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Cold air sweeps through the jagged corridors of Snake Mountain, carrying the scent of ozone, damp stone, and the unmistakable, bitter chill leaking down from the Ice Mountains. Outside, Eternia’s northern sky brews a storm, but inside the dark throne room, the atmosphere is strangely mundane—marred only by the quiet, methodical crackle of raw magic and the low hum of static.
Deep within the Obsidian Keep, Evil-Lyn’s birthday celebrations have taken a decidedly chaotic turn. Eager to prove her dominance and claim a proper prize for her personal holiday, she has captured Princess Snowflake, the beloved daughter of the Ice Lord. Her leverage is absolute, blackmailing the desperate ruler of the frozen wastes into staging an ambush on the Royal Family to secure his daughter’s safe release. The entire scheme moves like clockwork, far away from Snake Mountain’s inner sanctum.
Meanwhile, back in the icy caverns where the Royal Family sits imprisoned, Orko finds himself in a position of unexpected gravity. Desperate to stall for time and save his friends, the tiny Trollan floating magician puff-chests his way toward the imposing Ice Lord.
"You have the wrong man!" Orko squeaks, hovering at eye level with the towering, ice-crusted sovereign. "I’m the one you’re looking for. *I* am He-Man! Defender of Eternia!"
The Ice Lord blinks, staring down at the floating red-robed figure with a mixture of utter disbelief and mounting irritation. His deep voice rumbles like grinding glaciers. "You? *He-Man*? That is the most utterly absurd claim I have ever heard."
"Oh yeah? Test me!" Orko insists, tugging his hat down over his ears.
Expecting the intruder to fail instantly, the Ice Lord gestures toward a massive, frozen boulder blocking a narrow chasm. "Fine. Move that monolith, 'He-Man,' or face my frost."
Orko nervously wiggles his fingers, chanting a half-remembered spell that instantly backfires with a loud POP. A burst of chaotic magic hits the base of the cavern wall rather than the boulder itself, causing a sudden, precise shift in the subterranean pressure. The ground shudders. With a deep groaned crack, the massive frozen boulder rolls smoothly off its ledge, clearing the path entirely through sheer, miraculous fluke.
The Ice Lord stands frozen, his eyes wide as he glances between the cleared path and the tiny magician hovering in triumph. "By the Ancients... you... you actually did it."
Capitalizing on the giant's utter bewilderment, Orko points a gloved finger toward Prince Adam, who is tied securely to a nearby stone pillar. "And as He-Man, I demand you release my assistant! I need him to carry my spellbooks!"
The Ice Lord, thoroughly thrown by the sequence of events, grunts and slashes the bonds holding the Prince. Prince Adam steps forward, rubbing his wrists. His shoulders shake slightly, his face flushing as he bites down hard on his inner cheek, fighting with every fiber of his being not to burst into full, echoing laughter.
"Thank you... He-Man," Adam manages to say, his voice strained with suppressed giggles as he offers a theatrical, bowing gesture to the tiny magician. "I am forever in your debt for saving my life."
"Think nothing of it, my loyal assistant," Orko squeaks proudly, floating an extra inch higher.
Shortly after Adam slips away to summon the Power of Grayskull, the atmosphere in Snake Mountain’s main throne room remains undisturbed by the drama of the frozen north. The heavy iron doors creak open with a dull scrape. Beastman stumbles through the threshold, dragging his feet, looking utterly humiliated. Perched squarely on his head is a gargantuan, scorched iron cooking pot, bent violently out of shape and resting right down over his ears like a grotesque, oversized helmet. He whimpers softly under his breath, bruised and battered from a very brief, very one-sided encounter with Eternia's champion.
At the head of the chamber, Skeletor sits back upon his throne of bone. He holds a fine silver file in his right hand, paying absolute devotion to his left. He barely glances up as Beastman clatters toward the dais. His glowing yellow eyes narrow slightly within his hollow sockets, his tone dripping with sheer, bored annoyance.
"Beastman, is this supposed to be funny?"
Beastman whimpers, trying to adjust the pot. Before he can stammer out an excuse, He-Man strides into the room, his red cross chest-plate gleaming, Power Sword resting lightly in his grip. He drops into a low, dynamic combat stance, his loud, echoing Hero Voice filling the cavernous hall.
"What's your scheme, Skeletor?!"
Skeletor doesn't jump. He doesn't even raise his Havoc Staff. He continues lightly shaping the tip of his thumb, speaking in a flat, offhand tone without looking away from his hand. "To get my signal back and perfect my butterfly design."
He-Man blinks, his heroic stance faltering just an inch. His brow furrows, his voice dropping into a decidedly Confused Hero Voice. "... What signal? What does Snowflake have to do with your Butterfly Design?"
Skeletor lets out a long, theatrical sigh, resting his chin on his palm as he becomes visibly bored by the interruption. "The Ice King has done something to my magic monitor's reception in the Ice Mountains! All I get is snow." He gestures vaguely toward the dark viewing orb across the room, which is currently flickering with useless, static fuzz.
He-Man relaxes his posture slightly, shifting his sword to his side, distinctly less confident than he was three seconds ago. "... and what about Snowflake and your Butterfly Design?"
Skeletor holds up his hand, waving his fingers lazily. "Come see."
He-Man hesitates. He can see clearly from across the room that thin, iridescent strands of purple and gold magic are radiating directly from Skeletor’s hand, pulsing as though actively being harnessed. Yet, there is no threat in the room—no dark rituals, no summoned demons, no malevolent posturing. Skeletor just sits there, waiting. Slowly, guardedly, He-Man steps up the stone stairs of the dais and stops beside the throne, leaning down to inspect what the lord of Snake Mountain is doing.
There, glowing faintly atop the ridged bone of Skeletor's blue fingertips—right where fingernails would reside if his hands were still entirely human—is an insanely intricate, paper-thin lattice of glowing magical energy. Traced into the hard surface of his digits is a pair of perfectly symmetrical, microscopic butterfly wings that shimmer with ethereal light whenever he twitches a finger.
He-Man stares at the delicate work for a long, quiet moment.
"That's very impressive," He-Man admits, his voice dropping its grand posture entirely.
"Yes," Skeletor says smoothly, tilting his hand to catch the light. "It is."
He-Man clears his throat, shifting his weight. "And Snowflake?"
Skeletor tilts his skull slightly, his empty eye sockets fixing on the champion. "Yes... that's the name of the ice princess, isn't it?"
He-Man's eyes narrow slightly. "... you kidnapped her, didn't you?"
"No," Skeletor replies flatly, flicking a tiny spec of dust off his index finger. "That was all Evil-Lyn. I let her have full control minus my magic to do whatever for her birthday today, under the condition that she not disrupt me."
He-Man stands up straight, his shoulders dropping as the heroic tension completely leaves his chest. He lets out a soft breath, utterly deflated. "... huh," He-Man says quietly, glancing back down at the glowing hand resting on the armrest. "Well... it's a nice butterfly."