I always knew something about me was different. Where others felt warmth, I felt only an icy shiver crawling inside me. Yet it didn’t frighten me. On the contrary... it soothed me. I welcomed the slithering cold as if it belonged there.

When I joined the academy, I swore I wouldn’t just be good. I would be unmatched. Excellence wasn’t an aspiration, it was a destiny. The other students never mattered to me. Most of them avoided me anyway, as though a single touch might freeze them solid. Perhaps it would - the thought made me smile.

One afternoon, I stood by the library window, gazing down at the courtyard. Below me, the untalented and simple-minded flock gathered, laughing and boasting with their feeble sparks and pitiful tricks. Fools, every last one of them. As I watched, frost bloomed across the glass before me, etching patterns like the strokes of an artist’s brush. My lips curled into the ghost of a smile.

The first snowflakes drifted down upon them, at first delightful, almost enchanting. Their laughter faltered as the air grew sharper, crueler, heavy with winter’s breath. Their faces drained of color. Then came the ice. Jagged shards lancing outward, hungry for flesh. Their cries pierced the courtyard as they scattered in panic.

It was in that moment I understood. I wasn’t meant to be an excellent student. I wasn’t meant to be measured against them at all.