Amidst smoke, ashes and ruin, in the place where life had ceased to exist, there is movement. The wind whips up drifts of carbonized remains, black where they once were white with snow. Now the only white things that remain are bone - and only when some animal had run from the fire and gotten killed by the smoke, instead.

In the distance, far of to the northern part of the Isle, strange blue flames are still dancing. If they’ll die out or last a lifetime, none can yet say.

It is not an attractive place to live, right now.

Did somebody say the word challenge?

The dragon rests on a pile of self-made icicles, almost as if it was his treasure hoard, or perhaps his throne. There is no way he could rest on anything hot; he hates it with a passion, especially today. Icicle Isle was the only home that had truly fit, and it had burned. Burning ice - that should be his doing, but instead, some fairy must have decided that the Isle was not good enough for the world.

You found something on Icicle Isle. Perhaps that was a sign.

So, what, she had wanted him to be here when the place got burned?
Well fuck. He’s here now, though a few days too late, and he’s not gonna let it go anymore.

Ice-blue gaze sweeps over the remnants of his home; his belly rumbles softly, but it’s not enough to make him move. No-one’s gonna make him move any more.

Should have come here sooner. If it hadn’t been Jesper, he would have.

This fucking ice cube is mine.
Even if it doesn’t deserve that description any more.