The air in Veilheim smelled like broken ice and old energy waiting to wake up. That year marked the start of the Big Shaping, when the cold from distant northlands - held back for so long - began moving again across the ground. Veilheim’s highland hummed, sharp and cold. Over here, the stuff needed for Winter’s Vanguard sat ready - huge chunks of ice, pulled from bottomless lakes, frozen solid, glowing faintly like captured starlight. Jasper, tall and lean with a sleek black-and-white coat, floated just above the highest chunk of ice, tiny sparkles of snow clinging to his fur. Because he carried frost magic, this task fell to him - not only shaping the blocks but weaving them full of crisp, breathing chill, setting each piece right for winter’s true power. "Closer, Jasper! Those fetlocks must look ready to leap a ravine, not just step over a puddle." The Elder Frostmage’s voice was a low, rumbling echo, amplified by the surrounding crystalline acoustics. Jasper rolled his eyes, a flicker of his characteristic snark escaping in a huff of visible breath. "Elder, if I put any more fractal detail into this one’s right hind, it’s going to shatter the second we introduce the life pulse. Do you want a majestic herald of winter, or a pile of very noble-looking slush?" Even though Jasper acted wild and whined nonstop, he was clearly smart. His horn glowed steady blue while thin strands of frost magic slipped out - not breaking ice, just shifting how its tiny pieces fit together. He didn't carve like regular artists; he worked more like someone studying crystals up close. The stag growing under him was huge - about as big as a little war cart. Yet its skin looked see-through blue, while its fur stood up like icy needles. However, the horns weren't done yet, stretching nearly nine feet across, splitting into rough, glassy streams. "Just finish the antlers, Jasper," the Elder sighed. "We only have four hours until the Winter Tide ritual begins." Jasper narrowed his focus. Carving demanded extreme precision, every move risky. When the shape took full form, something deeper started - awakening a hidden spark within. Cold energy flowed through him, sharpening edges till they locked firm. Magic hummed steady, then faded. Suddenly, the figure wasn’t just icy - it held breathless stillness, ready to leap. "Done," Jasper muttered, landing lightly beside the icy beast. "May he have a delightful journey and not melt on the first sunny afternoon." The old horse, huge like a draft from the Shires, stood quiet - her fur dull brown, like mud left out in cold weather. Instead of looking at him, she shifted the thick wool cloak on her wide back. “This is Veilheim, kid. Should that ice-deer vanish before the mix takes hold? Then we’re not just late - we’re done. The whole shield between seasons would crack open.” The scolding wasn't harsh, yet it worked just fine. Jasper flinched slightly, shifting his shoulders to shed loose bits of icy mist stuck on his dark-silver overo fur. "Yeah, yeah - check the seasonal shield first, then drink up. Message received." He dashed quickly around the huge ice figure. Now, its deep-blue shape gently glowed from within - lit by starlight trapped during shaping. Pretty impressive, honestly. Sort of sad it’d get smashed later. “Now, the transfer,” the Elder continued, her voice deepening. “The Infusion Altar waits.” Moving the stag had always been the toughest bit. Though lighter than rock, its size felt overwhelming - its crystal form, even with magic woven through, stayed rigid. Letting it fall wasn't something he could afford. The elder grabbed the head, pressing a thick, rough hoof to the icy muzzle. From her came a low hum - constant waves of grounding power meant to heal splits in the land. That energy pulsed strong, working without pause. Jasper grabbed the back legs. Instead of icing the deer more, he used his power to make it lighter. A sharp chill spread across his side when the huge frozen limbs lifted just above the snowy ground. “One, two - pull,” said the old veilhorn. They started inching slowly toward the big room where the ceremony happened. Every move was careful, every breath quiet. The deer - called Nivium Invictus, or The Unconquered Snow - for sacred reasons let out a soft sound as the spell lifted it. “You know, I still think we should have installed hidden rollers,” Jasper grunted, his muscles straining despite the anti-gravity spellwork. “Silence, Jasper. This trek is meant to be felt. It is penitence for the warmth we are about to borrow,” the Elder replied, her eyes shut in concentration. They got to the curved doorway of the Hall of Drifting Spires at last. The inside held more heat - still not hot enough to thaw ice, yet enough to push back the biting chill from outside. Flames burned along the walls, throwing shaky dark shapes onto a roof made completely of thickened frost, making it seem like a sky full of clouds stretching forever. In the middle sat the Altar - a rough, dark slab of obsidian - just there. Yet silent. Not shiny. Just a heavy stone, doing nothing. It was another quarter hour of slow, careful moves before the Nivium Invictus fit just right on the dark slab. As soon as its glassy feet hit the black rock, a tremor shot through the whole room. Jasper dropped the spell, breathing hard. A chill settled into his limbs, heavy and slow. Yet warmth faded fast from his hooves. Though he stood still, his legs trembled faintly. Since the power left, silence rushed in around him. The Elder stepped back, inspecting the alignment. “Perfect. Now, you may rest, Jasper. The final steps require only the Elder Circle.” Jasper gave a nod while stepping back. Because the Elder Circle? That’s where things turned intense - pulling energy from deep under the ground, making that cold container haul winter’s burden. Honestly, it felt way too much, far too old, plus just dull for his taste. He liked fast sparks of making stuff appear instead. "I'll hang out... over here," he muttered, nudging a hoof at one of the deep nooks in the wall, covered by heavy drapes - a good spot to keep an eye on things, or maybe, if he felt like it, catch some quiet rest. “Stay alert,” the Elder warned. “When the infusion is complete and the vessel begins its thaw, we must be ready to release it to the Veil. Do not miss your cue.” Jasper fake-saluted. While he slid into the chilly dark corner, tugging a thick blanket - laced with ice - over his shoulders, the old mare moved toward the altar. Right away, three more ponies, just as aged and solemn, gathered beside her. Together, they closed in around the glowing stone. The air in the hall got thick, weighed down by hidden energy. Torch flames flickered out, swapped by a pulsing light coming from the black stone. Jasper stood there, trembling a bit - not because it was chilly, but due to the heavy weight of what he’d done. His creation, the Nivium Invictus, that grand and graceful deer made of frost, wasn't merely carved ice anymore. The Elder started chanting. Not pony speech - more like a deep hum, rough and steady, pulling power up from the ground beneath. When she said the opening lines of the Winter Tide - that old bond - the deer’s pale blue skin turned darker. Inside its glass-like heart, a tiny flame started to beat. Not the cold, lifeless ice Jasper had placed earlier. It was life - just hanging there, still... scared stiff of what came next. A huge jolt hit the room without warning. This didn’t belong to the ceremony. Ponies from the Elder Circle wavered, their singing cutting out for a second. Jasper shot up, flinging off the cover. "Where'd that come from?" The Elder looked up, her face etched with sudden fear. “The Veil… it is agitated. The barrier is shifting too soon.” Out here, past the heavy fog layer, a loud crack - like thunder - ripped through Veilheim’s endless dark. This noise had no business happening so deep within the safe zone. Cracks echoed - like rocks splitting - then came a harsh scream, rough and deep. Whatever made it was huge, starving, maybe even forbidden at the Winter Tide gathering.