3.31.25 - The Unmelting Ice of Frozen Joy pt 4

Parable 4: The Curse of Forest King Rizzoff

[Image: A shadowy, colossal forest behemoth emerging through falling branches and swirling mist as the trio prepares to face it.]

Just as the trio caught their breath, the forest trembled again.

Not just the ground—the air itself shuddered, rippling like a pond struck by an invisible stone. A sound deeper than thunder—like the groan of the earth remembering something terrible—echoed through the broken trees and twisted canopy.

The roots split with a grinding moan. Mist, thick and sour with age, hissed up from the soil.

From beneath the shattered bed of Baccyardigahn rose a behemoth.

Twisting. Towering. Furious.

Its form was the forest's grief made visible—bark split and weeping strange amber tears, limbs bent like warped bones coated in moss and splinters. Its torso wound with strangled vines. It didn’t walk; it unfurled, dragging itself upward like a forgotten spell clawing its way back into being.

With every movement, trees bowed in reverent terror. Birds fell silent, crouching in nests. Even the wind refused to breathe, as if holding its lungs in respect—or dread.

And then came the steps.

Not stomps, but seismic declarations. Each footfall cracked the ground and sent tremors through root and stone. Branches snapped without contact, moss withered under its shadow. It was not just walking—it was advancing, certain and slow, like judgment wrapped in bark.

From afar, it seemed impossibly distant. But each step brought it closer, impossibly fast for something so vast. Its direction was unchanging.

Toward the wizards.

Trespassers, it seemed to say, with every impact. Trespassers must be taught to respect what sleeps beneath the leaves.

And as it moved, the world flinched.

[Image: Creatures fleeing in panic as the earth is torn apart by the behemoth’s massive tendrils.]

Squirrels shrieked. Winged serpents scattered. Mushrooms dove into the earth like frightened gophers.

Some creatures weren’t fast enough.

With each thunderous slam of a tendril, stone shattered, trees splintered, and echoes of pain whispered through the hollow trunks.

Zsolista gritted her teeth.
“We just got out of the stinky desert… and now this?!”

She spun her staff and yelled, “I’m MAD!”

The trio surged forward.

Boka hurled gusts of wind like slicing blades. Baby conjured a storm of fireballs. Zsolista crackled with lightning fury.

But each blow only made the beast larger.

Each strike echoed like a challenge answered. Each magical blast fed the beast more than it wounded. It didn’t recoil—it drank in the violence like dry roots pulling in stormwater. Sparks became fuel. Shouts became armor.

The more they attacked, the more it grew—feeding on something unseen but deeply known.

Then Baby launched a wind burst—a wide gust of force meant to shove back the beast’s advancing tendrils. But the spell flew wild and clipped a tiny squirrel, who tumbled squeaking into a pile of moss.

Her hands flew to her mouth.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry! It’s-a-baby\~!”

The monster wobbled.

A tremor passed through its limbs, like a forgotten feeling trying to crawl its way back into something hardened by time and hurt. The vines that made up its chest convulsed gently, as if shivering beneath its bark.

For a moment—just a flicker—it shrank. A sliver of its massive shadow drew inward. The fury in its eyes dimmed, like the echo of a memory softening in the rain. It was as if something deep within recognized the sound of sorrow. A forgotten kindness stirred.

But no one noticed.

The spell of combat had them in its grip. The rhythm of fear. Of habit.

Zsolista roared.
Boka shouted.
More magic flew.

And the monster grew.

Its bark twisted tighter. Its tendrils stretched farther. Its rage mirrored their own, echoing their every strike with a more twisted form of wrath. The creature reared higher with each moment, now blotting out the sun like a wrathful eclipse. The forest itself seemed to flinch with each breath it took.

Then—Boka froze. His eyes widened. Something clicked behind them, inside him.

"…Wait. WAIT!"

He ducked under a swinging root, heart pounding, breath shallow. He stared at the behemoth, not with fear now—but clarity.

"I think—it’s feeding on us! On our anger! It’s not just growing... it’s echoing us!"

Zsolista blinked, mid-chant. The spell fizzled at her fingertips.

Baby hovered above, her wind magic stalling into silence.

Boka raised his voice over the growing hum of magical tension. "STOP! Everyone STOP! Maybe... what if the opposite shrinks it or makes it weaker?!"

They paused.

Stillness.

The monster loomed, tendrils twitching like ears straining to hear.

Then—

Zsolista coughed awkwardly.
"Uh… Nature is… neat. It does… things."

She hesitated—then reflexively kicked the monster anyway.

It grew two feet taller.

"HEY!" shouted Boka and Baby in unison.

"Be nice!"

They all stopped attacking and shouted nice things at it.

Baby took a deep breath.
"Plants give us fruit. And vegetables. And leafy salad hats."

Boka grinned.
"Trees give us air and treehouses and hammocks!"

Zsolista sighed, hands raised.
"Nature gives… animals a home. Okay? A home."

With every kind word, the monster shrank.

Its tendrils withered. Its bark softened. Roots untwisted.

Zsolista lowered her staff and whispered,
"It’s not a monster. Not really."

Baby floated forward, arms open.
"It’s... trying to protect something."

[Image: The glowing form of a tiny faeri king curled in the roots, blinking up at the trio with surprised eyes.]

As the final root fell away, something shimmered at the heart of the creature—a tiny figure curled in a nest of glowing roots. Not cradled in pain, but in memory. Not imprisoned, but dormant.

A faeri king, no larger than a child’s dream, blinked his luminous eyes. His crown was made of wilted blossoms and bark woven with lichen. His expression was not one of fury or fear—but of grief, gentled by relief.

The ground held its breath. The mist curled gently, as if bowing to him.

He sat upright, slowly, as if unused to the shape of his own freedom. The creature-form he had worn was gone, but the weight of it still clung to the silence.

Forest King Rizzoff:
"You... you freed me. I was cursed long ago. The more I was attacked… the more I became the very terror I swore to protect my forest from."

All around them, creatures peeked from burrows and broken trees. None of them were prisoners. They were witnesses.

They had been sheltering inside Rizzoff’s cursed form—protected, hidden, cradled even as he raged against himself. He had been a storm and a sanctuary, both at once.

Zsolista knelt.
"You’re a great king. I’m sorry for the kicking. Really."

She pointed gently.
"But don’t thank me. That wisdom came from Boka and Baby."

Rizzoff bowed deeply, then stood. The glow from the roots dimmed, but the light in his chest brightened, like a lantern re-lit.

He looked up, eyes glistening with newfound clarity, and spoke again.

Rizzoff: "You are this forest’s true protectors. But… I must ask for your favor in this time of need. This curse must be lifted for this forest to survive."

[Image: The trio looking down humbly as Rizzoff stands in the ruined forest, wind blowing through hollowed trees.]

He stood atop cracked roots and wind-worn soil.

Rizzoff:
"The forest is wounded. The rivers slow. Our fruit trees no longer bloom. I have tried to protect, but I have also destroyed. Will you… help us heal?"

The trio looked at each other—and smiled.

Zsolista grinned.
"An adventure inside an adventure?"

Boka puffed out his chest.
"That’s our favorite flavor! Boka-boka\~!"

Baby nodded.
"We’ll help. It’s-a-baby\~"

They circled around Rizzoff, ready to mend what was broken—not with fire or fists, but with heart and harmony.

And as the wind carried the king’s plan into their ears, the forest began—quietly, softly—to hope again.

 

Chapters for Unmelting Ice of Frozen Joy

 

Chapter 1 of 8: The Unmelting Ice of Frozen Joy

Chapter 2 of 8: The Slobbery Squirrel Stampede

Chapter 3 of 8: The Loquata of Desire and Fire

Chapter 4 of 8: The Curse of Forest King Rizzoff

Chapter 5 of 8: The Castle of the Frozen Mountain

Chapter 6 of 8: The Heart of the Frozen Castle

Chapter 7 of 8: The Choice Beneath the Ice

Chapter 8 of 8: The Last Drop of Loquata

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So you might notice that we are starting to have art go in the stories and the stories are alot more coherent and has a certain flow.

I am using the 4.0o version of ChatGPT and even got the 20 dollar membership to begin making pictures. The kids love them and they can finally see these characters come to life.

I will be making updates to each character as the kids as for more specific things but its awesome to see this world slowly  come to life. Technology is amazing.

I am also using it to polish my writing, I dont mind if some people think this doesnt make me a writer or an artist. I just want the best story I can tell to my children and I am 100% going to try and sell this haha. Gotta get funds to keep up that membership and this website :)