chapter 0
The summers were golden. That's the part Lucy always remembered first, even when the blizzard tried to take it away. The light was endless in those days, stretching over fields of tall grass that swayed like ocean waves. She remembered running through those fields, her legs pumping as fast as they could, her tiny hands outstretched toward the horizon.
"Slow down, Lucy!" her mother would shout, laughing as she tried to keep up. Her mother's laughter was the warmest sound in the world, full of life and safety. Sometimes, Lucy thought she could still hear it, buried somewhere deep beneath the howling of the storm.
Her father was always in the background then, pacing on the porch with his work tablet in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. He never went far without that tablet. He called it "the future," full of maps and data that Lucy didn't understand. But when he wasn't working, he was a different person. He'd lift Alex onto his shoulders—tiny Alex, barely out of diapers—and march him around the yard like a king showing off his castle.
"Look at this guy," he'd say, his voice full of pride. "You're going to run the world one day, Alex."
"Run the world?" Lucy had teased, crossing her arms with mock indignation. "What about me?"
"You'll keep it running," he said, laughing as he crouched down to ruffle her hair. "You're the only one who can."
Lucy didn't know what that meant, but she liked how it made her feel—important, strong. Even then, her father saw something in her. Something she hadn't discovered yet.
The world before the storm was perfect. At least, that's what it felt like when Lucy thought back to it. But the perfection had cracks even then, hidden beneath the surface like fractures waiting to break. The weather was becoming unpredictable—more hurricanes in the summer, longer droughts in the fall. Lucy's father worked with people who talked about things like "climate tipping points" and "global instability," but to her, it all sounded distant. The world was golden, and golden things didn't break.
Then the machines came.
They rose on the horizon like sleek giants, their silver bodies gleaming in the sun. Weather stabilizers, her father called them. Lucy thought they looked like sentinels, standing guard over the fields. Her father said the machines would fix everything—the storms, the heat waves, the droughts. He called them the future.
"They're going to change the world," he told her once, kneeling down to show her a picture of the machines on his tablet. "You'll never have to worry about hurricanes or floods or freezing winters. We're going to control it all."
She didn't think much about it at the time. Her father talked about control a lot, but Lucy didn't care about that. She cared about the way the sunlight played off the metal towers, how they shimmered like something out of a storybook. They weren't just machines; they were magic.
But magic has rules. And magic, when pushed too far, always pushes back.
One summer, Lucy noticed the grass in the fields wasn't growing as tall. The winds blew hotter, and the air felt dry in her throat. Her mother started watching the news more often, the brightness fading from her face as reports of strange weather events filled the screen.
"Don't worry about that," her father said, trying to sound calm as he turned the TV off. "It's temporary. The stabilizers are just adjusting."
But the winds didn't stop, and neither did the reports. Flash floods in one place, snowstorms in the middle of July in another. It wasn't just adjusting. Something was wrong.
Lucy's last clear memory of that summer was standing on the porch with Alex, holding his little hand as they watched the sky. Her father was yelling in the kitchen, his voice sharp and urgent. Her mother stood silently at the sink, gripping the edge of the counter so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"Lucy," Alex whispered, tugging on her sleeve. "Why is it snowing?"
Lucy didn't know how to answer. She could only stare as the first snowflakes drifted down, landing softly on the grass that hadn't grown back yet. The flakes were gentle at first, like the beginnings of winter arriving too early. But they didn't melt. They stuck to the ground, layering themselves over the yellowed grass. In the distance, the hum of the weather machines grew louder, their rhythm no longer steady but fractured, erratic.
The storm was coming.
The snow didn't stop. By the time Lucy woke the next morning, the fields were gone, buried under an endless stretch of white. The sky was heavy and gray, the sun nothing but a faint memory. The hum of the weather machines was louder now, constant and grating, a noise that drilled into her skull and made it hard to think.
Her father was in the living room, shouting into his phone. "What do you mean the readings are unstable? This isn't just a calibration issue! You need to shut them down before—"
Static hissed from the speaker, and he slammed the phone onto the table, pacing furiously. Lucy sat on the stairs, clutching the railing as she watched him. She'd never seen him like this before—his shoulders tense, his hands shaking. Her mother appeared beside him, her face pale.
"What's happening?" Lucy asked, her voice small.
Her father froze, then turned toward her. For a moment, he didn't answer, his eyes scanning her as if he were trying to memorize every detail. Then he knelt down, his hands resting on her shoulders.
"Lucy," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I need you to listen very carefully. You and Alex are going to stay with your mom today, okay? No matter what happens, you stay with her. I'll be back before you know it."
"Where are you going?" Lucy's chest tightened. "Why can't we come?"
"I have to fix something at work," he said. "Something big. But it'll be fine. We just need to get through this storm."
"But it's just snow," she said. "We've seen snow before."
Her father looked away, his jaw tightening. "This isn't normal snow, Lucy. It's... complicated."
Her mother interrupted, her voice shaking. "David, we don't have time for explanations."
He nodded, his face hardening as he stood. "Stay inside. Lock the doors. Don't let anyone in." He hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the window where the snow was piling higher by the minute. Then he looked back at Lucy, his expression softening. "Take care of your brother, okay? He looks up to you."
Lucy nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She didn't understand what was happening, but she could feel the weight in his words—the finality of them.
By nightfall, the wind had started to howl. It shook the house, rattling the windows and sending sharp bursts of cold through the cracks in the walls. The power flickered, and her mother lit candles in the kitchen, her movements quick and methodical.
"Lucy, keep Alex upstairs," she said, her voice tight. "Don't let him look outside."
Lucy obeyed, leading Alex to their shared bedroom and closing the curtains. He clung to her side, his small hands clutching her arm.
"Is Daddy coming back?" he asked, his voice trembling.
"Of course," Lucy said, forcing a smile. "He's probably just stuck in traffic."
Alex frowned. "But there's no traffic in the snow."
Lucy hesitated, her mouth dry. She didn't know how to explain it, so she hugged him instead, holding him close as the wind screamed outside. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, the sound of the storm growing louder and louder until it was all she could hear.
And then came the crash.
It started as a low rumble, like thunder trapped underground. The house shook violently, the floorboards groaning beneath her feet. Lucy pulled Alex toward the door, her heart pounding. "Stay behind me," she whispered.
"Mom?" Alex called, his voice breaking.
They reached the stairs just as the front door burst open, snow pouring in like a tidal wave. The cold hit Lucy like a physical force, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her mother stood in the living room, shielding her face from the wind as two figures stumbled inside.
At first, Lucy thought they were just people—strangers caught in the storm. But as they moved closer, she saw the glow. It wasn't natural, the way their bodies shimmered with faint, flickering light. One of them turned toward her, its eyes empty and unblinking, and she felt something deep in her chest, a cold that had nothing to do with the weather.
"Get upstairs!" her mother shouted, grabbing a fire poker from the hearth.
Lucy froze. The figures moved slowly, their steps uneven, as if they weren't entirely solid. One of them reached for her mother, its hand trailing frost across the air.
Her mother swung the poker with a force Lucy didn't know she had. It connected with the figure's arm, shattering it into shards of ice. But the creature didn't flinch. It kept moving, its glowing eyes fixed on her.
"Go, Lucy!" her mother screamed, her voice hoarse.
Lucy grabbed Alex and ran, dragging him up the stairs as fast as she could. They slammed the bedroom door shut, her hands fumbling with the lock. She pressed her ear to the wood, her heart pounding.
Downstairs, the wind roared, drowning out the sounds of the struggle. And then, silence.
The door burst open, and Lucy screamed. But it wasn't one of the glowing figures—it was her mother, her face pale and streaked with tears. "We have to go," she said, grabbing Lucy's arm. "Now."
"What about Daddy?" Alex asked, his voice shaking.
"We'll meet him later," her mother said. "But first, we have to get to the shelter."
She led them downstairs, stepping carefully over the broken shards of ice that littered the floor. The front door was still wide open, snow piled high against the frame. Outside, the storm was blinding, the wind so loud Lucy couldn't hear her own footsteps.
Her mother pulled them into the storm, one hand gripping Lucy, the other holding Alex. They stumbled through the snow, the cold cutting through their clothes like knives. Lucy tried to focus on her mother's voice, but it was hard to hear over the wind.
"Stay together!" her mother shouted. "Don't let go of my hand!"
But the wind was too strong. It pulled at her, tearing her mother's hand from hers. Lucy screamed, reaching out, but her mother was already disappearing into the white.
"Mom!" she cried, her voice lost in the storm.
Alex was crying, his small fingers clutching her sleeve. Lucy held onto him, her heart racing as she searched the snow for any sign of her mother. But there was nothing. Just the cold, and the wind, and the endless, suffocating white.
That was the last time she saw her.
The snow had taken everything.
For days—or maybe weeks; Lucy couldn't tell anymore—she wandered with Alex through the endless storm. The blizzard raged constantly, the wind biting at her skin and freezing her tears before they could fall. Her mother was gone, her father was gone, and she had no idea if they'd survived. She clung to Alex's hand like a lifeline, terrified that the storm would take him too.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt warm.
The first time she saw an Echo, she thought it was a monster.
It had been two nights since she'd seen another human. She and Alex had stumbled upon the remains of a small town, the buildings half-buried under ice. They'd found a grocery store with its roof caved in and spent the night huddled in a corner, sharing a single threadbare blanket.
She woke to the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow. At first, she thought it was her father. Maybe he'd found them, maybe everything was going to be okay. But when she peeked out from their hiding spot, she saw it.
It wasn't human—not entirely. Its body glowed faintly, like the embers of a dying fire, and its limbs were unnaturally long, twisting in ways that didn't make sense. It moved with an eerie grace, its head tilting as if it could hear her thoughts.
Lucy froze, her breath catching in her throat. She gripped Alex tighter, her mind racing. The creature stopped, its glowing eyes scanning the ruins. For a moment, it looked directly at her, and she felt a chill deeper than any the blizzard had ever brought.
Then it was gone, vanishing into the storm like a ghost.
"Lucy," Alex whispered, his voice trembling. "What was that?"
"I don't know," she said, her voice barely audible. "But we're not staying to find out."
They left the ruins before dawn, trudging through the snow with numb feet. Lucy's mind replayed the creature's image over and over, its glowing eyes haunting her every step. It wasn't until much later that she heard the name for what she'd seen.
An Echo.
The Blizzard hadn't just frozen the world—it had changed it. The scientists who had unleashed Project Helios thought they were taming nature, but what they'd really done was tear open something they couldn't understand. The energy they had used to control the weather had fused with the storm, embedding itself into the very air. It twisted the rules of reality, giving form to things that shouldn't exist.
Echoes were the most visible sign of this change. No one knew exactly what they were. Some said they were monsters created by the Blizzard to protect itself. Others believed they were fragments of human emotion made flesh, drawn from the survivors who had endured the storm. Whatever the truth, Echoes were powerful, and they were dangerous.
Not all of them were hostile. Lucy heard rumors of people who could summon Echoes, controlling them like extensions of their own will. They called these people "Manifesters." Most were loners, wandering the wastes with their Echoes as guardians. But some used their powers to dominate others, carving out territories in the frozen wilderness and ruling through fear.
Lucy didn't understand any of it. She was just trying to keep Alex alive.
The first time she realized she had an Echo of her own, she was standing on the edge of a frozen lake. Alex was crying beside her, his small body shivering violently. They hadn't eaten in days, and the last shelter they'd found had been burned to the ground.
She felt helpless. Useless. The kind of deep, gut-wrenching despair that swallowed everything else.
And then it happened.
The air around her seemed to shift, growing colder and sharper. Ice began to form beneath her feet, spiraling outward in jagged patterns. She felt a strange energy surge through her chest, burning cold and relentless. It wasn't like the frostbite that gnawed at her fingers—it was alive, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
A figure emerged beside her, towering and jagged, its body made entirely of ice. It looked human, but its glowing blue eyes were anything but. It radiated power, its sharp limbs cutting through the air with deadly precision.
"Lucy…" Alex whispered, staring at the figure. "What is that?"
Lucy couldn't answer. She could only stare as the icy figure moved, responding to her unspoken thoughts. It knelt beside Alex, wrapping him in its arms. For the first time in days, Alex stopped shivering.
That was the day Lucy realized she wasn't like everyone else. She could feel the Echo's presence now, like a shadow tied to her soul. It didn't speak, but it didn't need to. She could sense its intentions, its raw need to protect her and Alex at all costs.
She named it Frostbite, because that was what it felt like—a bitter, biting cold that kept them alive.
From then on, the Echo became her shield against the Blizzard. It smashed through ice walls, warded off predators, and carried Alex when his legs gave out. But it wasn't perfect. Every time she summoned it, she felt a piece of herself slipping away, her body growing weaker and colder.
And then there were the other Echoes. The hostile ones. They were drawn to Frostbite like moths to a flame, their glowing forms emerging from the storm to challenge her. Each fight left her more exhausted, more frayed, but she didn't have a choice. She had to keep moving. For Alex.
For the faint hope that somewhere out there, her parents were still alive.
The Blizzard's Gift and Curse
Over time, Lucy began to notice patterns. The Echoes weren't just random. They were tied to the people who survived the Blizzard, reflections of their emotions and their will to live. Raiders used them to terrorize survivors, turning the Echoes into weapons of fear. Cultists worshiped them, claiming they were gifts from the Blizzard itself.
For Lucy, Frostbite wasn't a gift. It was a burden. But it was also her only chance.
The Blizzard wasn't just a storm. It was alive, and it had changed the rules of the world forever. Lucy didn't know if she could survive it. But as she looked at Alex, his small hand clutching hers, she knew she didn't have a choice.