Nicholas Boreas

Full Name: Nicholas Boreas
Alias: Nicholas.
Age:
Birthday: Winter
Race: Hylian
Occupation:
Pronouns: He/Him
School of Magic: Nayru
Beast Form: Polar Bear


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The day he was born was the day he died.

Born during a blizzard, there was no easy way to get doctors, mages, or any healers to their manor on the outskirts of town. Only a single maid that was trained as a midwife was present.

His parents were destroyed by grief and heartbreak. A newly married noble couple had been genuinely looking forwards to raising a family together, the loss of their child before they could even hold him in their arms broke them. And yet, they refused to accept death so quickly. In a state of denial, his father began to search high and low trying to find someone, anyone, who might be able to help them.

In the end, there was only one person capable of doing what they sought. A witch of unknown magic claimed to be able to revive their son, at a cost. They accepted without hesitation, money was no object in comparison to their child, who they so desperately wanted a chance to love.

The strange witch was left alone in the room with him as he was revived. The witch left with only but a few words said, no coin taken. The cost was clearly metaphorical in nature. Such was the fate of using such dark magic to bring life to the long dead.

"He will never grow comfortable in your warm embrace." She had said, walking out the door back into the snow. "May his best ally be the touch of death, for he has already embraced it's frigid claws."

His parents had quickly learned what they meant. Their new, beautiful crying little boy, full of life, was cold to the touch and he always would be. His heartbeat so slow it could almost be mistaken for not existing at all. And yet, his very real tears nearly froze on his cheeks. Their arms nearly stung with frostbite after holding him for so long, they would do whatever it took to provide a life for their child, the boy who defied fate.

Growing up, Nicholas was very different than other children his age. From the beginning, it was clear he was a very quiet child. Not out of shyness, but out of a cold sense of logic that was rooted in him. He would not speak unless it was important to say. He did not play in the sun like other boys. His skin stung outside in the heat of the summer breeze as if he was thawing out and his nerves would actually begin to feel. It hurt. And so the boy remained inside where the world of books was his best friend.

His loving parents tried their best to raise him with all the love, care, and respect in the world. Giving him whatever he asked for, hugging him no matter how many layers they had to wear, and always ensuring there was plenty of cold food for him to enjoy. It wasn't as if he ever asked for anything over the top anyway, usually just new books, or teachers to instruct him.

His parents' love was the only thing to metaphorically thaw away at his frozen heart and it is entirely due to their overwhelming love for him that he became the man he is today, instead of an emotionless monster. Their sacrifices were evident, even to the young boy. He would one day return the favor, prove that their effort and passion were not misplaced in their only son.