Kiara The Knight Of Icicles [better] -

But the title carried weight. The kingdom of Permafrost was cursed. Every winter, a beast called the would rise from the Glacial Rift—a serpent of slush and rage, born from a sorcerer’s dying spell. It did not burn. It did not crush. It melted . Where it slithered, fortresses became puddles. Heirlooms turned to vapor. Hope dissolved.

Her armor was not steel. It was a lattice of frozen hoarfrost, woven into the shape of chainmail by her own breath. Children would dare each other to touch her pauldron, then squeal at the harmless cold that tingled like mint. kiara the knight of icicles

And if you listen closely on the coldest nights, you can hear her whisper to the wind: But the title carried weight

The King’s finest knights had tried. Their hot-forged swords steamed uselessly against the Wyrm’s wet hide. Their plate armor rusted overnight. They returned shivering, empty-handed, whispering: “Cold is not enough. Heat is not enough. What weapon can fight water?” It did not burn

On the eve of the Thaw-Wyrm’s awakening, Kiara climbed the Spire of Sighs, where the old sorcerer’s spell still lingered in the air like frost on a window. She knelt and pressed her palm to the ice floor.