The charred spiral layers of earth had just covered the wounds of Tsuchigumo. The deathly smoke, remnants of spells and sorrow, still hung in the air. But now, the arena had transformed: the air felt heavier, dew froze in the atmosphere even before it fell, and breaths turned into thin crystals.

  From the shadows emerged a figure cloaked in white and blue. Her hair flowed like snow, her skin pale as morning mist, and her eyes were a shade of gray. With each step she took, ice flowers bloomed upon the ruins. This was Yuki-Onna, the Snow General from the realm of Yokai. Her beauty was deadly—graceful and cold, like a blade that left no mark, except for death.

  Yuki-Onna was not just a snow spirit from ancient Japan. She was a fragment of the will of “Winter Will”—an ancient entity that housed the souls of women and children who died frozen, trapped in a spiral of time for thousands of seasons. Known as the general of the underworld, Yuki-Onna guarded the fourth spiral layer—the Field of Eternal Frost. For many, she was merely a legend. But for Fitran, Yuki-Onna was an intriguing psychological puzzle.

  Yuki-Onna stopped a few steps away from Fitran, sweeping the field with her cold gaze. On the other side, Fitran stood, his breath still heavy, but his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. The Voidlight in his hand glowed softly, while the blood on his arm had frozen—snow crystals creeping slowly over the gaping wound.

  Yuki-Onna spoke, her voice as cold as death on a winter morning, “There’s always one human who believes they can defy the seasons. And, without fail, this spiral will consume them first.”

  Fitran offered a thin, ironic smile. “Funny. While you think the seasons of this world are stronger, I endure because my hatred never freezes. And you know what? I’d rather feel the heat of hell than be forced to freeze in the hypocrisy of the Yokai.”

  Yuki-Onna tilted her head, her gaze piercing. “Have you forgotten what it feels like to slowly shatter, Fitran Fate? Or perhaps you’d like to try dying in the embrace of snow tonight?”

  Fitran shrugged, his tone now relaxed, almost mocking. “I’ve died more times than you can imagine, Snow Queen. Do you really believe that freezing can erase someone’s trace from this world’s spiral? You should learn from Tsuchigumo. She burned everything down over a small loss.”

  Yuki-Onna stepped closer, snow falling heavily without clouds, forming a thick fog around them. “Your tongue is quite sharp. However, I’ve witnessed human lies transform into ruins far too often. The feeling of loss? Ah, I know it well, Fitran. Every field you visit, every name you tear apart, it all leaves a mark on my field. I gather all the souls that have forgotten their way home.”

  Fitran—at that moment, his voice suddenly felt more manipulative, low but full of pressure, “If you truly care for the souls, why do you continue to be the guardian dog of this spiral? You know this is all just a game. Who was it that first cast you into a season without end?”

  Yuki-Onna remained calm, unfazed. Her lips curved slightly, as if she was used to it. “I choose to be cold because the warmth of this world only brings lies and regrets. You come here with poison, Fitran. I don’t need a new world; all I desire is silence.”

  Fitran stepped slowly, tracing the ground with Voidlight, writing strange patterns that resembled spells. “The will to remain frozen is also a form of despair, you know. In the upper world, humans worship snow deities like you—Yuki-Onna, the nurturing mother of lost souls, the bringer of eternal sleep for children abandoned by the seasons. But in this world, all names will never return. Do you know why I’m here?”

  Yuki-Onna didn’t answer, only squinting her eyes, seemingly assessing every word that came from his mouth.

  Fitran moved closer, his voice lowering, laced with sarcasm, “I wonder, if I were to burn your field today, how many souls would you allow to be free? Or would you prefer to remain a beautiful statue in the museum of the world’s wounds?”

  Yuki-Onna raised her hand. Ice crystals swirled around her fingers. The sound of the wind came like the howling of lost children, “I have buried all wounds, Fitran. All I seek is silence.”

  Fitran challenged her, his gaze sharp, “Then let’s make this world truly silent. You, me, and the spiral that will never end.”

  The Field of Eternal Frost began to activate.

  The air froze as if time had stopped in its tracks. With every breath, ice particles pierced his skin, causing Fitran to feel a stinging pain. The Voidlight—an ancient blue sword now in his hand—transformed, each swing splitting the air, birthing purple-black flashes that cracked the surrounding snow.

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  Yuki-Onna raised both hands, and an ancient chant in the language of spirits echoed: “Spira Glacies, Tsumetai Yoru, Kogoeru Nama, Daku…” (Spiral of Ice, Coldest Night, Frozen Names, Embrace—)

  Suddenly, the snow morphed, wrapping around Fitran’s wrists, freezing his blood flow and disrupting the concentration of the magic he had built.

  Fitran struggled against it, his voice vibrating with fervor— “Void Collapse: Fractured Mirror!”

  The shadows of Voidlight split into five, each dancing elegantly in the air, reflecting dark light across the field. Each shadow attacked from different angles, slicing through the ice spell patterns, tearing the field into irregular fragments.

  Yuki-Onna stepped back, her eyes growing darker. “Do you think shadows can warm a frozen world? Every mirror, Fitran, will only return the cold deeper,” she said with a mocking tone.

  Fitran smirked slyly. “This spiral field, all created by trauma, remember? I’m just helping all those memories find their new forms,” he said, glancing at Yuki-Onna.

  Yuki-Onna waved her hand, and the snow on the ground began to rise, forming ice wolves. One by one, they emerged from the vortex of the field, their teeth glinting like daggers. “The children who died of cold always call my name. You are just one of thousands of lost souls, Fitran Fate. Are you really sure you want to be the next victim?” she taunted with a teasing voice.

  Fitran stood unfazed. His voice was low, yet carried psychological pressure. “Every victim in history has their own choice. You chose to freeze, while I chose to burn. If something is to be destroyed tonight, let me decide the next season,” he replied firmly.

  The battle erupted—

  The ice wolves lunged wildly, and Fitran danced among them, using Voidlight to slice. The blood that dripped froze instantly in the air. Each wound he received slowed him slightly, but his eyes remained sharp, as if calculating the chances and weaknesses of his enemy.

  Yuki-Onna summoned the freezing fog, enveloping the entire arena. A ghostly voice pierced Fitran’s mind, “In the snow, all voices eventually die. All names will drown.”

  Fitran, half-laughing and half-fuming, said, “Names? You know, I’m alive precisely because the world tries to erase my name. I’m proof that the world misdefines will.”

  Quickly, Yuki-Onna moved, her shadow appearing to multiply. Her body seemed an illusion among the snowflakes. “You talk too much!” she exclaimed. “In the Field of Eternal Frost, there is only one law: silence is victory, talking is death.”

  Fitran grinned, activating another technique. “Voidlight—Inheritance Severed!” The sound of thunder sliced through the air, filling it with tension.

  His sword transformed, the void aura radiating outward, seeping into the ground, burning patterns into the ice field until black lines peeled the surface of the arena. The atmosphere was indescribable—on one side, there was eeriness, and on the other, an unexpected power.

  Yuki-Onna let out a soft scream, the chant vibrating in the air, “Kogoeru Yuigon! (Will of the Frozen End!)” She channeled her power, and it felt as if time paused for a moment.

  The field morphed into waves of crystal, burying all who dared to touch it. Fitran leaped, crashing against the field’s boundary, his body pierced by sharp ice shards, but strangely, his smile never faded.

  “Ouch, that hurts!” he thought. “Will? Are you really sure I don’t have a legacy deeper than this snow? I come from a lineage of traitors, murderers, dark worshippers, even heaven’s thieves! So, what do you offer, Yuki-Onna? Just the nightmares of long-forgotten children?”

  Yuki-Onna, her breath starting to quicken, tried to hold back her anger, “I… I have the voices of all those the world has never remembered. I guard these names. I won’t let a single one of them drown away.”

  Fitran, suddenly softening his tone, almost sympathetic, replied, “That’s why you always lose. You guard those names, but you don’t dare erase what should have already died.”

  Yuki-Onna bit her lip, “I am different from you all. I won’t destroy the world just for revenge.”

  Fitran suddenly lunged forward, Voidlight piercing deep into the heart of the field, “Revenge? No need. I’m just tired of watching this world continue on the same lies every season.”

  The void waves began to crack the ice field, the fog shattered, and the ice wolves crumbled into swirling dust.

  Yuki-Onna leaned back, her eyes glistening, her voice breaking, “What does it mean to be eternal if all you guard is ultimately forgotten?”

  Fitran looked down, his voice soft, “It means the same as the seasons—it repeats, repeats, then slowly dies.”

  With one final attack, Yuki-Onna cried out, “Kogoeru Setsuna—Frozen Second!”

  Time in the field froze. Fitran could barely move, snow covering his entire body. In the midst of the seconds that felt halted, Yuki-Onna’s voice whispered softly in his ear, “You don’t need to fear the cold, Fitran. Here, there’s no will you need to force.”

  He held back, allowing a drop of blood to fall and touch the ground, triggering the final magic— “Void Genesis—Rootless Memory!” The atmosphere shifted. Voidlight slithered, burning every layer in the field, freeing the frozen time, swallowing the fog and snow into black ash.

  The Field of Eternal Frost collapsed. Yuki-Onna fell to her knees, her body feeling cracked, a final drop of snow falling from her eye.

  Fitran, breathing heavily, stood in the now silent arena, “I didn’t come to be a season. I came to rewrite the history of the spiral. You can be free, Yuki-Onna. But remember, you will never freeze anyone’s name again.”

  Yuki-Onna bowed her head, slowly fading into mist, “If the seasons change and my name is no longer spoken, at least let one name remain remembered in your spiral.”

  Fitran did not respond, only stepping slowly away, leaving the field that had now become ruins of ice and nightmares that had come to an end.

  From the edge of the spiral, the voice of another Yokai echoed, and the arena transformed. Fitran stepped forward again, carrying new wounds and the shadows of victory that always felt incomplete. One more name erased. One spiral field had come to an end.