Long before Franlaur became a living legend in Frosthaven, before his name was ever whispered in awe by the citizens, he lived alone. Isolated in the farthest reaches of the frozen wilderness, he was a shadow on the periphery of the tundra. His existence was one of constant solitude, far from the warmth of the alliances and the camaraderie of the state. He spoke to no one, joined no gatherings, and made no effort to be known.
It was said that in those years, Franlaur did little else but train. The icy winds became his companions, the glaciers his teachers. He honed his strength and skill in the frozen wastelands, becoming stronger with every passing season. There were whispers of his power, tales of a figure seen from afar—moving like a blur, shattering ice with a single blow, or vanishing into the snowstorms. But no one knew the truth. To most, Franlaur was more myth than man, a story told to children in the long winter nights.
But Apollo knew better. As the leader of Olympus, Apollo kept a watchful eye over the land and its inhabitants, and he had learned long ago that the tales of Franlaur’s strength were more than just idle talk. Apollo had never met the man face to face, but he had sensed the presence of a powerful ally, watching from the edges of their world. Over the years, Apollo sent communications to Franlaur—carefully worded messages carried by trusted couriers, each one detailing the latest developments in Frosthaven. Apollo knew that one day, they might need him. And though Franlaur never responded, the letters continued, a lifeline that kept him informed of the state’s affairs.
For years, Franlaur remained a ghost, watching from the frozen distance, but when Frosthaven faced its greatest challenge—Icevein—everything changed.
Icevein was unlike any enemy Frosthaven had ever faced. Its warriors were ruthless, its leaders cunning, and its goal was nothing less than the total domination of Frosthaven. The leaders of the alliances gathered, preparing for what they knew would be their most difficult battle. And it was then, as the shadows of war loomed, that Franlaur decided to join Olympus.
His appearance shocked everyone. In the days leading up to the battle, Franlaur walked into the capital of Frosthaven, quiet as always, his heavy furs trailing behind him like a ghost from the tundra itself. No one dared approach him at first, unsure if the legend was real, but Apollo stepped forward, extending a hand in welcome.
“You’ve chosen the right time,” Apollo said simply, his eyes reflecting both respect and understanding. “We need you.”
Franlaur nodded, not speaking a word. It was the first time he had stood among the people of Frosthaven, and though he had lived alone for so long, he knew that the time had come to fight for something greater than himself.
But even with Franlaur’s unmatched strength, Frosthaven lost the battle against Icevein. It was their only defeat, and the pain of that loss echoed through the state like a bitter wind. The enemy warriors, emboldened by their victory, invaded Frosthaven’s borders, raiding the weaker cities, looting the vulnerable, and setting entire alliances ablaze.
It was then, in the aftermath of defeat, that Franlaur’s true legend was born. While others reeled from the loss, he acted. Alone, he stood against the invading warriors of Icevein. Franlaur sacrificed everything—his resources, his energy, his very strength—to hold the line. He fought day and night, driving the invaders back, defending villages, saving lives. In his silence, he became a force of nature, as relentless as the tundra itself.
With every battle, the stories of his feats grew. He was seen dragging warriors from burning homes, lifting fallen beams from crushed buildings, fighting without sleep or rest. Where Franlaur went, Icevein’s forces crumbled. He became the last defense of Frosthaven, not for glory, but because it was what needed to be done. He never boasted, never spoke of his deeds. He simply fought until the threat was gone.
When the Icevein warriors finally retreated, their forces shattered by Franlaur’s determination, Frosthaven was left standing, battered but alive. And it was in those moments, in the aftermath of that terrible war, that Franlaur earned his reputation.
His return to Olympus was quiet. He did not celebrate, did not seek praise, but the people had already begun to revere him. Though he had once been a ghost on the outskirts, Franlaur now stood as a protector, the silent guardian of Frosthaven. His legend was no longer a distant whisper but a truth that ran through the veins of the land.
Apollo, always perceptive, acknowledged what the state had gained.
“You’ve done more than any of us could ever repay,” he said one day, standing beside Franlaur in the heart of Olympus’ capital. “But I don’t think you did it for recognition.”
Franlaur, as always, gave no response. But Apollo didn’t need one. He knew Franlaur was a man who understood his own path. The mighty warrior had found his place—not as a myth, but as a vital part of Olympus, a living legend who, in his own quiet way, had changed the fate of Frosthaven forever.
From that day forward, Frosthaven’s citizens held Franlaur in the highest regard. He was their protector, their hero. And though he returned to his life of solitude on the far reaches of the tundra, everyone knew that when Frosthaven needed him again, Franlaur would rise once more to defend the land he had come to call home.
