MCU : Child Of Winter

Time lost its shape.

I didn't know how long I had been drifting—minutes, hours, days. In the stillness, there was no hunger, no breath, no pain. Only cold. Endless, comforting cold.

It wrapped around me like a cradle. Not harsh, not violent. Gentle. Like the embrace of deep winter.

I couldn't move—not at first. My limbs were heavy, like stone resting at the bottom of the world. My thoughts came slowly, like snowflakes drifting from the sky. But then… something stirred.

A memory.

Faye.

Her wide eyes. The frozen lake. The sound of the ice cracking beneath me. The way the light had faded as I slipped beneath the surface. That moment—so vivid, so final—clung to my mind like frost on glass.

Then… light.

A faint, pale glow above me. The moon.

I opened my eyes.

Water surrounded me, but I didn't choke. I didn't struggle. I simply drifted upward, the weight that once held me sinking away like a shed skin. My arms moved, slow and steady, without effort.

As I neared the surface, the moon grew brighter, its silver light spilling across the water like a path.

Then, my feet touched something—solid.

Ice.

The moment I made contact, a ripple of frost spread outward from where I stood, freezing the water around my legs. It crackled softly, like distant laughter. I stared, wide-eyed.

"What…?"

The cold no longer bit at me. It felt natural now. Familiar. My breath came in soft clouds, but I felt no pain. No fear. I looked down and saw the staff in my hand—the same one I had used to save Faye.

Still with me.

Still mine.

I looked up at the moon, hovering silently above the lake. Its light reflected off the ice, painting everything in shades of silver and blue.

A whisper slipped from my lips without thought:"So… this isn't the end, is it, Man of the Moon?"

A breeze stirred around me—gentle, swirling—and for the briefest second, it felt like a reply.

I smiled faintly, not sure if I should feel comforted or haunted.

I stepped forward onto the ice—barefoot.

Strangely, I didn't feel the cold. The smooth frost beneath my feet was solid and slick, but it didn't sting. It welcomed me. I glanced down, half-expecting to see blood or bruises, but my skin was pale and untouched. Almost… luminous under the moonlight.

My clothes were torn, soaked from the fall, but I felt light. Weightless. As if gravity no longer clung to me the same way it once did.

Each step I took left a faint, shimmering frost behind—my footprints freezing into delicate patterns on the ice. I crossed the lake in silence, the wind whispering through the trees as if watching me.

The moment I reached the far bank, I turned toward the familiar path to Marlow.

When I arrived at the village edge, I expected to see the soft glow of torches, smoke from chimneys, maybe the bark of a dog or the voice of a friend. But instead, I saw a crowd gathered around the main square—children and adults huddled close to a bonfire, their faces lit by the flame's flicker.

A strange pang stirred in my chest.

I stepped closer.

The people were singing and laughing, their voices rising joyfully around the fire. There was celebration in the air—bright and warm. I scanned the crowd, searching for familiar faces.

Where was Father?

Where was Mother?

Where were Elias and Thom?

I looked, and looked… but none of them were there.

Just strangers. Or… had they changed? Had I?

My steps were silent. My breath came out in clouds, but no one turned to see me.

I moved beside a young boy near the edge of the gathering. His eyes were wide, staring into the fire. I leaned down slightly.

"Hey," I whispered. "What's going on? Can you hear me?"

No response.

I reached out—and the boy stepped forward, passing through me.

A sudden chill ran down his spine. He shivered violently, then sneezed, clutching his arms as if frost had touched his skin. But he never turned around. Never saw me.

My eyes widened. I looked down at my hands. Pale. Faint.

Like mist in moonlight.

They can't see me.

My chest tightened. I backed away from the fire, from the people who no longer knew me, from the life I no longer belonged to.

I stood in the snow for a long time, staring at the faces that once might've known mine.

But that Jack was gone.

I stood in the snow long after the fire began to die. Long after the villagers returned to their homes. No one noticed me. Not even once.

No voices called my name.

No faces turned in recognition.

It was as if I had never existed.

I turned away from the village square and walked back through the forest path in silence. My bare feet didn't bleed or bruise, though sharp twigs and ice lined the ground. Wherever I stepped, frost spread outward in gentle webs, delicate as lace. It was beautiful, but it made me feel less human—like the boy who once lived in Marlow had truly vanished beneath the ice.

I wandered aimlessly for a while, moving past the hills and into the quieter parts of the forest. My breath still came in clouds, but my chest didn't hurt. My body no longer tired.

I wasn't alive.

But I wasn't dead either.

My cloak billowed softly behind me, and the staff I carried felt more like a part of me than a tool now. Its shape had changed slightly. The wood had gone pale, almost white, and a thin layer of frost shimmered across its surface, as if it too had been changed by the lake.

The deeper I went into the forest, the more the silence embraced me.

Then I stopped.

Without thinking, I bent my knees and jumped—not just upward, but up into the air, higher than any leap I had ever made. My body soared lightly, like a feather caught in a breeze, and I landed effortlessly on a thick pine branch ten feet above the ground.

I didn't slip.

I didn't stumble.

The branch beneath my bare feet frosted over instantly.

I blinked. Then I laughed—not out of joy, but disbelief. It wasn't just instinct. It was ease. As natural as breathing.

I jumped again, sailing from one tree to the next. My staff spun beside me as I moved, and the air around me seemed to follow my motion. The wind curled beneath my leap, lifting me, guiding me.

Another jump. Then another. I danced among the treetops like winter itself.

When I finally paused on a tall, wide branch, the entire forest stretched out before me. Snow dusted every limb and rooftop in silver light. A gentle breeze carried flurries around me in slow spirals. My heart was still and quiet.

I extended one hand and exhaled.

Cold mist swirled from my palm. A single snowflake shimmered into being, perfect and still, before dissolving like stardust.

Then frost crept slowly down my fingers, curling in elegant spirals, beautiful and strange.

So this is what I've become.

Ice listened to me.

Frost obeyed.

I stayed in the trees for a long time.

Not moving.

Not thinking.

Just… feeling.

The breeze circled around me like a companion, playful and cold. The moon hung high above the forest canopy, distant but constant. Beneath its silver light, I sat on a branch with my knees pulled close to my chest, my arms wrapped around my staff.

My mind drifted.

Faces came and went. My mother's voice calling me in for supper. My father's hand on my shoulder after my first hunt. Elias's laughter. Thom's bold dares. Faye's trembling fingers wrapped around the hook of my staff.

All gone.

They lived on—but without me.

I had saved a life and vanished into silence. No grave. No goodbye. Just snow.

I looked down at my hands—pale, strong, quiet. I was no longer Jack from Marlow. I didn't breathe like them. I didn't age like them. I didn't belong with them anymore.

So what was I?

A spirit?

A ghost?

A whisper carried on the wind?

I glanced at the frozen trail my feet had left along the trees, each footprint a blossom of frost, glimmering faintly in the dark.

And then I understood.

I was something new.

Not a boy.

Not quite a man.

But something born of winter. Of cold and quiet and second chances.

I took a deep breath. It fogged the air, curling around me like a ribbon.

"I guess I need a name," I murmured to the moon, smiling faintly. "Something fitting."

The wind stirred gently, brushing the strands of my hair across my cheek.

Jack.

It still felt like me.

But Jack from Marlow was gone. He had drowned beneath the ice, lost with the warmth and safety of the life he once knew.

I looked down at the frost curling from my toes to the end of my staff. The way snow gathered at my touch, how silence followed my steps. A strange title whispered in my mind—like it had always been there, waiting.

Jack Frost.

A name born from winter itself.

A name for the boy who returned from the ice.

Not the name my parents had given me—but the name I chose. For who I had become. For what I now was.

"I'm not just a memory," I said to the wind. "I'm still here."

Snowflakes drifted from the treetops, as if in agreement.

I stood, balancing on the branch, the forest stretched wide beneath me.

"I may not have a place in Marlow anymore," I whispered, "but the world is bigger than one village."

I didn't know where I would go next. What I would find. Who I would become.

But for now, I would follow the snow.

Let the wind carry me.

Let the moonlight guide me.

I gripped my staff, felt the cold hum beneath my skin, and smiled.

"My name is Jack Frost."