It was a silent night on the open sea, small waves brushing against the sides of a gently rocking sailboat. Distant clouds veiled a full moon, soft starlight playing across Skye’s face. He was half asleep, sitting up against a railing with his arms crossed. He drowsily observed hazy visions fading in and out of existence in front of his eyes, and could faintly hear an unintelligible conversation, as if it was at the other end of a long tunnel. As his eyes drooped, Skye felt as if he was being pulled through a chaotic jumble of memories and emotions, not knowing what was real until he turned his head, looking around. Skye was standing in a large, low roofed, torch-lit room full of stone tables and chairs. Maybe he had always been here, it certainly felt familiar. A harsh buzzer sounded and an entire wall descended into the ground, revealing a large group of people dressed in the same white uniform. Heavy, dully glowing shackles binded their wrists, connected by half a meter’s length of thick chain. They silently filed into the room, taking plates of scraps and leftovers from a reeking servery before moving on to a table in small groups. Many people walked through Skye before he spotted himself sitting at a table with who he recognised as Tucker and Morden, all talking quietly. Reaching out, Skye moved closer, only to be pulled back to the waking world as he jolted awake; his ship had been blown dangerously off-course by a sudden wind. Taking the helm, he sighed deeply, splashing some water on his face. Skye couldn’t wait until he could dock at Frostmill, trying to stay awake for his voyage had been a pain. The last time he dozed off, his ship veered right into a small forested island, and he had to use the last of his money paying a wandering shipwright to repair his sailboat. What’s more, his map seemed to be outdated. Skye found nothing at the spot where Frosmill was supposed to be, but could just make it out in the distance. It must have drifted away, which made sense, considering the town was situated on a giant iceberg. And so, shoulders hunched with cold and determination, he finally reached the village of Frostmill, warm lights penetrating an unrelenting flurry of slow, fat snowflakes. Quickly docking his ship and grabbing some winter clothes the people of Redwake gifted him, Skye stepped onto the cobbled stone streets, cozy wooden houses and businesses nestled below a towering wall of the iceberg on a flat platform of condensed ice. Buildings closer to the wall were partially sheltered by an overhang far above, and everything was blanketed with a fluffy layer of snow. Every so often a piece of the iceberg fell off into the ocean, although the wall and overhang standing above the village seemed to be holding out for the moment. There were surprisingly few people walking around the village, all looking around unnervingly. Skye noticed a thin man with a short white beard jotting down notes on a small clipboard, looking up at one of the houses near the wall of ice. The building was in great disarray, multiple huge icicles piercing the roof, along with a pile of snow and ice chunks engulfing a side of the house.
“What happened here?” Skye asked, confused. The other man jumped slightly, startled.
“Oh, didn’t see ya there,” he said in a heavy Scottish accent, looking wearily at Skye. “Names Owin, Mayor Owin. We don’t normally get many tourists, but right now especially isn’t the best time for outsiders to visit, as ya can see,” he remarked, motioning towards the ruined house.
“As for yer question, our iceberg seems to be melting at a worrying rate. The people of this village have resided here for many generations, floating across the seas, but never in recorded history have we faced such an issue with our iceberg itself. The entire island is falling apart, and I don’t remember experiencing snowfall like this.” Owin turned back towards the house, scribbling down a final note.
“The situation keeps up, it’s only a matter of time before I have to start drafting evacuation plans,” he said regretfully. “You had best be on yer way, there’s nothing ya can do.”
Looking worriedly at the crushed house, Skye sighed. It pained him to leave these people like this, but Mayor Owin was right. Fixing the climate of an entire island was far beyond his scope.
Trudging back through the snow and cold, the storm slowing down, Skye suddenly heard a large crunching sound, as many people began to shout and scream. Racing back towards the source of alarm, he rounded a corner and saw a battered house, roof partially caved in by a large chunk of ice, protruding slightly from where it hit. People around the village were coming out of their homes, running away from or towards the house in panicked disarray. A group organized by Mayor Owin were grabbing axes and shovels, rushing towards the house, only to be knocked to the ground as a smaller chunk of ice fell on the roof, splintering wood and throwing up a cloud of snow. Heart pounding, Skye took a couple of steps back. This was beyond him, how could he ever expect to–no, now wasn’t the time for cowardice. There were people in need, and he had to do whatever he could. It was as simple as that. Bracing himself as he dived through the partially-collapsed front door, Skye screwed up his eyes just as the ledge above him collapsed, completely engulfing the house in snow and ice. He felt the dreaded winds return around his body, starting to crush him as snow began to pour into the small air pocket he was in. Gasping with effort, Skye held his arms out, barely managing to keep the constricting air at bay. He couldn’t open his eyes, not now, and he couldn’t fire the winds away in fear of further collapsing the house. And so there Skye stood, a crushing layer of raging wind the only thing preventing him from being encompassed from the wall of heavy ice and snow he was surrounded by. A bead of sweat trickled down Skye’s neck, only to be turned to mist by the winds he was only just keeping a hair away from himself. Breathing heavily, arms pushing forwards, Skye took a step through the snow.