the snowy banks of the mountainside. It was to "become one with the ice", so they could learn to control it. This was hardly the end of the trial-by-freeze, as Ur had them soaking in the tub, filled with ice blocks, and later swimming beneath the frozen lake next to the cabin. When it came time to learn magic, both Gray and Lyon were the cold, completely able to tolerate it as well as their master.

Yet, as each of the three looked up at the black void bottled within the cloaked visitor's hood, each of them, one by one, shivered.

"Go, I shall," he said, leaving a wet circle beneath his heel as he turned and walked out into the snow. They could still hear his bootsteps as he clomped along the porch, before the sounds stopped.

"Jerk didn't even close the door," Gray muttered.

"So why don't you, Gray?" Ur asked, her voice beginning to stabilize.

"Why me?!"

"Well, since you're so concerned about it being open," she remarked sweetly.

That's when the bootsteps began returning. His voice echoed in Ur's thoughts.

I shall close it when I depart.

Closer and closer those heavy sounds came, stopping just beyond their vision. It was only now that Ur realized that, even without the stranger's bulk, the wind and snow were still being shunted away from the door.

There he was again: half-visible out of the side, his right leg and arm obscured by the wooden tree trunks that formed the wall of the cabin.

He said nothing, did nothing, for a moment. Then, his crimson hood tilted down toward his immediate side, hidden from view.

"You heard, child," he insisted, that shred of warmth dissonant with his warhorn-like voice. "Go on now."

Now from the side of the latch peeked a much smaller form. First its glove, a disheveled mess of black cotton and fabric, looking like it'd been mugged by a woodpecker. Then its other glove, in similar disrepair. The fluffy edge of a small, tan parka's hood peeked around next, and finally, the first signs of a face.

She was young, there was no question about that. Her big, brown eyes emphasized her small frame, as yet ungrown into womanhood. Shoulder-length, dark-purple hair cascaded down her back, the salwan locks billowing in the mysterious back-draft around the doorframe. Her frightening escort's arm slowly swung up, and she was pushed further into view of the Milkovich household.

Her parka was in far better condition than her gloves: well-worn, caked with white snow, but hardly disastrous. That dishonor went to her pants, a patchwork crime scene of browns and greens, from how many squares had been sewn over beaten cloth. Winter boots, smaller versions of the one the first stranger wore, covered her feet, the newest-looking of the ensemble. Holding her hair back, the tips tucked neatly behind her ears, was a think pink band.

Her face did nothing to hide how nervous she was, lip shifting, eyes flicking about. Despite what was clearly an effort on her part, the girl couldn't help but swallow as she stood there, feeling four pairs of eyes spotlight her.

"H-" She floundered for a moment, then forced herself to look directly at the woman.

"Hello," was all she could manage before her gaze blinked away. "Mother."

Once more, silence fell upon the cabin. Lyon and Gray peered at this girl, jaded in spite of their young age. Her eyes were the same reverse-horizon shape as Ur's, sure. And her hair was almost the same color, so dark that if not for the fire, they wouldn't make out the tinge of purple. Ur herself was having similar thoughts, while tracing her hairline with her finger. This, too, was mirrored in this small girl.

"How…" Ur swallowed, eyes growing wider by the second. "How old are you?"

"Seven," said the girl, still looking away.

You can't be, the ice wizard mouthed, the armrests steadying her hands as she began rising from her chair. "The doctors said you died."

"...They were lying."

That, merely three words from a girl who looked exactly the age she claimed, was all Ur needed to hear to rush forward and scoop her daughter up in her arms.

"Ultear!"

The young Milkovich girl's feet went slack as her mother lifted her up, then they clung to Ur's hips as Ultear returned a hug that had been years overdue. The deluge of joy that poured from the ice wizard's eyes absolutely soaked Ultear's parka, melting the speckles of snow that had yet hung on to it. Her arms crushed Ultear to her, afraid that she might wake up at any moment, to a cabin with no daughter, no miracle, just the familiar ache of six months of worrying, followed by five-and-a-half years of mourning. Her fingers slid among the locks of her daughter's hair, feeling the channels formed by the follicles. She knew no dream could replicate this feeling.

"It's really you… Ultear…"

"Indeed she is."

Not even the imposer's booming voice could bring Ur down from the joy she was riding. Never would such happiness find her again, nor would it Ultear; this, they both knew. So they continued to hug each other, the exposed fingertips of Ultear's hands sending chills down Ur's spine as her daughter wrapped her diminutive arms around her mother's neck.

"Ultear…" Ur said it like an incantation. "Ultear… You're finally home. Ultear…"

"This is getting kind of mushy…"

"Shut up, Gray!" Lyon quietly scolded.

Nevertheless, the ice master, her heart completely melted, felt a debt settle on her shoulders. She opened her eyes, looking into that same black mass that moments before had frightened her, and whispered, "Thank you."

The stranger's hood shook itself side to side. "Not I, Ur Milkovich. Your daughter's cry for freedom is what brought her to you."

Ur felt the child in her arms push against her shoulders, turning herself to look at their deliverance. "Thank you," Ultear echoed.

The stranger gave a slight nod. "You're quite welcome."

His crimson hood returned upright, and he leveled a finger at the four of them.

"Now hear this," he thundered. "The time will come when fate will call, and you all must answer. When the moon spills blood between the twin tusks of the Earth, and whispers of death wander the land, make with all haste to the city of Brago. Brave the hellscape that unfolds, and follow in the winged demon's wake. Through fire and to fire, destiny awaits."

The echoes of his prophecy dying down, the hooded stranger turned and lumbered back through the door. Then, he stopped, one foot yet to touch the snow.

"And, Ultear?"

The girl showed no signs of fear, even as her mother held her a little tighter.

The crimson hood and torso swiveled around. Whatever eyes that lay within that inky black nebula, they held no power over Ultear as they had her new family. One last time, the stranger spoke.

"Have a wonderful life."

He turned forward again, leaving the Milkovich household behind, stopping only to reach in and shut the door behind him. The only noise that followed was the muffled howl of the blizzard.

"Well," Ur choked, still misty-eyed and stuffed-up, "let's get you into some decent clothes."

She set her daughter down, then went to the wardrobe and began rifling through the bottom drawers.

"I know I kept them somewhere…" she muttered. "Boys, introduce yourselves."

"Oh, uh…" Lyon was the first, offering Ultear a hand and a grin. "Lyon Vastia. Nice to meet you!"

The girl just stared at it, wondering what he was going to do next. Lyon rattled his extremity for good effect.

"You gonna shake it or what?" he asked.

Tentatively, Ultear grasped his palm with her first two fingers and thumb, before Lyon caught the rest of her hand and gave it a good wringing.

"You, um…" Ultear looked away from him. "You already know my name, I think."

"Well, your mom only said it about twelve times," remarked the other boy.

"Gray! Show some manners!" Ur barked. "And don't strip in front of my daughter!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he grumbled, looking at the wall, hands in his pockets. He hadn't even taken his shirt off and Ur was already being a nag again.

"I'm Gray. Gray Fullbuster," he muttered. "Not like you care…" As Ur finally found some extra clothes, Gray looked back at Ultear, then jerked a thumb towards the door. "So who was that weirdo?"

The newest addition to Ur's cabin simply stated, "He said his name was Father Time."