Frost awoke to the aches and pains of a battered body on the brink of exhaustion. The cool, crisp air of the Northern Reach permeated his lungs like a soothing balm, providing a small bit of relief amid the torment of his captors. He looked around, blinking his puffy red eyes.

Frostilicus groaned under the strain of his tormentor. It seemed that these men didn't just want to kill him but to see that he suffered. What was it that they had against him? Why in the Five were they so sadistic?

"Had enough frost mage?" one of the soldiers said, mockingly. He wore a wide grin, displaying gaps between his crooked teeth. "I guess not." The man slammed his boot into Frost's ribs, knocking him to the ground.

Corporal Shamus grunted as he surveyed the scene. The brute of a man held his hands behind his back as he paced. His posture straight, he carried himself like a man in control.

"We'll take him from here, Sir,'" the crooked-teeth soldier said to Shamus in a salute. "Sargent Philip Hargreaves at your service."

"General Burns wants him questioned," Shamus. "Then he will deal with him. Personally."

Hargreaves' lips curled upward in an evil grin as he nodded. "That can be taken care of, Sir."

Shamus saluted and left. His duty done. It wasn't as if he cared what happened to Frost.

Frost curled on the ground, his body pounding with pain at the hands of the same man.

"Stop it," screamed the voice of a woman. Still carrying her child, she raced over to Frostilicus as if to keep him from being kicked ceaselessly beaten by the men.

"Oh, lookie here," Hargreaves said. "The little lady wants to protect the newcomer, does she? Well, maybe that can work to our advantage."

Frost turned, unsure of what to say. He was grateful, of course. Who was this woman? She stood by him, placing her body like a shield between him and his captors.

"You all say you don't have any information about the frost mages. Not that it really matters at this point. Hailstone Keep will fall at any moment. Hear those canons?"

The booms echoed in the background as the artillery continued to pummel Hailstone Keep. The newborn infant wailed, its shrill cry cutting through the cacophony like a knife through butter.

"So one of you is going to tells me where we can find more frost mages? Otherwise, I will make your deaths a very trying experience." Hargreaves cracked his knuckles.

The woman clenched her jaw and steeled her eyes. She wore the defiant look of a protective mother. Strong. Intransigent.

But she was one woman. What could she do? Frost shuddered. If only he had water. Then he'd actually be of some use.

The child's voice turned from crying to cooing. The babe smiled as he caught a glance from Frostilicus, his big blue eyes taking in Frost's bruised face. There was something different about the child. The baby's eyes were piercing blue. Were they glowing?

"That child of yours ain't going to be spared," Hargreaves said, narrowing his eyes at the woman. "No one lives. Those are my orders from Burns himself. But if you share some info, I can make its death quick and painless."

Frost's muscles constricted at the thought. Someone had to put a stop to these monsters. These insufferable, evil men who would kill a child. As he breathed in, he caught the scent of blood in his nostrils. Human blood. Not long dead. Peering over, he noticed pits dug into the ground with fresh layers of dirt on top. So that was the truth of it then. This wasn't a prison camp but an execution field.

Clenching his fists, his eyes darted around the makeshift prison camp. There had to be something he could use. Even without his powers, he was still a trained fighter. Growing up as a son of a blacksmith meant he had trained in nearly every type of weapon. Every Capscatian weapon anyway. Rifles were a totally new invention as far as he was concerned. Something these Flintlock brought with them.

Suddenly, he noticed something on the ground, and his heart skipped a beat. There was something he could use. Making its way from the bushes nearby like a slithering snake was a thin stream of water.

Frost smirked.

Frolick was nearby. He sensed it. It was just like his brother to try a trick like this. Subtle yet effective.

Still, it wouldn't be an easy victory. The stream of water was thin and branched out into numerous offshoots like a river delta, forming small splotchy puddles. He could pull on on the water, but he would have to do so at just the right moment, catching the guards by surprise.

He also couldn't wait too long. If the water mixed too much with the dirt on the ground, it would form mud. Water that was commingled with other elements was useless to frost forming. Just like blood. Or even snow, for that matter. Water had to be reasonably pure and liquified to be used most effectively.

But there was so little of it. Not enough for a full suit of armor. Maybe for a sword at most. Probably Frolick had smuggled in a bucket of water from the stream and then dumped it on the ground.

Frostilicus had to act now, or he'd miss his window of opportunity, so he focused his mind and pulled.

But as he did, something completely unexpected happened.

The water caught on fire.