Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jack dropped through the open skylight with a grin, twisting midair just to make his entrance a little more dramatic. North had sent out the northern lights, so Jack had rocketed here as fast as his icy wind could carry him. If he’d done a few extra loops along the way—well, who could blame him? He was the third one there, after all. North and Bunny were already at the fire, their voices rising in the usual friendly bickering. Jack slid to a smooth landing on the floor, icing one of the elves just for fun—watching them slip and stumble was always good for a laugh. He walked over to where North and Bunny stood, the warmth from the fire flickering against his cool skin. Tooth zipped past him toward the flames, probably already asking what was going on.

Looking up at the skylight, Jack watched as golden sand floated down in lazy spirals, drifting through the air like it had all the time in the world. It was a beautiful sight. He’d missed this chaotic, magical place—The North Pole, aka Santa’s workshop.

“Hey, Sandy!” Jack called, waving up toward the opening. His voice carried through the room, immediately catching the others’ attention.

“Da, we’re all here! We have much to discuss, yes!” North boomed, his voice filling the space with that energy only he could muster. His thick Russian accent made everything sound more dramatic than it probably was, but Jack couldn’t help but smile.

Bunny shot him a look, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Yeah, mate, like calling a meeting right before my goodies start walking about! Timing, North, timing!” His voice was playful, but there was a real edge to it, the kind that came out when Bunny was ready to protect his precious Easter plans. His large, fluffy ears flicked as he paced, clearly itching to return to whatever had caught his attention before the interruption.

Jack leaned casually against the wall, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Always the timing with you, huh, Bunny?”

Tooth zipped past him again, her wings humming softly as she darted toward the fire. Before Bunny and North could start their usual back-and-forth, she spoke up. “What’s this about, North? It better be important, or I’ll take my sweet time getting involved.”

North let out a dramatic sigh, raising one hand as if to announce something serious. “Pitch is back,” he said, his voice suddenly carrying a weight that made everyone pause.

Bunny’s eyes widened for a split second before narrowing suspiciously. “Mate, it’s been two bloody years. There’s no way that bugger’s back!” His voice dropped to a growl, and Jack could see the tension in Bunny’s shoulders. It wasn’t every day that Pitch’s name got mentioned—especially not after two years of silence. The fear of the Boogeyman was still fresh in everyone’s mind.

Sandy, hovering near the opening, threw up a few glowing glyphs in the air. They swirled and danced, shimmering with soft light, before slowly fading. North nodded grimly. “Bah, it’s the truth. Pitch was spotted near Light Sanctuary. Dazhbog called to say he was mumbling something about winter.”

Jack spun around, eyes wide with shock. “Winter?” His voice faltered, and frost began creeping from around his feet. Pitch is back… and he’s after me. In that instant, Jack knew—the realization hit the others too. Pitch wasn’t just coming for winter; he was coming for Jack .

Bunny’s ears flattened against his head, and his teeth bared in an instant. “That’s it,” he growled, fists clenched. “The booger’s got a lot of nerve. Messing with Frostbite —after all this time— this is what he’s been planning?” His voice was filled with anger, but Jack could see the worry in Bunny’s eyes. No one liked seeing their friends targeted like this, especially when it was something so personal.

North stepped forward, his voice dark and filled with righteous fury. “Da, this is no game. Pitch thinks he can take Winter. He is wrong.” His tone was commanding, his presence demanding attention. “To the sleigh! We will stop him.”

Tooth zipped toward Jack, her expression tight with concern. “Jack, you okay? You look…” She paused, her voice softer. “You feel different.”

Bunny’s gaze flicked to Jack, the anger fading into concern and just a touch of fear. “Mate, don’t you dare shut us out. If Pitch is messing with you, he’s messing with all of us. We can’t let him do that.”

Jack struggled to meet their eyes. He wanted to run—to find his pond and skate around like old times. But they needed him, and Jack wasn’t about to let Pitch win. Not like this.

North’s booming voice cut through the air. “This ends tonight. We protect you, Jack. No one hurts Winter.” His words were final, the weight of them settling in the room like a promise.

They stepped into the Light Sanctuary, the world around them ablaze with shifting colors. Every surface reflected hues of gold, blue, and purple in radiant streaks, casting the room in a mesmerizing glow. Jack couldn’t help but be momentarily distracted by the sight. He summoned one of his snowflakes, watching it spin in the light, the kaleidoscope of colors refracting off its delicate, icy form. It was hypnotic—beautiful. He could almost forget the mission. Almost.

But Bunny’s eyes were locked on the snowflake warily, his hands twitching, clearly wanting to draw it right then and there. He restrained himself, though, as if uncertain about indulging in the impulse.

Without warning, North’s booming voice shattered the calm like a cannon shot. “Pitch!”

Jack jumped, startled by the sudden shout. At the far end of the room, Pitch turned just enough to glance over his shoulder. His movements were slow, unhurried, as though he had been expecting them all along.

Without a word, Pitch turned and walked toward a hidden door, one that Jack hadn’t noticed before. Without hesitation, Jack and the other guardians followed. As they moved deeper into the room, the air grew colder, the temperature dropping in sharp, painful waves. But Jack felt nothing.

While the others visibly shivered, their breath turning to mist in the air, Jack stood perfectly still, unperturbed. The cold unbearable to everyone else, yet he felt nothing, not even a chill. He glanced at his friends, worried, feeling the stark contrast between his own lack of reaction and the others’ discomfort.

Bunny’s teeth chattered beside him. “Blimey, it’s freezing,” he muttered, but Jack didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His focus was entirely on Pitch. Something about the way Pitch moved unsettled him, a sense that something wasn’t quite right.

Pitch’s voice cut through the dark, impossibly soft but heavy with power.

“Winterlight, Winterbright,

Won’t you be our star tonight?”

The words, smooth as velvet, slithered into the air. It sounded almost like a lullaby—sweet, but wrong.

“Through all the battles, through endless fright,

Won’t you shine through this endless night?”

The temperature plummeted even further, but again, it had no effect on Jack. The others stumbled, collapsing, groaning as their bodies struggled to adjust. They fell to their knees, but Jack remained unaffected.

Then, a brilliant light erupted in the room, blinding Jack and the others. His heart skipped a beat as the intensity of the glow made him squint. As the light began to fade, a figure emerged—glowing and otherworldly, their features illuminated in an eerie, almost ethereal radiance. They were dressed in a mix of white, black, blue, and gold, their skin a faint, glowing blue, their hair pure white, and their eyes a black void, with only the faintest blue light shining from within.

Jack froze, his breath catching. There was something unsettlingly familiar about this figure—too familiar, as though he were looking at a weird glowy reflection of himself.

Pitch stepped forward with a calm, relaxed smile, an expression that didn’t match the tension of the situation. The figure returned the smile, too serene for comfort.

“Uh, what’s going on here?” Jack asked, his voice strained as the pit in his stomach deepened. His unease was growing rapidly.

The glowing figure turned to him, their glowing eyes locking onto his. “Jack Frost,” the figure said softly, their voice knowing.

“How do you know my name?” Jack demanded, instinctively raising his staff in defense. Panic surged in his chest, though he tried to keep his voice steady.

The figure didn’t answer right away. Instead, they smirked, a mischievous gleam in their eyes. Then, with a flick of their wrist, they tossed a small, glowing object toward Jack. “Hmm, catch!” they said, their voice light and playful.

Jack didn’t think—he reacted, reaching out and catching the object mid-air. As soon as it touched his skin, an electric shock of energy shot through him, the power flaring violently, surging through his body.

Before he could even process what had happened, the world around him exploded.

He was falling.

No—plummeting.

Jack’s body tumbled through the vast colors as various voices all talked at the same time. He was weightless, spinning, disoriented, unable to stop. Time seemed to stretch and fracture, twisting into a thousand different timelines, each one flickering like shattered glass in front of him. He couldn’t grasp any of it. All he could do was fall, faster and faster, in a relentless pull as it dragged him further from reality.

Then, with a sudden, jarring shift, Jack found himself suspended in space.

Stars twinkled in the distance, casting their soft light across the void. But this was not a peaceful expanse. Below, massive creatures—writhing and twisting masses made of pure fear and darkness—rushed through the darkness, howling as they clashed with an opposing force. The creatures were immense, their forms distorted by shadows, yet their very presence suffocated the air.

Against them stood the warriors of light.

Figures gleamed against the dark, silhouetted by starlight. Their weapons burned bright as they cut through the creatures of darkness with precise, fluid movements. Jack could hear the faint echoes of their strikes, though the void itself swallowed most of the sound. It was as though he were watching a battle unfold from the outside—a dream he could only observe.

Three figures stood out among the warriors:

A warrior in gold armor gleamed like a living star, their sword cutting through the creatures of darkness with arcs of brilliant light. Their presence alone seemed to push the shadows back, as if their very being challenged the darkness itself.

Next to them stood a warrior in black armor , barely visible against the backdrop of the battle. They wielded a large scythe, that looked hauntingly familiar, crackling with dark energy, moving with an eerie grace, that he had only once when fighting Pitch, they struck down the shadowy creatures. There was a calm, calculated precision to their every action.

And between them, a figure Jack recognized—the glowing boy , his skin radiating soft, icy blue light. He didn’t wield a weapon. He didn’t need to. His very presence bent the light around him as ice shimmered and overtook any of the creatures that got to close, his eyes locked onto the dark creatures with a calm, knowing gaze. Every movement seemed purposeful, as though he were controlling the flow of the battle itself.

Jack’s heart pounded as he watched from a distance, helpless. He wasn’t part of this fight. He couldn’t be. He was just an observer, drifting through the chaos, unable to intervene. The creatures of darkness surged forward, and for every one that fell, two more seemed to rise in their place.

The warriors of light fought on, but the battle felt endless. Jack could feel the toll it was taking. The golden warrior’s light dimmed slightly, the black-armored warrior’s strikes became slower, and the glowing boy, though still radiant, began to show signs of exhaustion.

And still, the battle raged.

Jack’s heart clenched as he saw a fleeting moment—a flash of the glowing boy’s eyes locking with his. There was something in that gaze, soft yet knowing. The boy’s lips moved as though he were saying something, but Jack couldn’t hear the words. Then, as quickly as the moment had come, it was gone, replaced by another chaotic clash of light-fulled ice and darkness.

Jack could only watch as time and space continued to twist around him, more battles unfolding in front of him like fragments of a puzzle he couldn’t piece together. He saw glimpses of other worlds, other timelines—each one just like the last. The same warriors, the same fight, always repeating.

But then, the pull returned. Time stretched again, and Jack was falling, tumbling through moments that he couldn’t grasp. The unknown golden warrior, the black-armored warrior, who might be Pitch, and the glowing boy—they all faded as the fabric of time tore around him. The battles slipped through his fingers like sand.

Panic surged in Jack’s chest. He was lost. Lost in time, lost in space. He couldn’t hold onto anything, not even the fleeting images of the battle. They were too distant, too far removed from him.

And just as suddenly, everything came to a halt.

Jack gasped, his head spinning. He was no longer falling. No longer tumbling through time.

He was… floating. In the vast emptiness of space.

The shock of the transition left him breathless, disoriented. Stars twinkled far away, their cold light casting a soft glow on the black void around him.

He was alone.

Except for the distant gleam of a golden ship, slowly drifting through the stars.

Something deep within him stirred—a pull, an urge to go toward it. A forgotten memory? Or perhaps a new path, something waiting for him.

Jack’s heart pounded. What the hell is happening to me? he thought desperately. How do I get back?

Chapter Text

The golden ship loomed in front of Jack, its massive form gleaming like some giant, futuristic candy wrapper floating in space. It was so huge, it made his brain hurt just looking at it. He wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be—some kind of ship? A floating palace? Or maybe just a really flashy way to waste space? Either way, it pulled him in. He didn’t know why. He didn’t even know where he was, to be honest, but that ship? That ship felt like something he should be near. Or at least, it felt like it wasn’t going to let him just float around aimlessly in space. So, there was that.

He tried to move toward it. Tried, and failed, spectacularly. He swerved to the left, then the right, and then he kind of… spun. Like a top. It wasn’t graceful, and he wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to control himself in the middle of nowhere , but hey—he was trying. Eventually, he stopped spinning like a confused cosmic ballerina and finally gained some sense of direction. Sort of. Now he just had to get to the ship, and that was probably the least complicated part of this whole thing.

He finally reached it, sort of. His body adjusted—or maybe it was more like the universe adjusted around him, since it didn’t really feel like he was doing much at all. But there it was: the golden ship. Big. Shiny. Intimidating. And for some reason, important . He didn’t know why it felt that way. He didn’t know anything , but, hey, at least he was here now.

So, Jack started to circle it. Slowly. As if somehow that would make the ship’s purpose suddenly click. It didn’t. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he was definitely looking. Every inch of the ship seemed to gleam like the stars were just trying to outshine each other, but none of it made sense. Why did this place look so… cool? But at the same time, wrong ? Ugh. Space. Was it supposed to feel like this?

Anyway, as Jack was busy mentally making fun of how ridiculous this whole situation was, he saw it. The balcony. Like, who even puts a balcony in space? What was this ship, a floating condo? He wasn’t sure, but there, standing on it, was a familiar figure. And yet, not so familiar at the same time. It was… Pitch.

Jack’s brain did a double-take. Pitch? That didn’t make sense. Wasn’t Pitch supposed to be in… other places? With other problems? What was he doing here? It couldn’t be him. It was probably a hallucination. Either that, or the universe was playing a cruel joke on him. Could’ve been both.

Before Jack could process his internal freakout, he moved forward—not to confront Pitch, but more like he was accidentally sliding into the scene, like a bystander. He didn’t even realize how close he had gotten until he was basically hovering next to the balcony, trying to make sense of what was going on. There was Pitch, just standing there, looking like he was lost in thought… or maybe just looking mildly irritated. Hard to say. It was hard to read his face when it was always so unreadable.

Then, out of nowhere, the door behind Pitch slid open with a soft “whoosh,” like a dramatic scene change in a soap opera. Jack blinked. Out walked… another Pitch? No, wait— not another Pitch. Who was this? The other Pitch looked a little more put together, like he’d been up on the ship’s fancy balcony getting some fresh air and contemplating how best to make everyone’s life more confusing.

“Pitch, there you are,” the new guy said, his voice calm, almost like he’d just found his missing set of keys. He smiled, the kind of smile you give when you actually find something after looking forever.

Pitch, who had been leaning against the balcony looking like a disheveled mess, didn’t seem too thrilled to see him. He rolled his eyes, sighed like he’d been waiting for this moment way too long. “Koz,” he muttered, like he was trying to push through a conversation he didn’t want to have.

Jack’s mind took a sharp left turn. Koz? Who the heck was Koz? And why did this new Pitch look like him ? Or was it… the same person? Wait, what ? He was honestly starting to feel like he was in a bad episode of a sci-fi show he didn’t remember signing up for.

The two Pitch-like figures locked eyes, and Jack’s brain just short-circuited. He had no idea what was going on anymore. Was this some weird cosmic time loop? A universe glitch? Maybe he was just really tired from floating around space for what felt like forever and his brain was making up characters? Either way, something was clearly going on here. And he had no idea what it was.

“Hey, look at me,” Koz said, his voice firm, like he was giving a pep talk to someone who had absolutely no idea what was going on. And, to Jack’s surprise, Pitch actually listened. He turned. He looked . And that… that was just weird. Pitch didn’t do that. Pitch never did that.

“They’re wrong, you know that,” Koz continued, like they were talking about an argument from last week. “I know that. So don’t listen to them. We both know they don’t know anything about us, or… whatever this is. Right?” Koz said, giving him a look like they were in on some cosmic inside joke.

Pitch, of course, just nodded, half-heartedly. It was a look Jack knew all too well—one of “I’m too tired to deal with this, but okay, whatever.”

Then Koz slung an arm around Pitch’s shoulders and pulled him close, and Jack nearly did a double-take. What? What was this? He didn’t even know Pitch knew people well enough to act like that. Was there some kind of weird history Jack had missed? Some cosmic drama he wasn’t aware of?

“Pitch,” Koz coaxed, “just focus, alright? I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

Jack hovered awkwardly, not sure if he should be watching this or just turn around and pretend he was never here. But, hey, it was already too late for that, wasn’t it?

Then, Pitch snapped his head up, eyes locking onto Jack’s. The confusion was mutual , to say the least. Pitch didn’t look scared. No, just… confused . Like Jack had somehow wandered into a space-time rift he wasn’t supposed to be in.

“I’m going to get Korin Daal,” Koz muttered, and Jack had no idea who that was, but the way Pitch reacted made it sound like he had just been told the world was ending. His eyes widened. His posture stiffened. What was going on?

“Don’t you dare leave me alone, Koz!” Pitch hissed, panic edging his voice. Yeah, that was new. Koz was already backing away, shaking his head.

“Try not to scare the Winter Star away,” Koz said casually, but there was a sharpness to it, like he was playing a game Jack didn’t understand. Winter Star? What was that?

“Koz! Kozmotis!” Pitch hissed again, his voice cracking with tension, but Koz was already halfway to the door, leaving Pitch dramatically stranded.

“I’ll be back soon,” Koz’s voice faded, and the door clicked shut, leaving Pitch alone in the vastness of space.

And then, there was Jack—floating aimlessly, like some kind of space-lost puppy. Pitch glanced at him and sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples, as if the universe was trying to give him a headache just by existing.

Jack, still floating, didn’t know why he was there, or what exactly was going on, but Pitch’s dramatics were honestly kind of fun to watch. It was like an unintentional performance. And since Jack had nothing better to do, he might as well enjoy the show.

Pitch looked at him again, this time with a look of mild annoyance, like Jack was somehow responsible for the cosmic chaos happening around them.

Without saying a word, Pitch slumped against the balcony railing, groaning into his arms like he was starring in some space soap opera. Jack raised an eyebrow. This is definitely going to be fun.

He floated a little closer, watching as Pitch glanced up at him, then back down, clearly debating whether or not to deal with him. Jack hovered just out of arm’s reach, taking in the view like he was casually admiring the scenery.

Pitch’s eyes flickered back to him. Jack didn’t budge. Pitch squinted at him, clearly unsure whether he should acknowledge Jack or just ignore him. He sighed dramatically and lowered his head back into his arms. That’s gotta be a good sign, Jack thought. At least he’s not yelling yet.

Jack floated a few more inches closer, now within arm’s reach of Pitch. Pitch glanced up again. The tension between them was like a brick wall of awkwardness. He rolled his eyes— so dramatic —and went back to staring into space like he was the star of his own personal galaxy.

But Jack wasn’t done yet. He floated just a little closer, now practically right in front of Pitch. Pitch, not even bothering to look at him, sighed again like the universe was simply too much for him. Jack couldn’t help but smirk.

This guy… he’s like a black hole of emotion. Jack just floated there, observing him like a curious space tourist.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from inside the ship—something heavy slamming into the walls. Pitch didn’t react to it. He did, however, react to Jack. Jack, admittedly a bit unnecessarily, tried to shoot backwards away from the noise. Keyword: tried.

Before he could go too far, Pitch’s hand shot out, grabbing him by the arm. It was firm, and despite the earlier groaning, there was a kind of urgency now that Jack hadn’t expected.

Pitch shot him a quick, intense look, his eyes wide. Jack, who was still a little taken aback, didn’t move. Instead, he just floated there, staring back at him.

Pitch’s grip tightened slightly, pulling Jack back toward the balcony. It wasn’t a gesture of panic—more like one of deep irritation mixed with responsibility. Jack didn’t have the heart to make a joke. This was too strange for even him to handle with humor.

“That’s it, Winterbright,” Pitch muttered under his breath, a frustrated edge to his voice as he kept Jack close, his eyes flickering over him in growing concern.

Winterbright? Jack blinked. That wasn’t his name, was it? It didn’t sound right, but before he could respond or even try to correct Pitch, the only sound that came out of his mouth was a strange series of high-pitched, melodic tones. The air around them rippled with an eerie symphony—notes swirling together, some sharp, others low and soothing, like a distant orchestra playing its first confused notes.

Jack froze. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He meant to speak. He meant to ask about “Winterbright” and why Pitch said that name. But instead, only a disjointed melody escaped him, filling the space between them with a strange, musical energy.

Pitch blinked, the confusion on his face clear. “What… was that?” he asked, clearly not expecting an orchestra for an answer.

Kozmotis, who had been lurking near the door for just a moment before fully coming outside, popped his head back out at the sound. He raised an eyebrow, slightly amused. “Ah. That would be the Winter Star’s voice,” he said casually, as if that was just the most normal thing in the galaxy. “He can’t speak with words like we do. He makes music.”

Jack felt a wave of embarrassment crash over him. Music? That was… what? Was this what happened when you were a Winter Star? Was his entire existence now some sort of cosmic, unasked-for performance?

Pitch, still holding him, rubbed his temples again, though now it seemed more out of confusion than irritation. “Well, that’s just perfect,” he muttered, his voice dry. “You’re probably the first Winter Star I’ve ever met, and you come with… sound effects .” He glanced at Jack again, still unsure what to do with this very strange situation. “Great. Just great.”

Jack wanted to say something—anything—but all that came out was another melodic chord, this one sharper than the first, like a violin string pulled too taut.

Kozmotis gave a soft chuckle from the doorway. “Oh, come on, Pitch. You know the Winter Stars don’t speak like we do.” He turned to Jack, his tone more gentle. “Don’t worry. He’ll get used to it.”

Jack floated there, caught somewhere between panic and confusion, his thoughts a whirlwind. Winter Star… Winterbright… Whatever I am… I can’t even talk. Great.

Koz, still watching with that faint smile, added, “Trust me, he’ll get the hang of it. We’ll all have to learn the language of music eventually.” He stepped forward coming to stand by Pitch.

The balcony door whooshed open again, and Jack’s heart skipped a beat as a strange, spindly red blob appeared. Its too many limbs jerked in erratic motions, and its eyes locked onto Pitch with pure hostility. Jack didn’t know who or what the creature was, but his instincts screamed danger.

As soon as Korin saw Pitch’s hand on Jack’s arm, his whole demeanor shifted. He froze, his limbs trembling with sudden fury. “A Dark Ithrakari… with a Winter Star?” he hissed, disbelief lacing his voice. “How dare you bring him here—this is against everything!”

Jack’s pulse quickened, and a wave of fear flooded him. He didn’t understand what the creature was saying. What was a Winter Star ? What was a Dark Ithrakari ? The words meant nothing to him, but the anger in Korin’s voice filled Jack with a deep, instinctual terror. He didn’t know what this creature was or why he was so angry, but he could feel the hostility and it rattled him to the core.

Pitch barely seemed fazed by Korin’s accusations. “Oh, come on, Korin,” he said nonchalantly. “You’re being dramatic.”

Kozmotis, standing next to Pitch, put a hand on his forehead and sighed. “Korin, you’re scaring him,” he said, trying to step in before things escalated further. “Just calm down, okay?”

But Korin wasn’t listening. His voice trembled with disgust and fury. “A corrupted Winter Star!” he shouted. “A taint on everything! You can’t just—”

Jack’s mind was spinning. Corrupted? Taint? He didn’t know what any of that meant, but the tone in Korin’s voice made his heart race. The fear inside him heightened, his breathing shallow and erratic. He wanted to ask, Who is this? What’s happening? Why am I a Winter Star? What did I do? But no words came—only a rising panic.

Pitch’s voice cut through the storm of confusion. “It’s okay, Winterbright. Don’t listen to him. You’re fine.”

Jack couldn’t focus. His body was already reacting before he could even think. The net came flying at him, and before he could make a move, it wrapped tightly around his legs, torso, and—horrifyingly—around his neck. The pressure constricted around him, making it hard to breathe.

The panic intensified. His chest tightened, his breath hitched. No, no, no, no!

Without thinking, Jack’s body reacted—ice-infused light exploded from him in a violent surge. The net froze instantly, the space around them dropping in temperature, though Jack himself didn’t feel the cold. The icy energy spread outward, coating the net in a layer of frosty energy. Everything shimmered with cold light, the balcony was covered in a frozen landscape.

Kozmotis jumped back, his eyes wide with shock. “Wait!” he shouted, hands raised, trying to shield himself from the shards of ice flying in all directions. “You’ve got to calm down, Winterbright!”

Pitch’s voice remained calm, his tone smooth despite the chaos. “It’s okay, Winterbright,” he said softly. “Focus on me. You’re fine. Just breathe.”

But Jack wasn’t breathing right. His body was spiraling out of control, the energy thrumming beneath his skin. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t calm the panic or the uncontrollable power pulsing within him. His hands trembled, the icy energy intensifying.

Korin, still furious and relentless, moved closer, ignoring the freezing temperature. His limbs jerked forward, and before Jack could react, Korin flung another coil of net at him. This one wrapped around Jack’s torso and arms, pulling tighter, squeezing the life out of him.

“Stop!” Jack tried to scream, but all that escaped was a high-pitched, frantic note. He couldn’t breathe. The net was suffocating him, the pressure around his neck cutting off the air entirely.

Kozmotis shouted, his voice desperate, “Korin, stop! You’re making it worse!” He stepped back, clearly afraid to touch the net, especially now that it was wrapped so dangerously close to Jack’s neck. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

But Korin wasn’t listening. “Stay away from it, Kozmotis!” he yelled, voice full of fury. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with!”

Pitch’s voice cut through the noise. “Enough!” he snapped. “Back off, Korin!”

Kozmotis, his voice now frayed with panic, turned to Korin with a sharp look. “I said stop!” he shouted, the words finally breaking through the chaos.

Korin froze, looking confused as he realized what he had done. The anger in his expression softened, replaced by uncertainty. Jack’s body was still shaking violently from the overwhelming surge of energy. His hands were trembling, his breath shallow and ragged. The net still pulled tightly around him, cutting into his skin, especially around his neck. Jack’s head swam with dizziness. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t focus. Why was it hurting so much?

But then Jack felt something deeper—something hot , sharp, and spreading across his abdomen. The realization hit him like a shock. The net— the net had cut him. The tight coils had dug into his skin, and a hot, pulsing pain blossomed where the net pressed against his torso. His energy flickered in response, fighting to keep the injury from overwhelming him.

The gash was deep, too deep, and the pain was spreading with every movement. Jack felt his energy being drained, sucked out by the net’s pressure and the wound. Every breath he took felt heavier, and the sharp sting of the gash made him want to collapse. It hurts so much.

Kozmotis reached for the net carefully, trying to untangle the mess, but the sight of the wound made him hesitate. His fingers hovered over Jack’s abdomen for a second, but the fear in his eyes was unmistakable. “It’s too tight,” he murmured, his voice strained. “I can’t… I can’t pull it off. We have to get him to the hospital wing, now.”

Pitch’s voice was tight with concern as he moved forward, slipping his arms around Jack’s shoulder to carefully pull him to the ground and lay him down . “Stay with us, Winterbright,” he urged softly, but Jack’s breath was shallow, and his body was trembling with the mix of panic and pain. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t understand what was happening, but the growing pressure of the net—and the way it dug into his wound—made everything worse.

Kozmotis, looking helpless, moved away slightly, fear in his expression. “I don’t know if I can take it off without making it worse,” he admitted, his voice edged with anxiety. “The wound’s too deep. We need to hurry.”

The pressure around Jack’s torso and neck continued to intensify. The cold energy pulsed with each heartbeat, but the icy light was fading, struggling to push back the unbearable weight of the net that was literally cutting him open . The pain in his abdomen was overwhelming now, and Jack’s energy felt like it was slowly ebbing away, drained both by the net and the gash that bled freely under the pressure.

“We need to move him,” Kozmotis said urgently, his voice tight with panic. He reached down, lifting Jack’s body carefully, but the net was still tightly wrapped around him, restricting every movement. Each shift of the net caused more pain to ripple through Jack, and he gasped with every small tug.

“Hold on, Winterbright,” Kozmotis said, his voice full of desperation.

Pitch moved forward quickly, his hand pressing against Jack’s shoulder to steady him. “We’ve got you, we’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

Jack wanted to hold on, to keep fighting, but it was getting harder. His vision blurred, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The world around him seemed to spin, and he felt the icy light flicker weakly as it slowly faded.

The gash… the net… Jack couldn’t keep it together. He could feel himself slipping.

“Stay with us, Winterbright,” Pitch urged again, his voice low and filled with quiet urgency.

But W̢̲͓̳̠̻ͮͨ̅̓͊ͅ_̸̷̬̮͕͔̘͇̺͓̟͗̈́͐̽̋̂̾ͦ́͛͂̚͜͞͡͡iͦ́̎͑͡͞ͅn̞̞̘̖̹̺̱̹ͬ́ͨ̃́ͣͥͣ̍ͩ̎̇͆ͪ̎̑̊͌̀́̽ͬ͒͟_̟̤̠̦̟ͥ͆̄͢͜J̡̨̪ͭ̔̒̓̐t̴̖̫͚̐ͭ̕e̢̦̞̍ͥ̄_̵̞̝̜̫̗̓̎͠ŕ̳͍̳̹̖̗̿ͤ̄ạ̶̸̡̡̛̝͈̜̮͚̳̪͔̦̤̞̓́̈̒̔ͣͤͦ̅̀̀ͯ̑̈́͛͞_̶̸͔̜̆̂̓ͧ́͆b̸̡̛̰̯̥͑̒͆ͥ̕ṙ̴̵̷̷̨̛͉̝̤̠̰̫̪͇̘̻ͧ͋̐́̒ͫ̀̿̄̀̑̚i̢̛̘͖͇͎̹̭̯̠͖̙̗̬̳̯͉̿̒̋͂̇ͭ̋̿ͪͨͦ̾̋ͦͮ̋ͣͧ̈́̚͟͠c̷̠͖̰̹̳̠ͣ̈́ͦ͆̊ͩ͒_̝̟͇̒̑͆̚_̷̴̬͍̹̦͓͎̳͉͇̞̠̿̽͋͋ͩͯ̽̕͟g̸̢͇̬̟͉̩̜̗̥͍̞͇͍͚̮̹̳͉͗͋̀̍̇͐͌́ͣ͗ͧͤh̵̳͖͔͙͚̼̤̥̠̀̀͗͂͐̐t̡̜̼̼̓͂̎̅̃̌̇͂̊ͭ͌̂ͨ̚͠ͅk̛̹͓͆ͭ̓̕_̴̶̢͕̯̟̼̞̜̭̏̈͒ͨ̑̒ͯ̿͗ͦͮ͜couldn’t answer.

He was too tired, too drained. The darkness was pulling at him, and his last thought before he lost consciousness was that he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t alone… but how long could that hold him here?

Chapter Text

It has been a few weeks since Winterbright had recovered enough to move around and things couldn’t be better on this ship with a crew of several different species. Well couldn’t be better for him and Kozmotis that is.

Pitch loved chaos. It was his thing. He reveled in it—taking any opportunity to watch others squirm and fumble, terrified of something they couldn’t understand. And, as luck would have it, Winterbright had recently joined in on his little games. It wasn’t even fair anymore. The crew didn’t stand a chance.

Pitch was standing in the middle of the hallway, his shadows already creeping along the walls. Winterbright floated beside him, his ethereal figure glowing softly, the soft chime of bells accompanying his every move. His voice was a melody—an eerie, beautiful combination of notes that only Pitch , who has been learning what sounds mean what when it came to the winter star, understood. And it was glorious.

“What are you going to do today, my little star?” Pitch’s grin stretched across his face. His eyes glinted with mischief as Winterbright hummed a series of low, melodic tones, each note adding a layer of confusion to the air. Pitch tilted his head, his shadows writhing eagerly. “Shall we give them a little tune to remember?”

Winterbright answered him, bells chiming, immediately—loud and clear. A bell sound meant yes, and Pitch couldn’t help but laugh under his breath. He loved this game. He loved how Winterbright had his own unique way of making people uneasy—though it wasn’t always intentional. Winterbright, with his music, could be both enchanting and unsettling at the same time.

“Let’s get started then, shall we?” Pitch murmured, his voice smooth but dripping with a subtle edge. He snapped his fingers, and the shadows seemed to come alive around them, slithering under doorways and creeping along the walls. The temperature in the corridor dropped, sending a chill into the air. He could hear a few of the aliens shiver in the distance, but that wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

The shadows pulsed in time with Winterbright’s music.

Ding— the light above flickered. Ding— the air grew colder. Ding ding ding! The lights went out completely, replaced by a series of dissonant sounds that seemed to come from everywhere—strings, bells, and the unmistakable screech of a violin. A clash of drums echoed, followed by the electrical buzz of an overdriven guitar. It was like an orchestra of madness.

Winterbright’s music was pure chaos, but it was beautiful to Pitch. The others didn’t have the faintest clue what was happening, and that was exactly what Pitch wanted. The crew scrambled, looking around in confusion, their attempts to understand the source of the madness only making things worse.

“Why are the lights flickering like that?” one of them stammered, clutching its head.

“Is it… is it colder than usual?” another muttered, shivering violently.

Pitch suppressed a chuckle as he let the shadows lengthen, creeping closer to the crew, moving with a mind of their own. He could practically feel their panic radiating off them. This was his element— absolute power over them, wrapped in confusion and fear.

But then he heard it—Winterbright’s music growing more frenetic, the soft chimes of bells suddenly replaced by a screeching violin. It was Winterbright’s way of saying, This is boring, let’s kick it up a notch.

“Alright, alright,” Pitch said, stepping forward with exaggerated confidence, making sure the shadows followed him. “Let’s really give them something to remember .”

He raised his arms and let the shadows sweep across the floor, curling and twisting like dark smoke. The temperature plummeted further, as ice on the floor began to grow—sharp, jagged crystals that glistened with a cold blue light. Winterbright was using his powers to freeze everything in sight, adding an extra layer of madness to Pitch’s already terrifying display.

One of the crewmen yelped as they slipped on the ice, crashing to the floor. “What is going on?!”

“Don’t worry,” Pitch said sweetly, bending down to offer a hand to the fallen alien. “It’s just a little fun .”

Winterbright chimed in, his music shifting to a lower, more ominous tune—a series of deep bells with a haunting echo. It was Winterbright’s way of laughing at their confusion. The music was the joke, and Pitch was the one pulling the strings.

But just when it seemed like the crew were about to break, Kozmotis stepped into the fray. He was the calm in the storm, the unshakable force that kept everything from completely spiraling out of control.

“Oh, Koz,” Pitch purred, turning to look at his brother with a wide grin. “We’ve been having fun here. What do you think?”

Koz raised an eyebrow, glancing at the scene with his usual air of cool indifference. “I see you two have been at it again,” he said, stepping forward. The crew-members immediately relaxed, like sheep to a shepherd. Koz’s presence, to everyone else, was like a balm to them. As always, his mere existence defused the panic they felt. But Pitch knew that Koz loved the chaos just as much as he did. He even added to it by messing with the control panels around the ship. Closing a door here, turning on appliances there, just small simple things that caused so much more chaos. Not that anyone knew Kozmotis did that and that made everything even funnier.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Pitch said with a mischievous smile. “You see, Winterbright and I were just putting on a little show for the crew.”

Winterbright’s music swelled in agreement, the high-pitched chimes growing louder, more enthusiastic.

Koz smiled faintly, clearly enjoying the spectacle. He walked over the ice, which now covered the floor like a treacherous sheet. “Well,” he said calmly, “I think that’s enough of a show for today. Time to let them breathe .”

Pitch gave a dramatic sigh, as though disappointed. “Fine, fine, I’ll give them a break. But I had so much fun.”

The members were still shaking, but Koz’s voice was enough to soothe their frayed nerves. He gave them a small nod of reassurance, his tone utterly charming. “It’s all right. Just a bit of a prank,” he said, his voice smooth and disarming. “No need to be so alarmed.”

Pitch watched, half-amused, as the beings around them rushed to thank Koz for calming them down, completely oblivious to the fact that he’d been helping Pitch stir the pot. They could never know Koz was involved. That would ruin all the fun.

Winterbright floated calmly beside Pitch, his soft chiming a subtle reminder that the game wasn’t over yet. He wasn’t done playing, not by a long shot.

Pitch leaned in close to Koz and whispered, “The next round will be even better .” He could already see the smile across Koz’s face.

And Winterbright? Well, he was already humming again, his melody lighter this time, as though waiting for the next cue. There was only one thing he couldn’t stand about Winterbright and that was he wore too much white.

Kozmotis sat in the hot spring, his fingers gently trailing through the warm water. The heat seeped into his muscles, easing the tension that always accompanied his rank. As the general of the fleet, he was a symbol of strength, discipline, and unwavering control. He was praised for his birth, for his leadership, for his perfect ability to command, and for simply existing. It was a burden he had learned to carry, and he did so with grace. But tonight, the weight of it felt heavier than usual.

He shifted, pulling his legs under him and leaning back against the stone edge of the spring. Even now, he could feel the crew’s eyes on him, lingering from the other side of the ship. Their reverence hung in the air, their need for him to always be perfect. They adored him, revered him, as if his mere presence were a divine blessing—and yet, it made him uncomfortable. No one saw him as a person; they saw him as a symbol, a figurehead to be worshipped. It was a loneliness that ran deep, but he had long since learned not to let it show.

His gaze drifted to his twin brother, Pitch, lounging in the shadows just beyond the water’s edge. The contrast between them could not have been starker. Koz was adored, praised, even idolized. Pitch, on the other hand, was feared. Where Koz was held in awe, Pitch was met with suspicion, disdain, and outright terror. It wasn’t that Pitch lacked magnificence; it was that his greatness came with a wildness, a chaos that left everyone trembling. The crew shrank away from him, their fear palpable. They whispered about him when they thought he couldn’t hear, avoided his gaze, and did whatever they could to stay out of his path.

Koz understood that fear. People feared him, too—but it was a different kind of fear. His fear was born of respect. They feared what he could do, his decisions, his power. But Pitch? People were afraid of him in a way that made their hearts race and their minds spiral with thoughts of things they couldn’t control. Pitch was a force of nature—unpredictable, terrifying in the way he could warp reality with his shadows, his eerie, unsettling presence.

And then there was Winterbright.

Koz didn’t know how long Winterbright had been alone, drifting through the universe, untouched by anyone’s expectations. But there was something about him that intrigued Koz. Unlike everyone else, Winterbright didn’t look at him like an untouchable figure. He didn’t bow down in awe, as the crew did, nor did he cower in fear, as they did with Pitch. Winterbright simply was . He wasn’t intimidated by Koz’s perfection, nor did he fear Pitch’s terrifying power. Instead, he treated them both as equals.

It was a quiet thing, this different treatment. Koz had never been around someone who wasn’t constantly trying to please him, trying to gain his favor. The crew, the other leaders—everyone around him always sought his approval, always wanted something from him. But Winterbright? He just existed alongside him. He didn’t expect Koz to be perfect. He didn’t treat Pitch like a monster. He didn’t need anything from them at all. He didn’t want anything from them.

Koz had watched the others’ reactions to Pitch’s games. They shrank from him, their hearts pounding in terror whenever the shadows moved too quickly. They hated Pitch because they couldn’t understand him, couldn’t control him, and certainly couldn’t survive his mischief. But Winterbright didn’t recoil. Winterbright joined in. Winterbright seemed to understand what Pitch needed, what he wanted. The way Winterbright interacted with Pitch was unlike anything Koz had seen before. Where everyone else saw a threat, Winterbright saw an opportunity. It wasn’t just the chaos that intrigued him; it was the strange, quiet bond between Winterbright and Pitch—a bond that made them both seem a little less alone.

Koz let his fingers curl around a small stone at the bottom of the spring, his thoughts drifting. He remembered the last prank Winterbright had played on the crew. Pitch had been his usual dramatic self, and the crew had reacted as expected—panic, confusion, and the flurry of activity that only made everything worse. But Winterbright had joined in with a soft chime, a series of bell-like notes that sounded so gentle, so playful. And then—just like that—the air had grown colder. The lights had flickered. The temperature had dropped.

The crew had panicked, of course, but it had been different this time. They hadn’t feared Winterbright. His presence didn’t send them running for cover. They still didn’t understand him, but they didn’t fear him like they did Pitch. Winterbright was something they couldn’t control, but they were fascinated by him—like moths to a flame. He was a mystery, an enigma.

Koz closed his eyes and sighed, the weight of everything pressing down on him. It wasn’t lost on him that Winterbright treated both of them differently. He didn’t fear Pitch, and he didn’t look at Koz with that overwhelming, suffocating reverence that made him want to scream. He was the only one who seemed to see them as they were—as people. No one else on the ship saw that. No one else ever treated them like that.

Winterbright didn’t need them. He didn’t need anything from them. He simply played along with their games, joining in when he wanted to, retreating when he didn’t. It was a refreshing change from the constant demands placed on them. And somehow, despite the chaos and unpredictability, it made Koz feel something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years: accepted.

Winterbright’s music—so strange, so beautiful—filled the air again. A soft, lilting melody that seemed to echo in the quiet of the ship. It was playful, teasing, and aimed right at Pitch. Koz could hear the faint theremin-like hum that always accompanied Winterbright’s acknowledgment of his twin. It was a sound that soothed Pitch, making the chaos around them seem less threatening, less out of control.

Koz glanced toward his twin, who was lounging in the shadows, eyes closed but posture still tense, as though he was waiting for something. Pitch was never truly at ease, not with how the crew feared him, not with how they treated him like a monster. But Winterbright had a way of drawing him in, of calming him with that strange music, of showing him that he wasn’t alone in this. And in some ways, Koz felt the same way.

He felt drawn to Winterbright, too. Not in the same way he was bound to Pitch—there was no mistaking the bond between them. But Winterbright was different. He didn’t need to be perfect. He didn’t need to be anything other than himself. And for the first time in a long while, Koz realized he didn’t want Winterbright to be anyone else. He was a mystery—untouched by the expectations of others, unshaken by the fear Pitch stirred in people.

Winterbright’s music shifted again, the high-pitched chimes growing louder, more excited. He was close by. Koz smiled faintly, knowing that whatever game Winterbright had in mind, he would be a part of it—no expectations, no judgment, just a quiet kind of understanding. If only he didn’t wear so much white.

The winter star made a confused note, a soft, playful melody flickering with curiosity. It sounded close, uncertain—as if Winterbright was trying to figure something out with the same mischievous energy he always carried. Koz opened one eye halfway and glanced toward him. He didn’t mind Winterbright’s presence. If it had been anyone else, he would’ve told them to leave. He and Pitch shared a bond closer than anyone could understand, but Winterbright was different.

There was something about him—an unspoken playfulness, an energy that was like a spark waiting to burst into something bigger. It was different from what most others brought, and yet it was… familiar. Winterbright seemed to thrive on mischief, often making light of situations others took too seriously. It was refreshing.

He remembered when they were teenagers, how he had freaked out when someone saw Pitch shirtless. Even now, the thought made his chest tighten. But when Winterbright saw them… it was different. It felt natural, almost as if Winterbright could see them for who they truly were, without judgment.

Pitch, too, didn’t mind. In fact, Koz could feel the subtle ease in the way Pitch moved, the quiet hum of approval that radiated from him whenever Winterbright was nearby.

“Want to join? The spring is quite warm today,” Pitch called, his voice rich and smooth, offering an invitation without the usual edge.

Winterbright seemed confused at first, as though trying to figure out how to respond. His glowing form flickered. Then, with a quick, playful flash, he disappeared into the steam and reappeared at the shallow end of the spring. His small, thin form emerged from the water, glowing softly, swirling the water with a mischievous flick of his hand. Winterbright wasn’t just another quiet presence in the room—he was alive with chaotic joy.

Koz watched as Winterbright swirled the water around, his delicate movements teasing the surface, daring the water to keep up with him. His form was barely visible in the dim lighting of the spring, a ghostly figure of light. But the playfulness in his eyes was unmistakable—like a silent challenge.

Winterbright wasn’t just another enigmatic figure. His light and energy filled the space, turning the moment into something alive, something unexpected.

Koz didn’t think much of it. It was just Winterbright’s way. Always in motion, always creating, always adding something unexpected to the atmosphere.

Yet, as he watched Winterbright’s playful movements, there was something in his posture, something in his hesitant glance at the deeper waters that felt… different. A flicker of doubt. It was brief, barely perceptible, but Koz caught it. Winterbright’s usual confidence had wavered, just for a moment.

“Don’t worry about the water,” Pitch said, glancing toward Winterbright with a subtle smirk. “We’re right here. You’re safe.”

Winterbright’s light flickered in acknowledgment, and the playful edge returned to his energy. Without another word, he dove deeper into the spring, his chaotic joy filling the space again.

But even as Winterbright joined them, Koz couldn’t shake the feeling that something was left unsaid. It was an odd sensation, lingering in the air like an unanswered question. But for now, he didn’t press. Winterbright was here, laughing, glowing, and adding his spark to the moment. That, for the time being, was enough for Koz.

He glanced over at Pitch, a small plan starting to form between them, driven by a shared desire for a little mischief. Koz knew all the materials they needed were on the ship. It would probably be the easiest thing to create chaos—something so simple, yet so effective…

Winterbright watched Kozmotis and Pitch spar, his eyes lazily tracking their movements. To anyone else, it might have looked like a serious training session—brothers testing their strength, honing their skills. But to Winterbright, it was something else entirely. It was a game. A chaotic, beautiful game that never seemed to end. The way Pitch’s scythe swung through the air with dark energy dancing around it, always just a little too close to Kozmotis, was playful, like a brotherly challenge rather than a fight. And Kozmotis—always so perfect, so graceful—would deliberately break his form, just to see if he could get a reaction. Winterbright could see the light in Koz’s eyes every time Pitch’s scythe sliced the air too close, the thrill of it, like he was testing the boundaries.

And Pitch… well, Winterbright could see the subtle upturn of his lips when Kozmotis broke his flawless stance, the tiniest hint of approval in those dark eyes. It was clear: they weren’t just sparring. They were playing, and for all their power, for all the weight they carried as soldiers and generals, it was one of the few moments where they could be themselves , free from all the expectations placed on them.

Winterbright’s lips curled into a mischievous smile as he watched them—his fingers twitching, almost tempted to add a little melody to their game, just to see what would happen. He loved watching them like this. There was something magnetic about the way they interacted, like they could both be completely in sync and, at the same time, like they were pushing each other to the edge in the best way possible. He could see the connection between them, a bond deeper than just blood—one forged through years of being two halves of the same whole, each one trying to push the other to be something more than they already were.

But Winterbright also noticed something else. Something darker.

There were some of the alien crew standing at the edge of the training area, whispering to each other. Their eyes darted between Pitch and Kozmotis, glances sharp and calculating. Winterbright’s eyes narrowed as he caught the tail end of their conversation. They were plotting something—probably something to hurt Pitch. He had seen that look too many times to mistake it for anything else. They wanted him gone, wanted him broken.

It didn’t make sense to Winterbright. Pitch was dark, yes—he liked scaring people, but that was all. He never actually hurt anyone. He was more of a trickster, someone who enjoyed the thrill of fear, not the pain. But still, these crew members, they hated him. No, despised him. And the worst part was—they didn’t even need a reason. Kozmotis was loved. He was adored by everyone. There wasn’t a person alive who didn’t revere him. It made sense. He was perfect, the kind of person everyone wanted to follow, to worship. But Pitch? Pitch was an entirely different story.

Winterbright didn’t get it. Sure, Pitch had his dark side, but who didn’t? Everyone had their flaws, their edges. Why was Pitch the one who had to suffer for it? It felt wrong. And even stranger was the way these aliens acted around Pitch. It was as if they were waiting for an excuse to make him pay. Waiting for the right moment to strike.

Winterbright’s gaze shifted toward the figure who seemed to be leading the whispers—an alien with a strange, glowing object. Of course, Winterbright thought with a quiet sigh. He had seen that light before, felt the chill of it. It was dangerous. Whenever it touched Pitch, it left serious wounds, wounds that lasted for days. Winterbright wasn’t sure what kind of magic—or whatever the hell it was—but he had seen it enough times to know that Pitch didn’t just brush it off like he did with other attacks. No, this thing hurt , and judging by the way Pitch acted afterward, it hurt badly .

Winterbright had learned a few tricks in the past few weeks. The first time Pitch had been injured by that light, Winterbright had been uncertain. But after seeing Pitch suffer through the pain for days, Winterbright had done what he knew best—he used ice. It was simple, really. He wasn’t sure what kind of connection ice had to the wounds, but whenever he coated them in cold, it seemed to numb the pain, ease the damage. And it was the only thing that seemed to help.

He watched the aliens make their move, walking over to the twins as they took a break from their spar. They didn’t get far as glowing ice covered the entire floor, making everyone slip and slide on the slick surface. The only ones who didn’t slip were Kozmotis and Pitch, who didn’t even seem bothered by the ice, their steps steady as ever. Winterbright floated down to the floor, a faint shimmer of frost trailing behind him, before he started skating effortlessly across the frozen surface.

The chaos around him was almost amusing—shouts, crashes, and the comical sight of the others trying to regain their balance. But Winterbright was unaffected, his focus solely on the glowing light that the aliens had dropped amidst the confusion. With a swift motion, he scooped it up and crushed it in his hand, his ice powers easily snuffing out its glow. He stared at the remains for a moment, his eyes gleaming with an unreadable expression, before continuing to skate as if nothing had happened.

Pitch and Kozmotis watched him, their gazes following his smooth movements across the ice with a mix of admiration and intrigue. They couldn’t help but chuckle at the misfortune of those around them, and, after a brief exchange of amused glances, they began to follow Winterbright, skating after him with ease.

It wasn’t long before it was just the three of them—Winterbright in the lead, Pitch and Kozmotis trailing behind. Winterbright slowed his pace, sensing something was off. As he turned to face them, he saw it in their eyes—a strange, almost cautious look, as though they were unsure of how to say something but felt it was important.

He tilted his head slightly, offering a soft, curious hum, his notes light and inquiring.

Pitch, with an exaggerated sigh, took the opportunity to lean forward in his most dramatic fashion. “Winterbright,” he began, his voice smooth, “there’s something… important we’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

Kozmotis, who was standing a little more composed, gave Pitch a slight sideways glance. “It’s nothing major,” he added calmly, “but it’s something we’ve noticed, and well… it might be time to address it.”

Winterbright’s expression remained unchanged, but he hummed a quiet, melodic question in response, his curiosity piqued. “ What is it? ”

Pitch raised an eyebrow and then threw his hands up as if he were about to announce some great revelation. “Winterbright, my friend, we love you. We do. You’re a wonder —your ice, your light, your skating… but…” He paused dramatically, his voice lowering with a touch of seriousness. “You’re overwhelming .”

Kozmotis crossed his arms, his stance relaxed, though there was a definite glint of seriousness in his eyes. “What Pitch means,” he continued, “is that your whole aesthetic is… too much . The white, the brightness—it’s like being hit with a snowstorm every time you step into a room.”

Winterbright tilted his head, his notes turning higher, playful and curious. “ Too much white? ” he hummed, clearly amused. He glanced down at himself—his attire sparkling with an ethereal, ice-blue glow. “ But… this is who I am. ”

Pitch smiled knowingly, still a bit theatrical but much more controlled now. “We know it’s who you are. And it’s beautiful, Winterbright. You are ice, you are light, you are —well, you . But…” He sighed dramatically, stepping closer to Winterbright as if sharing a deep secret. “But, you’re a bit much for some of us. We love your essence, we do, but the constant glow … it’s a lot for the senses. It’s blinding , if you will.”

Kozmotis smiled slightly, softening the edge of Pitch’s dramatics. “We’re not trying to change who you are, Winterbright. We just think it might be worth considering something that balances it out a little. Something with a bit more… contrast .”

Winterbright’s hum was thoughtful, his voice quiet, resonating with a mischievous edge. “ A contrast? ” he mused. “ So you’re saying… something different? ”

Pitch chuckled softly, clearly delighted that Winterbright was so willing to entertain the idea. “ Exactly . Something less… well, blinding . Maybe we could find you something that still represents you but isn’t quite so much . You can still shine —just not like a walking flashbang .”

Kozmotis, not as enthusiastic as Pitch but still engaged, nodded in agreement. “It doesn’t have to be extreme. Just something that works with your… essence. We’ve got plenty of ideas for you.”

Winterbright’s notes tinkled in the air as his eyes glimmered, the mischievous sparkle in his gaze growing. “ I see… ” He hummed in a teasing, higher-pitched note. “ So, you’re telling me, you want to dress me up in something new? ”

Pitch leaned back dramatically, eyeing Winterbright with a mix of seriousness and playful intention. “That’s exactly it. We’ll find something that fits you, that still lets you shine but in a way that’s not… so imposing . It’ll be a new look —one that will turn heads without making everyone around you squint.”

Kozmotis gave Pitch a subtle look, clearly amused by his theatrical approach but also aware of the practicality behind the plan. “We’ll find something that complements your glow, not fights against it. Something that makes it look intentional—like you chose it, rather than it being… well, unavoidable .”

Winterbright couldn’t suppress his laughter, a soft, playful melody filling the air as he skated around them, enjoying their dramatic tone. “ You two are really making a big deal out of this, ” he hummed with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “ You could have just asked me to tone it down, you know. ”

Pitch grinned, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Ah, but where’s the fun in that? You’ve got to build the suspense , Winterbright. Dramatic tension is key. Plus, what’s life without a little chaos?”

Kozmotis gave Pitch a long-suffering look but smiled slightly. “We can’t let Pitch have all the fun, can we? And if we can make it a bit more… refined for you, we can all get a little peace of mind.” He turned back to Winterbright, his expression still friendly but with a glint of mischief. “Besides, it’ll be fun to see you in something a little different. And I think you’ll like it. Trust me.”

Winterbright’s hum was a light, amused trill as he drifted in a slow circle around them. “ You want to dress me up, then? Well, this should be entertaining.” He gave them a knowing look. “ Let’s see what chaos you two come up with. ”

Pitch clapped his hands together. “Oh, it’s going to be so much fun . Get ready, Winterbright— you’re about to be transformed .”

Kozmotis just chuckled, shaking his head. “We’ll take care of it. No chaos… too much chaos. Just enough to make it interesting.”

And so, with a playful smile, Winterbright skated ahead, clearly enjoying the mix of chaos and order in the plan. It seemed the transformation was on its way, and he was far more intrigued by the process than he let on. After all, what’s a little change in appearance when it could bring a touch of unexpected excitement ?

Chapter Text

Winterbright sat serenely in the center of the whirlwind, legs folded beneath him, pale toes poking from under fabric as he watched chaos unfold with the calm of a monk and the curiosity of a child.

“I swear by every fallen star, Kozmotis, if you try to put a sash there again—”

Pitch practically shrieked, arms full of dark fabrics and personal offense. His cloak flared dramatically with every movement, and his gestures were a full performance—graceful, exaggerated, and just this side of unhinged.

Kozmotis didn’t even flinch. He sat upright, posture dignified, golden cuffs catching the light as he carefully smoothed a frost-blue panel of fabric across his lap.

“I am simply trying,” he said with slow patience, “to prevent him from looking like a haunted library reject.”

“Oh, and you think your shiny doily is better?”

“It’s embroidery.”

“It’s suffocating.”

Behind them, Winterbright didn’t make a sound—but the room filled with soft musical laughter. Not real laughter. More like the soft, airy sound of finger bells on a breeze, joined by a harp’s playful pluck. He tilted his head, white hair slipping slightly over one eye.

Kozmotis caught the sound, and despite his calm exterior, his lips quirked upward.

“He likes it,” he said, as if that settled the matter.

Pitch threw his hands up. “He’s just polite. He’d make that sound even if we put him in a potato sack.”

The two of them swirled around Winterbright like planets with way too much commentary. Pitch held up a flowing, dark-sleeved top—“It has shadow and mystery, just like him”—only for Koz to cut in with a crisp, shimmering tunic—“He’s light, Pitch. You’re making him look like he sulks in alleyways.”

Winterbright’s “voice” joined in again—this time a flute and chime in gentle harmony. Curious. Amused. Definitely entertained.

They got to work.

Koz laid the foundation: a pale, sleeveless tunic, white with hints of soft blue layered into the folds. It flowed like snow blown sideways in wind, shifting gently with each breath. Embroidered gold thread curled at the edges—sunlight caught in frost. He didn’t use much, but the accents gleamed when Winterbright moved.

Pitch added structure. A fitted, midnight-blue undershirt rested beneath the tunic, sleek and elegant. The hood—yes, there was a hood—was soft and heavy enough to drape, not billow. Its interior was dark, deep as twilight, edged subtly in the same golden thread.

Koz added thin wraps for the arms—light as wind, but warm to the touch.

Pitch glanced toward Winterbright’s bare feet, raised a brow, and muttered, “Yeah, no way he’s wearing boots.” Instead, he conjured soft, dark foot wrappings—snug and flexible, allowing him to run, climb, or float through the air with ease. He even added a few frost-threaded designs around the ankles, not that he’d ever admit to the flourish.

“No cape,” Pitch said again, dramatically tossing one over his shoulder like it had insulted his ancestors.

Koz agreed, surprisingly. “Too risky in flight. He’d get caught on things.”

They stood back as Winterbright rose silently, the fabrics catching light and movement like falling snow. He didn’t speak—but the air around him shimmered with gentle harmony: flute, windchimes, and the faint hum of something old and soft and beautiful.

He turned to the mirror, stepping lightly, foot wrappings silent against the floor.

He paused.

Then the music swelled.

A cello joined now, low and deep, grounding the melody. The mirror reflected not a stranger, not a glowing ghost—but him. Wild. Gentle. Free.

Pitch let out a breath like he’d just finished a symphony. “I have outdone myself.”

Koz looked entirely smug. “We. We outdid ourselves.”

“I brought the drama,” Pitch said, one hand on his heart. “You brought… gold.”

“Which is always essential.”

Winterbright turned back to them, eyes bright beneath the pale fringe of his hair. The music that filled the room was wordless, but the melody said everything.

Pitch placed his hand over his chest again, dramatically overcome. “I could weep.”

“You already did,” Koz teased softly.

“Shut up, it was one tear. A singular, powerful tear.”

Koz just laughed—soft, real, relaxed. And Winterbright answered with the warm, airy notes of a string ensemble, light flickers of bells hiding in the background.