Master Frosty, now a towering figure of ice and resolve, led his legion of frost-forged warriors across the desolation. The rebuilding had begun, a relentless campaign to reshape the world in his image. As they journeyed through the newly formed, glittering landscapes of ice, they sought the one whose power rivaled even his own in these ancient lands: Ambatukairn, the God of Forge and Creator.
They found him in a cavern carved into the heart of a steaming volcanic peak, a stark contrast to Master Frosty's frigid domain. Ambatukairn was an imposing figure, heavily muscled and clad in rough leather, a brown scarf wrapped around his neck. His eyes blazed with a fiery intensity, and his beard flowed like molten flames. He stood before a massive anvil, the air thick with the scent of sulfur and hot metal, repeatedly bringing a hammer down on a broken sword.
Without even glancing up, a guttural voice rumbled from his chest, "I don't need company." He slammed his hammer down with a resounding clang, then finally lifted his gaze, his flaming eyes fixing on Master Frosty. "I don't need your company, Frosty."
Master Frosty blinked, the cold light in his cyan eyes unwavering. "I know you don't need my company, forge god. I just want to rebuild your world."
SLAM. Ambatukairn's hammer crashed onto the sword once more, a deafening echo in the cavern. He then exhaled a torrent of fire from his mouth, engulfing the blade before slowly plunging it into a trough of bubbling water. The hiss and steam filled the air as he turned his attention back to Master Frosty. "You can't rebuild what isn't yours. You can only rebuild it if it is yours."
"Even though this world isn't mine," Master Frosty retorted, his voice calm but firm, "I still want to rebuild it."
Ambatukairn regarded him with a long, scrutinizing stare. "Humans only did one good thing," he finally said, his voice laced with a grudging respect. "Forging."
Master Frosty scoffed, a frosty breath misting in the warm air. "Is that all you want? Forging around this nasty world? You could have done better! Like making foods—"
"You cannot grow crops with winter, Frosty," Ambatukairn interrupted, his fiery gaze hardening. "And you are the winter. Leave."
Master Frosty sighed, a plume of icy vapor escaping his lips, then slowly sat down beside the forge god. "What is your motive? You forge to defend your world? But not perfect for them?"
Ambatukairn remained silent for a long moment, the only sounds the rhythmic drip of water and the crackling of the forge. "…And why?… Fine…" he finally conceded, his voice grudging.
A pleased smile touched Master Frosty's lips beneath his scarf. "Thanks." He slowly rose, then spread his arms, a gesture of embrace. Ambatukairn simply looked at him, then grunted, "No."
Master Frosty gave him a crisp salute before turning and walking away, leaving the God of Forge to his solitary work.
A voice, ethereal and ancient, narrated the unfolding ages:
"As Master Frosty changed the world over the next twenty-eight thousand years, he managed to balance between cold and fire. Warming the earth where life could flourish, yet maintaining his icy vigilance. Master Frosty became the new protector of the world, for Ambatukairn had retreated into a deep slumber, becoming dormant… for now. Master Frosty reshaped the world into what it should be."
To be continued.