Anime: Hey! I'm back with a new story. I know, I know. I shouldn't be making a new story when I haven't even posted a real chapter for L!f3 and haven't updated Dueling Legend, despite that chapter 7 is in the works.

Jaden: You've abandoned us! *sobs* I thought we were special!

Anime: You are! Just, this story is a gift for a friend of mine: Hood. You see, she wants more people to ship Jalice so she asked me to make one for her. And do it I shall! This is also an early birthday gift for her. I was planning on posting it on March 6 but I was a little impatient. Also, dedication to IceTea-ROTG-AMR-FC, for the amazing Jalice pictures, and SunVenice, who created that nice cover. Thanks for being Jalice shippers! This story is for you, shippers!

Tyson: Baka! *hits her with a kendo stick* You're not supposed be writing this fic! Focus on one story at a time! You're not even halfway there with Dueling Legend.

Anime: I'm also not supposed to drink soda or eat chocolate because of a problem I had as a child. Do I do it? Of course not! *cackles evilly*

Haou: She had chocolate, didn't she?

Anime: Yes! This story is kind of based on The Chance Visitor by Tyka's Flower. Good read. Also, each of these chapters can be accompanied by a song, mostly the one I was listening to. For this chapter, I recommend Snow White Queen by Evanescence. I think it fits. Jack, my darling nephew, could you do the disclaimer?

Jack: Okay. Anime does not own Rise of the Guardians or any of the two Alice games. They belong to their respective creators. The only person that belongs to her is Aster, this story's OC.

Chazz: She's not that talented to create us.

Anime: Chazz!

**Hey, everyone. Anime here! I worked on this story back in 2015. When I first started, my writing wasn't as good as I consider it to be now. So, now that quarantine is making me go back to my old fandoms, I've decided to edit FBW. Maybe not the later chapters since those were made in 2017-2018 but definitely these chapters. I will keep the Author's Notes since that is one of my old quirks that I feel weird deleting. I hope everyone is safe and remembers that they're not alone. We still have our wonder, our hope, our memories, our dreams and our fun. Let's make sure to make the best out of this situation. If you're reading this, thank you so much. Enjoy!**

**Edited April 2019 and May 2020**

~~~FBW~~~

Prologue: What Came, What Happened

A young boy around the age of sixteen ran, jumping on buildings and often times seeming to fly. His hair was blue and black, and his eyes seemed to have no definite color as they kept changing every two seconds or so. His skin was pale, almost like a corpse, but they seemed to radiate heat rather than cold.

The boy was wearing black trousers that didn't reach up to his ankles and a red hoodie with black designs on it. He was also, strangely enough, barefoot. His eyes were red at the edges, tears going down his eyes as he kept running away from whatever was chasing him.

He stopped in the chimney of a random house, looking back and panting loudly. He looked exhausted. He wiped his eyes, sniffing loudly and hiccupping. He sat down on the edge, drawing himself into a tight ball as he finally let himself cry. It was a soft mourn, for the ones he'd loved the most. Nothing interrupted his mourning, the quiet night only filled with the sounds of his sobbing.

After enough time passed, the boy took a deep breath and, from the pocket in his hoodie, he pulled out a small black horse made by what appeared to be black sand. The dark horse pranced around him, eliciting a small smile from the boy. He opened his hands, allowing the horse a place to stop.

The small horse whinnied, and the boy nudged it, speaking with a soft English accent, "Tell him I have to go, and he has to allow me."

It shook its head and the boy pouted, his hair suddenly turning red-blue. The combination of the two colors was not pleasant, the two colors clashing.

"I have to," The boy hissed, "The stone is in danger! If he gets it, no child or spirit, even the guardians, will be safe! Go tell Pitch, now! Please! I can't let him take the one thing that Mother and Father died to protect! They entrusted it to me and I won't let them down!"

The horse paused before finally. it nodded and galloped away. The boy smiled again softly, the part of his hair that was red turning yellow. However, a blue tinge remained on his hair, a reminder of his pain.

The boy stood up and looked at the town he had arrived in. It was a cold winter night, snow delicately falling from the sky. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and opened them. His eyes had turned blue and his hair turned completely blue as well. It was a different shade of blue, for what he was feeling was not quite sadness, but sorrowful nostalgia.

"You don't want Jack Frost up your nose." He said in a soft voice that broke at the name.

He sat down on the chimney again, his knees trembling, and looked at the winter wonderland that had enveloped the small town. A quaint town, where nothing extraordinary occurred. A common town. Rooftops were filled with the white blanket of snow. Snow littered the streets, the driveways and clung to trees.

"Winter wonderland, huh. What a time to say those two words together."

A weak laugh escaped the boy's lips. He looked down, his bangs covering his blue eyes that filled with tears again. He swung his feet absentmindedly, lost once again in his memories that made him be filled with joy and sorrow all at once.

He got up and floated gracefully down to the ground, ignored by a couple that walked together in the sidewalk. The snow felt nice upon his bare feet, the heat radiating off of him lightly. Snowflakes fell on his face, briefly touching his cheeks as if they were kissing him.

He smiled sadly at that, "Snow kissing. . . What's wrong with me, today?"

He looked behind him as he walked, suddenly wary and observing the oddly quiet, cold night, "I think I lost him for now. I just hope that nightmare delivers my message. It has to. The fate of the children and the spirits who take care of them depends on Pitch listening to that message."

He stopped in front of a large and imposing tree. He touched the trunk before jumping incredibly high. The wind aided him as he defied gravity before he landed on a branch that could stand the lithe figure. He sat down again, feet dangling. He sighed, watching the white vapor that appeared from the action.

The boy stared up at the pale, white moon that seemed to glow blue at the edges. The moon was completely illuminated, allowing everyone to bask in its beautiful glory. He smiled at it sadly, drawing his knees closer to his chest as if in comfort while his hair turned cerulean blue, "Hey. Um, it's been a while since we talked but. . ."

The moon was silent, like most nights. Like every night since his birth and even before, the moon just watched and did nothing. The boy's hair suddenly flashed red, glaring at the moon with his eyes now bright red, "Why did you ever allow that spirit to be free?! A spirit like him?! Why did you let him kill my parents? Why? Father trusted you! He . . ."

His hair turned blue again, except it was darker than before, almost midnight blue. He sighed, his eyes turning blue again. He bit his lower lip and was silent for a long time, eyes downcast. He sniffed, wiping away the moisture that was threatening to come out.

The boy looked up to face the moon again, "I'm sorry. But it's not fair. You know it's not. You . . . you allowed my parents to die. And it was all for. . ."

He grabbed the small leather cord that was barely visible as he was hiding it with his hoodie. A small stone hung from the cord, dangling as the boy stared at it in slight wonder. It was the size of a baby's palm and was pale like the moon currently was. A small fraction in the stone, in the middle and not even covering the surface of the stone, was glowing with several colors.

"A Moonstone," The boy seemed to recite, "A piece of the moon that fell from the sky and was found. It is your essence, you know, Man of the Moon. It allows us spirits to live to protect these children. It gives us powers and it also keeps us safe. A huge amount of power stored in such a small thing."

"And yet you protect that small thing."

It came out of nowhere, but the sinister voice was very familiar to the lone boy.

The boy instantly hid the stone under his hoodie again, obscuring it from view once more. The voice was dripping with evil intent. The boy looked around, eyes wide as he looked all around him. His hair and eyes had turned light blue on one side and red in the other, a clashing contradiction. He drew himself closer, unsure if anyone could hear his loud heartbeat.

"Light blue with blood red?" The voice asked. It sounded closer than before.

The boy stood up before getting in a fighting stance. He had to prepare himself for an attack that was sure to come. He could not be caught off-guard. His eyes darted from side to side, unsure of where that person would appear from.

"What an odd combination but I think I can decipher it." The voice seemed to echo and grow louder. He was coming closer, "Light blue is calm, isn't it? Mmm, yes, it is. And red? Anger. Calm and anger. My, you are a contradiction, my frozen butterfly."

"Go away." The boy hissed.

The voice chuckled. Too close.

The boy gasped as cold arms wrapped themselves around him, an equally cold body now behind him. His hair turned black immediately, eyes flashing different colors every second. Anyone who saw the display of colors flashing through his eyes would soon gain a headache in half a second.

"Black hair and the color that mostly shows up in your eyes and lasts longer is yellow, almost golden. The exact color of the hair and eyes of Pitch Black, or the Boogeyman. Pitch's center is fear. Does this mean you're afraid?" The voice asked, whispering in the boy's ears.

"Let go of me."

"You know that is not my intent." The voice responded, tightening the dark embrace. One of the hands caressed the boy's arms, making him tremble. Their cold breath was too close. He had to get away.

The boy closed his eyes and he transformed into white butterflies with blue edges on the wings. The man blinked in surprise as the butterflies all flew down to the bottom of the tree rather quickly. The butterflies dispersed and the boy appeared again. He began running again before he jumped, the wind picking him up quickly.

The man smirked, his fangs razor-sharp, "A butterfly that continues to fly with broken wings. My, he's always filled with surprises."

The man that pursued the boy had black hair with blood-red highlights. His eyes were glowing red with golden spots on them. He enveloped himself in black smoke and chased after the flying boy.

"For a spirit whose center is imagination," The voice of the man came from the smoke as he managed to nearly catch up to the other spirit. There was only a gap of three feet or so between the two of them now, "you're not coming up with a different strategy other than running away."

"And for a spirit whose center is death," The imagination spirit spat out, turning back to face the other spirit that was still in his black smoke stage. At the sight, the boy's black hair and flashing eyes turned bright red in his anger, "you are, so far, unsuccessful!"

"That's where you're wrong!" The death spirit yelled, the smoke enveloping the other spirit. The younger spirit turned into butterflies again but the smoke turned thicker, capturing the butterflies in its dark clutches. They fluttered blindly in the darkness, attempting to fly away.

The fog subsided, revealing the death spirit holding the imagination spirit. The younger spirit struggled under the hold. His hair was currently black and his eyes golden. He jabbed his elbow at the death spirit, kicking and scratching the arm that was wrapped tightly around his neck, "Let me go, now! Release me! Unhand me!"

"Now, why would I do that, my frozen butterfly?" He asked, "Dear little Aster, all alone in the world. A dead mother, a dead father. Soon, the children you and your parents loved and protected so much, along with all those other pesky spirits, shall die as well. I can do that with that precious cargo you hang around your neck. And, once I'm done, you'll truly be alone."

Aster's eyes flashed bright red, his hair doing the same, "No! You will never get your hands on the Moonstone! I will protect this stone with my very life!"

"My darling Aster, what you desire and do is irrelevant. This world's inhabitants will die, and you'll have no one but me in this world."

"Black, please don't do this."

"It is the only way we can be happy together, my dear. Now, you'll only look at me." The older spirit turned the boy's head slowly, so the two made eye contact. He smiled, aware of the trembling and fear apparent on the boy's face.

He leaned closer, "The way it was always meant to be, Aster."

As he leaned his face closer to the fearful spirit, Aster's hands suddenly released a mist of blue that launched itself on the other spirit. The older spirit yelled, his hands covering his eyes in pain.

Aster, now free, began to navigate the winds as quickly as he could. He looked up at the moon, his hair and eyes turning blue in sadness, "If you truly cared about my parents, allow me to defend the stone. Help me get out of this mess. Please. The children and spirits need my help."

A hand yanked one of his ankles. Aster yelped in surprise. The contact with that dead-cold skin stung as it was a contrast with his warm, pale skin. He turned to see the face he knew would follow him everywhere.

The other spirit smirked, "Tsk, tsk, Aster. Didn't your worthless mother teach you any manners?"

"Don't talk about my mother that way!"

Aster kicked the other's face with his free foot. The other spirit winced but the hand never released the younger spirit. Shame.

"She was worthless," He stated while he watched the wriggling boy, "An outcast of society. She belonged dead."

"Shut up!" Aster yelled out again, kicking the other spirit whose grip had not even loosened on the barrage of kicks to his face, "Let go, bastard! Release me! You killed my parents and have the audacity to talk about my beloved mother! How dare you! You'll pay!"

"Feisty little thing, aren't you?" The spirit asked, eyes gleaming in the moonlight, "You are your mother's son, I'll give you that. All you have that reminds me of your pathetic mother is your eyes. Her eyes were her only quality. Eyes that showed that she hadn't been broken despite everything. The rest of you is more like your unruly father. A perfect combination of their best traits."

"Shut up! Shut up, Black Ruins!" Aster yelled.

"Has the message not sunk in, little frozen butterfly? You're mine and so is that stone that hangs around your neck." Black Ruins all but purred.

Aster squirmed as the other spirit grabbed his other ankle and eyed the moon, "Please . . ."

"We're going home now, my frozen butterfly. You'll be my prized doll." Black Ruins said, grinning maliciously.

Suddenly, the moonstone around Aster's neck began to glow brightly. Aster's eyes widened. He had never seen this glow for the two years he'd held the Moonstone. The light seemed to envelope both him and his attacker, although no one seemed to pay them any mind.

Black Ruins growled, "What is going on?"

Aster smiled, "Alright!"

Black Ruins hissed as more of Aster's blue mist attacked him. Aster grinned, "Sorry about that. I'll take you up in that proposition. . . Never! I'm no one's property, much less yours!"

He took off, the winds carrying him away towards an unknown direction. As he flew faster to the north, the moonstone glowed brighter.

"Let me make it . . ." He murmured.

In front of him, a black portal opened, several colors swirling at the edges. Aster grinned, speeding up, "Yes! There's a way outta this mess and I can actually do something about this! And he won't be able to follow!"

Something sharp and cold embedded itself on Aster's stomach. He gave out a pained scream and looked down to see Black was approaching him again. Aster shielded his face with one of his arms, while the other covered his wound that still held the knife.

He approached the open portal, "Here I come!"

Aster entered the portal and it sealed as soon as the boy passed through. The night was silent and normal yet again. Black Ruins stopped in front where the portal had been. He stared at the empty space, mind wandering.

He snarled, "Where will you go, little Aster? There's no way that you can evade me. I will find you."

Black Ruins transformed into black smoke and vanished, the night officially turning dead quiet. But it wasn't a tranquil quiet, the sort of quiet that is found in a library. No, this one was the type that seemed as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for what was to come. The calm before the storm. And that the storm was going to destroy anything and everything in its wake.

~~~FBW~~~

Aster screamed in pain as he landed in the snow. His hair and eyes flashed several colors before deciding on brown even though the tips of his hair flashed several more colors. It was as if he didn't know how to react in this situation. He curled up in a protective ball, shaking from the pain. The shaking made him look like a hyperthermia victim, fitting as Aster's pasty white skin had turned paler.

The place the portal had taken him was a snowy terrain. Everywhere you looked, you could see only white. White hills, white ground. The sky was a light gray as there was no sun around these parts.

Aster whimpered as he got to knees. A violent windstorm was taking place, the wind howling on Aster's ears. He covered his wound with a hand, or attempted to as the knife was still embedded into his abdomen. He cringed as more blood oozed out of the wound.

Even though he was dying to remove the weapon from his body, he knew better. If he did remove it, more blood would flow and he could possibly die of blood loss. And, much to his terrible luck, the knife had been thrown at him by the death spirit. Half of the hilt was visible, as most of the knife was inside of him. It was just his luck that this had been thrown, not just stabbed.

Shaking his head, he looked at the blank surroundings. He frowned, "Typical. He doesn't make things easier. Where am I?"

Aster tried to get up but the sudden sting coming from wounds made him cry out. He crumpled to the ground face-first, groaning in pain. As he impacted with the snowy ground, a mist of cold air mixed with snowflakes flew upwards, covering Aster's line of vision.

He shuddered, red blood staining the beautiful white snow around him. He stared at the snow, feeling defeated. He shook his head, recalling that his mother had gone through worse. That his father had gone through worse. If they could've survived this, then he could do it as well. He attempted to get up again one more, screaming in agony as the wound acted up again.

Aster shook his head again, trying to clear his vision that was quickly turning blurry. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his hair turning light blue as he calmed down. He took deep breaths, his breath hitching whenever he felt the pain again.

He picked up some snow and placed it on the abdomen, "I am a terrible imagination spirit if I can't even help stop the bleeding of a wound like this."

Aster fell back onto the snow, sighing. He glanced up the empty gray sky. He couldn't even see the moon, much to his disappointment.

He chuckled suddenly, "If a spirit that was born a sprit dies, will they come back as a spirit again? What an odd thing to say, Aster. And talking to yourself? Have you gone mad?"

He giggled maniacally at the thought, his hair turning black and eyes turning green as a thought assaulted his thoughts, "Mad, mad, I've gone mad. Insanity, beautiful and ugly insanity. Lock me up, they should. But how, if no one can see me or believes in me? Ha. You're truly insane, Aster."

He closed his eyes. For a moment, he almost forgot. The murder of his parents right in front of his eyes. Black Ruins appearing before him and the attack. The Moonstone. His wound. The blood that was spilling out of his body as he tried to forget. But fate was cruel as, at that moment, more blood squirted out of his wound and Aster hissed.

He opened his eyes, looking as the snowflakes fell rapidly. A violent snowstorm that seemed to be lulling him to sleep rather than scaring him. He didn't even feel the cold. He blinked slowly, seeing some snowflakes land delicately on his eyelashes. How pretty. A unique snowflake, a piece of perfection.

Piece of perfection? Aster thought to himself. If I'm thinking like this, it makes me think that I want to die . . . do I? No, of course not. What would that accomplish? My death would be insignificant. At the same time. . . My parents are dead and the others might never reach my message. I'm as good as dead. I might as well just lay in the snow and sleep . . .

As soon as he thought that, the wailing tempest came to a standstill, as if telling him that he no longer had an excuse to wish to die. He smiled, as if understanding what the wind was doing. Either that or the storm had passed.

Aster was going with his second option, trying to keep his sanity, "A blessing or a curse?"

He raised his head slightly to look at the knife. He took a deep breath. It was an annoying thorn to his side, figuratively and literally, and he wanted it to go away. He closed his eyes, his hands coming to grasp the handle of the knife. He gulped, feeling his own blood in his hands.

"To insanity and the horrors it brings." He muttered as he yanked the knife out.

Aste gave out a loud scream of pain, the scream echoing through the silent landscape. He cried out again, feeling the wound. He moaned in pain, placing pressure on the wound. The wound had allowed more blood to be released, the blood dripping from Aster's sides to the snow that had been originally white.

As Aster regained his breathing, he took a look at the knife that was practically covered in his blood. Red. So much red. The same color that had been pouring out of his parents' bodies and the color of Black Ruins' eyes. The color of his hair when he was mad. The color of rubies. The color of fire. The color of his hoodie. So much of that color. Such an ugly color. He was starting to hate it.

He watched the blood drip down from the knife, turning black when it fell on the snow. Not good. That meant the knife was enchanted. He was not going to die but he'd fall into a deathlike sleep. Just like Sleeping Beauty and Snow White, he'd only be awakened by a prince.

His prince, however, would be his parents' killer and the man that he hated the most. He was not going to wait for the deathlike sleep to take hold of him. And he was not going to wait for the "prince" to come.

"Ngh . . ."

A beautiful green light appeared in the sky. Aster's eyes widened, throwing the knife far away from him. He was breathing calmly again, his gaze fixated on those lights. Auroras. They usually appeared in the North and South Poles. If the Moon had truly helped him, he took a wild guess on which pole he had appeared in.

"The North Pole!" He cried out.

Suddenly, he felt a rush of adrenaline, the sort that courses through you to continue moving no matter how tired you were. He gritted his teeth as he got to his feet, eyes and hair glowing yellow to express his happiness. Finally, a reprieve from his suffering. He was going to be alright!

He looked at the sky. He couldn't see the Moon yet he was still thankful. He smiled softly, eyes softening, "Thank you . . ."

He placed a hand on his wounded side and began to run, despite the fact that he was still barefoot. As he gained enough speed, he took to the air with a small shout of happiness.

"Here I come!"

~~~FBW~~~

**EDIT: New scenes with Aster and Black Ruins, the knife's impact and curse, updated dialogue and descriptions**

Anime: How was that? Good? Bad? Terrible? I think I might've gone too deep. I don't tend to focus on imagery and deep thoughts like that. I'm more dialogue. This was new!

Jack: And where are we?*motions at the Guardians*

Anime: Jack-kun, be patient. You and Alice-chan will have your moment. You'll appear in chapter one, of course! After all, this is a Jalice fanfiction! And my first fanfiction with an attempt at romance, too! I'm just terrible at it.

Alice: We've noticed.

Jaden: Read and review, please! The button is your friend! If we receive at least two comments, we'll torture Dr. Bumby!

Jehu: Yes! Torture! Where's my victim?

Bumby: No one shall review! I shall live!

Sora: Flaming chainsaw?

Anime: Thanks, darling! Let's do this! *all chase after Bumby*