Weekly Pink Bubbles
Chapter 1
In the Eclipse Era, a distant coastal town prepared for its annual ball, celebrating the past autumn’s harvest and praying for a peaceful spring.
A strange fishy scent rode the harbor winds, troubling even seasoned sailors. One old sailor picked a rotten fish from a crate and hurled it seaward—but instead of a splash, it thudded and skidded across solid ice.
The old man narrowed his eyes. The harbor had frozen over earlier than anyone expected.
The sailors passed fish crates along like an assembly line, eager to finish and get a mouthful of hot soup at home.
A boy, barely an apprentice, stared at the frost patterns on the fish in his crate and muttered under his breath—only to get a sharp smack on the back of his head from his master. “It’s freezing—frost is normal. What’s there to stare at?”
“But... this crate was just hauled in...”
“Move it, unless you want your ears frozen off! Snow’s coming any minute.”
The sailors quickened their pace, shepherding the loaded carts into town.
Along the road, rows of icicles hung from the eaves like swords overhead.
The square filled with cheerful chaos as families reunite. A reindeer shook its head, bells chiming, pawing the ground in agitation, white breath jetting from their nostrils.
People jostled and chatted, too distracted to notice—until a reindeer broke free of its reins and bolted. The caravan leader panicked, scrambling after it, leaving the street a mix of astonishment and laughter.
Unease, once more, was scattered by the comfort of the everyday.
“It’s snowing! Look, Mommy, snow!”
A little girl excitedly stretched out her hands, catching snowflake after snowflake.
“How heavily it falls this year.”
“So... can I build a big snowman?”
“Yes, if it keeps up like this. You can start right after the ball.”
The mother gently stroked her child’s wind-flushed cheek and led her toward the gathering crowd.
The sky dimmed to iron gray, nearly merging with the distant stone mountain.
Down at the empty harbor, the newly fallen snow was silently swallowing the sea. The unfrozen waves struggled and surged upward—like gasping, or screaming.
But no one noticed. The ball had already begun.
Chapter 2
Inside the Ice Palace, the air was rich with the scent of food. Guests in fine attire sat around banquet tables, chatting and laughing.
With the Master Musician’s first note and the City Lord’s resonant cello, the ball sprang to life.
But before the joyful melody faded, a long-plotted chill swept through like an invisible tsunami.
First, a guest’s glass suddenly shattered. Then the fountain near the orchestra froze solid. As an icy wind seeped in, the chandeliers began to sway—until the snowflake crystals broke loose in unison.
They flew like arrows toward the crowd!
Whoosh—
The City Lord sprang forward, swinging his bow to seize and halt the scattering shards.
But it was only the beginning.
The temperature plummeted. Huge cracks veined the surrounding windows and then burst with a thunderous crash. Gale and blizzard flooded the palace like a back-rushing tide. People screamed and scattered. Those too slow were struck by icicles or strange snowflakes, and spiderwebs of rime bloomed across their skin at once.
“Everyone, stay calm!”
“Please! Help each other and find cover!”
Meeting each other’s eyes, the City Lord and the Master Musician tightened their grips on bow and baton. Notes transformed into tangible energy, shattering the incoming ice crystals before forming a protective dome that held the looming cold at bay.
“The energy field won’t last long. We need reinforcements.”
“But the storm outside—”
Before they could finish, several guards covered in frost stumbled inside.
“My Lord! We’re trapped!”
The guard captain’s voice trembled. “The streets... the houses... Everything is sealed in ice!”
Despair spread like a plague. Before anyone could process the news, another squall slammed into the palace.
The north wind coiled through the hall like a ghost, freezing everything it touched. A thick curtain of snow blotted out most of the light, leaving only the dim glow of corner lamps to light faces blanched with fear.
The energy shield continued to shrink under the barrage of attacks, each desperately played note devoured by the ensuing silence.
But neither dared to stop—neither could afford to.
“We can’t hold out much longer like this!”
As the ice and snow threatened to smother the last glimmer of light, it seemed all that remained was a silent, collective sigh.
As a corner of the energy field was on the verge of breaking, the City Lord threw herself forward, only to be blasted back by the onrushing force. Her bow slipped from her hand, shattered a wall lamp, and a small flame leapt up, igniting a massive tapestry hanging from the ceiling.
“Fire!” Someone cried.
There was no time to think. Instinct drove her to smother the blaze with energy before it could harm anyone.
Yet when the tongue of fire swept across the tapestry, the delicate silk remained unscathed. Instead, its once-blurred patterns grew sharp and clear.
Every gaze froze on that paradox of ice and fire.
Chapter 3
The flames guttered out. While the Master Musician’s notes still rang clear against the storm.
The City Lord gazed at the vast tapestry, a chronicle of centuries, sensing an answer hidden within its threads.
She traced the threaded wonders with her gaze. A touch of the ancient blizzard pattern made her heart skip.
A distinct texture stirred her curiosity... something lay hidden behind the weave. Without a moment’s hesitation, she sliced the tapestry open. Pages, yellowed with age, rained down like dying moths.
“It’s... the lost score of the Hymn!”
A scholar snatched up a page with trembling hands, only for it to crumble at his touch—the killing cold had rendered it brittle as thin ice.
“Hurry! Piece it together!”
Heeding the scholar’s call, people ignored the looming danger, bending down to gather the scattered fragments.
Moved by the scene, the City Lord rejoined the Master Musician, fighting at his side. Bow and baton crossed in the air, carving a brilliant arc of light that held a fragile barrier—buying precious time for the hymn’s restoration.
At last the final fragment found its place. The score stood whole before them.
Legend said that performing this hymn can awaken the slumbering Melody Spirit, harnessing its immense power. But will it truly work? Or is it merely a myth? Yet for all her skill, can she truly command a spirit? What price was paid during that ancient blizzard? No one knew.
The Master Musician said nothing until the City Lord clasped his trembling hands.
“We have no choice.”
Under a hundred pleading eyes, the two stepped onto an unknown path.
“From glacial streams, to the deep blue sea, Our ancestors’ vow, forever with thee. In winter’s forge, our strength was wrought, From fertile soil, life has been brought.”
The hesitant melody spilled from their fingertips, and for a heartbeat, it seemed all wind and snow ceased.
But the unfamiliar music refused to be mastered. The harder they tried to focus, the wilder the power bucked. The cold surged back twice as fierce, and the hard-won barrier shattered again. Ice spikes began to form in the Musician’s hair.
Frost thorns bit the City Lord’s cheeks. Both of them lost control and fell to the floor. The score whipped and fluttered in the raging current. People curled into themselves, their desperate whimpers drowned in the howling storm.
“So this is it...? It ends here?”
“No... We cannot yield!”
The City Lord and the Master Musician struggled to their feet. In the depths of despair, a greater power began to wake.
A golden radiance enveloped them, and where it touched, the frozen crystals began to thaw.
This time they were no longer chasing the melody—it was the Melody Spirit that guided them.
“By Stone Mountain’s vow, by ocean’s roar, Honor the pact to reap plenty once more. May this song through the blizzard’s hold, Become the verse that never grows old.”
Chapter 4
All fell silent.
The old sailor blinked awake as if last night’s horror had been only a nightmare. He stood dazed amid the ruins of his house, with fragments of a soup bowl scattered at his feet.
“Am I... still alive?”
“You are.”
The answer came from a frozen figure beside him, his voice barely a whisper—a sigh between layers of ice.
The city was ash-grey and mute. Streets once loud with life were gone. People shoveled through drifts and rubble in silence, gray-white marks etched on every face—indelible reminders, wounds that would not easily heal.
The City Lord and the Master Musician had vanished completely into that storm.
Beyond the shattered Ice Palace, a snowflake tree materialized, circled by weightless ice-butterflies.
Later on...
Later on, a ship from afar would call at the harbor, or a caravan from a neighboring city would pass through. But once travelers saw those faces cross-hatched with frost-scars, fear rose unbidden. Unable to fathom the history and the sacrifice here, they would cast a puzzled glance and hurry on.
Slowly, no one came anymore. The outside world gradually forgot this remote polar city.
And the people here, bearing their past alongside their eternal guardians, would face a different tomorrow with faces unlike any others.
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