~KRAVATHOS, THE NORTH REALM
IT WAS HIGH NOON IN THE ICE REALMS yet the sun seemed but a flicker in the dim sky. The heavens above bore no fluffy white clouds nor magical orange hue. It was just bleak white, more silvery than blue, just like the lands below. The winter-borne lands stretched for miles without end. Gigantic trees blanketed in snow dotted the ashy horizon.
The trees were magical like the lands. There was the Wrydwood with pale leaves that healed all manner of ailments, and there was the Wytchwood with leaves black as coals that summoned the greatest sorcery.
The Wytchwood trees were cut down by the Wytchers to create wands and staffs. For every dozen cut down, fifty more were planted in its place. The Wytchers believed in giving back nature a piece of itself. A branch of Wytchwood for ten more seeds. It was their way of life.
The weather was somber and peaceful, so peaceful and natural. The snow-covered lands were vast, stretching in miles of uninhabited lands where magical creatures and fantastic beasts were allowed to roam freely. Griffins glided up in the silver sky, water serpents sloshed about in cold streams, and dogs bigger than lions with pelts white as snow played about with the Icelanders children.
Kravathos was the zoar of all things magical. It was the home of sorcery. The Shield of the North.
The changelings weren't hunted in the ice cities. They played in the snow and built fires with human families. The Annwn race of demons; little red elfs, served as companions to the huge flame-haired Icelanders. They helped the men sharpen axes and start fires. Every Icelandic family had an Annwn; a loyal magical servant that made the household needs simpler, like a miniature butler.
Bright torches flickered from posts all over the city, the way they did every day. In Valkalon, night was day and day was night. The day could remain bright for weeks, with a dull enchanted ambience, and the night could also remain; when the Icelanders would come out with their children and count the stars.
A spread of tented homes dotted the frigid landscape in a crescent shape. The Ice tower rested at the head of this gathering. It was a colossal stronghold of Ice, made entirely of the crystal, as the name it bore. The fortress rose so high, its peak hid in the clouds. It was rumored to have been the first creation of Athos, the giant fire god of the Icelanders. It was said that Athos had been the one to bless the people with their hair like the color of flames; a red and silky mane that they always braided but never shaved. It was considered an honor to bear Athos' gift.
The first men to walk the ice world built the fortress to serve as a refuge from the men that hunted them. They were called oddities and were either hunted for their powers of magic, shape-shifting capabilities, or demon servants. The fortress held the soldiers back, and was named the Shield of the North. Centuries later, when men settled around it, it came to be known as KRAVATHOS; the word for Athos' axe in the Valkalon tongue.
The men and women ostracized by the people of the South who hated them for their fair looks, hair coloring, or magic flocked to the North.
The women who were called witches for looking too pretty. The mothers who were called cursed for birthing werechildren. The men who hid in the darkness of the caves and drank blood. All of them called 'queer' flocked to the North.
Yet the humans still followed; with their torches to burn the witches, with their swords to slay the changelings, with their stakes to kill the vampires. It had seemed the people would not survive.
Then the Faeries arrived. Twelve immortal Princes that protected the realms of men. The Aeon was one of them. These giant deities sired children with the women and the Wytchers were born. Offspring of god and man.
These half-fae children were born with pale moon eyes and unnatural hair coloring. Sometimes the locks were silver as a shined sword, sometimes blue like the western plumes, sometimes darker than night. These gifted men became the defenders of Valkalon. They were trained from a young age in the arts of the mages.
Soon, these formerly castigated men and women rose with their children and fought back against the emerging army from the South. The Icelanders with their axes hacked the summer kings to shreds. The werechildren transformed into great hawks, serpents and bears that tore apart the armor of the soldiers.
The Wytchers summoned great storms, blinding lightnings and terrible howls that froze the blood. Vampires in a heartbeat and with speed quick as a blur ripped out hearts. The rivers ran red with blood as the once hated men took their revenge on their haters.
Hundreds of thousands died, mostly men of the South.
A dark cloud hung over the clashing armies for days, and in the years to come, men called it the Night Wars.
The horror lasted for weeks until the blood forests arose, right out of the ground.
It pushed until the armies were spread apart by miles of uncrossable land. Some said it was the Aeon who'd done it, the Blood Fae Prince. Others said it was the sins of men. But one thing was clear, both empires never fully recovered from the terror of those gloomy weeks. Had the Blood Forests not arose, it would have been a total annihilation.
Now, centuries later, Valkalon had grown to a large spread of fair children with red hair, with the occasional birth of moon-eyed infants who were quickly sent to the Ice fortress to become Wytchers.
Most families of the Ice realms possessed changelings as children, vampires as uncles and aunts, and the Annwn as tutors, yet these diverse peoples shared a bond strong as the forge. The queerness that separated them from the South and brought them together.
The Ice cities were spread all over the winter lands surrounding Kravathos. These cities were headed by the Ice Lords who answered to the Emperor, Leonidas Bane, a white bear changeling.
The Emperor was a large man of great height with amber eyes and midnight hair. Though no one had ever seen the Fae Princes, it was gossiped that he usually talked to them in his recess. The Faerie only appeared when needed; in times of great danger.
~. ~. ~.
THE WALLS OF THE ICE FORTRESS bore no paint but it shined like a silver shield. The entire structure was high as a small mountain, made entirely of pure ice that never seemed to weaken even after centuries of its existence. The Innards of the fortress glowed with the sheer magicks of the Ice realm.
The fortress had chambers and halls bordered with crystals that glinted in the dim light of the sky. The seat of the Emperor lay in the first hall of the fortress. It was a stark whiteness with equally white floors made from smooth stone. With every click of boots, loud echoes arose in the crystal chamber. In the front of this room, pale shards of ice rose into the air like glass, making the walls shine with every mild sweep of sunlight and transforming the hall to a sea of magical colours; silver, purple and blue.
It was in this grand chamber that the Emperor met with his War Councilors and the Ice Lords.
The western wing of the fortress was designed into training quarters. It was called the Moon Chamber. This was where the moon-eyed boy children of age were brought; they were trained in the great arts of sorcery, the magic of dark and light. Their elfin tutors, the Annwn, watched their hair bloom into different unnatural shades, grooming them until they became the Moon knights, the greatest sorcerers of the continent.
The eastern wing of the fortress was the home to the ancient relics. It was a massive expanse of glorious white, with walls that rose higher than trees and shined with a magical silvery halo; the result of the wards placed by the Wytchers to deter outside interference.
Grand artifacts made entirely of pure silver hung off the walls. Silver shields with the runes of the First Men were stationed to holdfasts. Steel swords stronger than blackstone sat in sheaths of ornate carving. There were heirlooms and helms, invisible robes and summoning wands. The entire armoury of Kravathos, built into a single hall and shielded by the wizards spell.
No one was allowed access into this chamber. It was called the Great Hall and reserved only for dire circumstances. It hadn't been opened since the centuries after the Night Wars. The spell the Wytchers placed kept the hall clean and the arsenals groomed.
The Great Hall was a perfect warrior's guild.
The dusky noon settled into a slow evening that dusted the sky with a few cake clouds; a wave of beauty against the dim gray sky. It was in this cool atmosphere that the Ice Lords from the surrounding cities arrived into Kravathos. They had arrived at the Emperor's words sent by letter through the Wytchers eagles. The birds were magical hybrids that flew faster than a hawk, were a lot bigger, and had feathers pure as snow.
The Ice Lords arrived in a small company of snow horses; another great wonder of the Ice realms. The utterly beautiful beasts had the winter pelt of Valkalon, a silky mane bright as the rivers, and hooves smooth and strong as a craftsman's iron. The horses trotted the grounds of the crescent-shaped capital, bearing carriages of Lords of winter cities.
Men and women came out of their tents and welcomed the beloved Lords with quiet smiles. The children and their modified dogs laughed and played around the horses.
The carriages moved across the gathering to the citadel beyond. The Ice Lords climbed off and made their way straight into the glimmering halls.
The men were now used to the cold, and even though it stung their faces and made their eyes water, it could never bring on a fever. Their bodies had acclimated over the centuries, adapting and changing to merge with the weather. Their skin was pale as a new script and their forms were of great height; average men were as tall as the tallest men in Syveria. Their bodies had to adapt in order to survive Valkalon's magical weather.
The men strode across the fortress archways, and the sound of heavy boots filled the halls, reverberating off the snowy walls. A cloud of arctic wind blew in before the massive doors closed behind them.
They all walked in a single file, with heavy animal hides as cloaks, to the Grand hall of the emperor. The hides were either made of bearskin or some other beast's, but it was both furry and heavy, necessary to combat the numbing cold. They strode into the hall and fanned out until they stood side-by-side, all five of them. Then they bowed together to the man standing upon the dais before them. A large shadow haloed by the silvery aura of the pale walls.
Emperor Leonidas Bane turned from his place before walls. He looked to the five Ice Lords before him and smiled.
The men watched as he walked down the steps to a longtable set in the center of the room. He pulled out the chair at the head of the table and picking up his dark robes, he leaned into its comfortable weight. He gestured across to the waiting Lords.
"Sit, my friends."
The men nodded and took the seats around the table. The rosy sunlight spilling in through the glassy walls was transformed by the ice into a silvery shine that lit up the entire hall splendidly. Leonidas could spot uneasiness among the Lords. They had good reason to be.
The Emperor was the largest of the shape-shifter kind. There were werewolves, werefoxes, weregoats, and such like. But Leonidas was a white werebear, the largest of all the changelings. His striking eyes and bulky stature were almost fearful. Leonidas saw this in the men's eyes and he opened his mouth to ease them.
"Please, my Lords. Be at ease," he began. "How long have I been with you? Fifteen winters? Forty? I am your brother not some god. You forget I've hunted with you, shared meals in your homes, gotten drunk in the twilight..." At this, the men smiled, remembering the past.
Leonidas Bane had been one of the Ice Lords before he was chosen by the Sisters of Magda to become the Emperor. Unlike the Summerlands, the Ice realms weren't a monarchy.
The First Men to walk the winter lands had learned firsthand the great horrors a mad king could wreak on people he considered 'odd', so since the birth of Valkalon, it's people were ruled by those chosen. The Ice Lords, the Emperor, everyone who bore a great name was so named by the Sisters of Magda.
The sisters were a clave of women who lived secluded. They were considered the wives to Athos and mothers to the realm. They were all unmarried; a small clan, given to the god of fire to become his oracles. They were the Priestesses of Valkalon. The rulers sought their advice and they dissolved quarrels between Icelander clans. They performed the cleansing ritual by fire and the Head of the Sisterhood, the Dark Abbess, was always present in the council meetings.
"...Now why must you fear me? I am still your brother," Leonidas finished. The men looked to him with even more respect. Leonidas was fierce in protecting his people but also humble to a fault. It was clear that Athos had chosen him.
The man nearest to Leonidas picked up his hand on the table, shaking it in a firm grip.
"Brother!" he growled in a rumbly voice.
"BROTHER!" The other Lords echoed.
Leonidas clutched the man's hand in his and soon, men were holding hands round the table; a noble brotherhood.
"Yes, brothers," Leonidas replied. "Please, some ale!" He called into the hall. The sound of scurrying feet bounced off the walls as young Wytchers-to-be undergoing training went to fetch the Emperor's order.
The wine arrived cold and frothing in wooden goblets, straight from the brews. The men lifted up their cups, one to another as one of them spoke,
"To Leonidas Bane, Emperor of the Ice Realms, Son of Athos and First Man of Valkalon. To the White Bear!"
"TO THE WHITE BEAR!" the other Lords growled in unison. Leonidas shook his head at this but smiled nevertheless.
The men clunked their cups together and downed the ale. They spent a few moments in brotherly silence before Leonidas spoke.
"Lord Rathe," he said, turning to the man beside him, on his left. "Has your mage returned? Gryther, I presume?"
"No, Your Excellence," Rathe replied. "He has not yet returned."
"Are we to presume he has crossed the Blood Forest?"
"I hope so, Ser. It has been two moons now."
Leonidas fell silent and took a long swig at his ale.
"Any word from him?" a Lord at the far end of the table said to Rathe.
"No, brother. None. They have no snow eagles in the summerlands. If he made it across Eracuse, there would still be no way for him to reach us." Rathe paused in his speech and the men pondered on his words as the serving lads refilled their cups.
"There is another matter at hand, Your Excellence,"
Leonidas nodded for Rathe to continue.
"...the blood children playing in the woods have sighted the Aeon..." Leonidas immediately stilled at this, his cup hanging halfway to his lips.
"The Aeon?"
"Yes, Your Excellence."
"I daresay it's the prophecy, Ser," the Lord beside Rathe put in. "The prophecy of the Winter born..."
Leonidas lowered his cup empty to the table. The serving lad moved to fill it but he stopped him. He looked to the boy, noticing his pale eyes devoid of any coloring whatsoever. A Wytcher trainee.
"Do you know the prophecy at heart, my boy?" Leonidas asked.
"Yes, Ser!" The boy replied brisky, nodding enthusiastically with a smile that showed how glad he was that the Emperor had recognized him.
"Tell me, my boy."
The boy gripped the jug of ale tighter in his hands and began to tell the tale. The prophecy was a vision seen hundreds of years ago, during the Dark Ages, by a Sister of Magda, and it was one of the many chants they had to learn in the mage school of Wytchers.
"It was said that once a Sister cried out from her sleep... She called out the birth of a boy without so much as a peep. A boy blessed by the Fae to be both Vampire and Wytcher, the son of the Frost, the terror of both worlds... A boy with the heart of a great flying serpent... The first dragon kind. The Sister was awaken to expand the tale but she could see no more of the future. All she saw with her dieing breath was that the boy would live in a foreign land, unknown to his own people... The prophecy was so great it killed her. This is the prophecy of Ash and Fire... The prophecy of the Winter Born!"
The boy took a few breaths to calm himself as he finished. He had recited the prophecy from his tutelage and was glad that he could deliver it at such time. His smile stretched wide to his ears.
Leonidas and his Lords looked upon the boy with proud grins.
"Well done, my boy. What's your name?"
"Callum, Ser!"
"Well done, Callum. I think we have enough ale for now. Thank you."
Callum lowered his head and left the hall with a speedy gait, no doubt off to tell his pale-eyed friends of how he recited to the Emperor.
Rathe looked to the boy's retreating back.
"Sometimes, I think these boys are wiser than I am."
Leonidas smiled fondly at his friend's words.
Lord Rathe Mikhal was one of the five Lords of Valkalon. He was a man in his silver years and a great tamer of the wild. He was friends with Leonidas as far back as he could remember and was even married to his elder sister. Rathe was the Emperor's brother-in-law...
"What shall we do, Your Excellence?" Rathe voiced, interrupting Leonidas' train of thought. "The appearance of the Aeon, Gryther's disappearance... The prophecy... It's not a coincidence, Ser."
The other Lords nodded in agreement. Leonidas lifted up his eyes to the men. He saw in their gazes honourable men that would die for him.
"Gather the other Wytchers. See if we can summon Gryther back to our lands."
"A good plan, Your Excellence." Lord Rathe said, lifting up from his chair. He gave a single bow and proceeded out of the hall. The other Lords followed in like manner until the hall was empty.
Leonidas sat alone in the massive chamber, contemplating the realm's affairs. One thought kept pushing and stirring at his mind.
If this savior boy was real, how the fuck did he end up in the summerlands. No one had ever crossed the Blood Forests. The only man who had managed the distance to it, Gryther the Whyte, they weren't sure if he was even still alive.
If the boy was in the summerlands, where was he? It was pretty hard to hide a Wytcher, with their moon eyes and strange hair color. If he was also a vampire, it would be much harder.
The summerlands didn't have the gloomy weather of Valkalon. Vampires couldn't just stroll about in the sun. If he was in Syveria, he'd have to be in an underground chamber, maybe chained too...
Leonidas got tired of stretching his mind for truths and facts and calmly arose, moving across the hall. As he pushed the doors open, the cold breeze whipped at his garments.
Torches already shone from holdfasts positioned all around the capital. He walked silently across his empire, having no thought as to how close he'd been to finding out where the boy was.