Dragged in white like a sacrificial lamb, he whispers ‘Frost’ while blood drips—not from wounds, but from shattered pride. The crowd sneers, but we see it: love that defied caste, cost lives, and still burns. Frost and Flame proves true power isn’t in technique… it’s in choosing love over legacy. 💔
That moment when the crown gleams but his eyes burn with regret—Frost and Flame isn’t just about power, it’s about the poison of ambition. She trusted him; he planned to steal her divine essence. And yet… he still laughs. 😅 The blue energy? That’s not magic—it’s guilt, glowing.