LAUCAN

Seas of green and blues one lost themselves in. Full of white clouds dancing along the expanse. Soil which never gave in to swallow the whole. In the massive horizon, and the world curved into mysterious landscapes, endless and free. Upon the horizon, a light. Massive and inevitable, where naught else compared to its warm embrace — the boundless love of the star. Beautiful beyond measure.

But this isn't beautiful.

He stepped off the train and the sun burned into his head. His boots squished into the gentle soil, but trapped in a rocky bunker, where his contingent tucked themselves into rooms of safety without gazing into his direction. His Sentinels stood by the door, vigilant and frozen in a heated landscape. Sweat rolled down one's brow, but they never wavered from their post. Laucan glanced at the hidden Naveerans, taking shelter while those outside cleaned up. He bit down on his tongue, unable to feel the wind through his feathers.

"I am heading out," he said with no room for argument. Alone without his council or his regent, he had all the control, and none at all. He refused to shrink into the shadows when the Sentinels refused to budge.

"It is dangerous outside, Your Winged Grace."

Laucan puffed out a breath. "I was outside when the danger happened, Ser. It is too late for that." He tipped his head to meet the Sentinel at eye-level. "We'll need news as to when we can get our people out of here."

"One of us can do that," another Sentinel spoke up and reached to the open door.

"I would rather..." Laucan swallowed his fear and imagined his sister speaking the words in his place. "I wish to hear any news for myself — there is something I also wish to discuss with the King of Haneka."

One Sentinel sniffed in indignation, but they never argued with the unfailing words of the wyvern king. In a hush of snow, they moved to the side, though one fell behind him as he left into the ugly reflection of a beautiful ideal. Decay dove into his nose as carts wheeled corpses to the fields for burning or whatever their culture did for a send-off, and the deliverance performed by Aurus to uncoil their spirits from their mortal being. Blood stained grass from its previous gold hues, while crimson webs floated over underbrush and lone trees which spread their shade to the summit grounds, but there was nothing left of their large leaves but crumbled ash at their dying trunks.

He hesitated on the path when a couple of Storm Wardens dragged their own cart along with expressions of frozen stone. Legs tangled in the cart, where armor soaked and provided no real protection against the Derelict threat.

There is no beauty here.

Laucan continued down the path, past corpses and wounded given care by chirurgeons on site. His Sentinel shadowed him, though they hissed under their breath when their boot slipped into a muddy patch of dirt mixed with blood. He stopped at the first sign of the Hanekan standard, a dragon breathing lightning onto the ocean horizon. Long tents lifted up around the field of the Hanekan contingent, with some chirurgeons in their linen smocks sitting outside, wearing leather straps full of phials and other instruments to direct their magick into, chatting in animated Hanekan with who he assumed were King Reyn's guards.

Laucan hesitated on the edge as he heard music in another section of the field. His Sentinel shifted in discomfort when Laucan stepped over the line and headed into the activity from the deathly outer bounds. Some Hanekans flicked their gazes at him, some with annoyance and resentment, others with indifference. He stopped by the largest tent, where one chirurgeon used a bucket full of clean water to wash off the blood on their hands.

"Where is King Reyn?" he asked, when they glanced at him in silence. Moments passed, and he added, "Do you speak Common?" Another moment of silence, and he repeated himself, "I'm sorry, but I... don't know much Hanekan." He rubbed the back of his head and tried to figure out another way to word his reasoning for mutual understanding.

"I don't know, do you speak Common?" they asked as they dried off their hands then flicked water into the dirty bucket with tiny glyphs of power. "What is it you want?"

His Sentinel bristled, but Laucan stepped forward. "I'm sorry if I caused offense. I wish to speak to your king."

"No offense taken, it was a joke," the chirurgeon said as they pushed the bucket to the side. "Heisse Reyn is in the tent with one of my patients, though I must warn you it's not pretty in there."

"I don't expect it to be," Laucan forced out. "I wish to talk to him though."

"You don't have my permission." The chirurgeon snorted out a chuckle, and Laucan frowned as they picked up the bucket with a huff.

Is it the time for jokes? Laucan drew back the tent flap, but frowned when the Sentinel pushed forward to do it for him. He motioned for the Sentinel to stay out of the way and Laucan entered into the field of sweat, moaning, and bloodied litters. In an instant, he spotted King Reyn beside the bed of a quiet patient. In silence when all the others showed their pain. A large man beside Reyn nudged him, and pointed at him, causing Reyn to twist his head around, but never left the side of the corpse.

Until he saw their chest rise and fall in slow bursts.

"King Laucan," Reyn mumbled as he held a cup of beige liquid. "I'm surprised you came over here." He lifted his storm gray eyes. "Are any of your people hurt?"

"No, most of them waited in the bunkers," Laucan said and then glanced down at the person on the makeshift bed. One of their arms torn from their body, blood splattered across their chest while someone had attempted to fashion a bandage to quell the bleeding to no avail. They're... dying, and he's standing here with them. Laucan peered down at the mess, then frowned. "I see your people have taken the worst of the attack."

"It is nothing we will not endure," King Reyn muttered. "Over Turns we've survived through worse." He nodded at the large man at his side, saying something in Hanekan. With another firm nod, the burly man headed for the entrance, careful to stay to the side to avoid the path of any on duty chirurgeons. "What do you need, King Laucan?"

"I didn't get a chance to thank you for stepping in," Laucan said and hugged himself at the failing breath of the person on the bed.

King Reyn smiled, but it was twisted and lacked happiness. "I don't know if you should be thanking me for that."

"Heiise... Reyn."

Laucan jolted when the corpse spoke, tearing their eyes open, where a haze settled over them. Soft Hanekan left their lips as they stretched out their fingers, and Reyn leaned closer, holding the cup out to them.

"What are they saying?" he asked.

Reyn ignored him and took his own cup, toasting the corpse with a determined frown as the two cups clinked against each other. He took a sip with the mangled individual, and then they spoke dwindling words, where life drained out of their eyes, though Reyn never faltered or wavered as he listened close. When the armored Hanekan fell silent, Reyn sat down beside them, and nodded something in affirmation to the words they spoke. His own words left a whispered assurance in the air as he poured more of the beige liquid into their cup and his own.

Another drink, and more words from the dying.

Reyn got up when their eyes closed again, but their chest never rose and fell as they let the cup slip through their fingers. He pursed his lips, then straightened himself out to bring his hand up to his nose, whispering what Laucan assumed to be a farewell in Hanekan. He puffed out a long sigh, then shook his head. "He was clinging on since the end of the attack," he mumbled. "A lot of them are."

Laucan gazed down at the new corpse. "And how long were... you sitting with them?"

Reyn didn't answer the question as he put his cup down and turned to him in full. "Until he was ready to leave for the starless seas. I had to wish him well on his voyage. Many of my kinsman's ashes will leave on the flaming trails when we return home. I owe them that much as their leader." He stepped around Laucan, and Laucan followed to get away from the buckets of blood and the scent of frozen death. His feathers shivered with the danger in the air, but he ignored it as Reyn took him outside, where his Sentinel continued to wait. "I'm assuming you want to talk about what we discussed at the meeting?"

"Yes, but if that needs to wait..."

"You're considerate to wait, but there's not much to wait for." Reyn shuffled with one of his metal cuffs.

"When I was in the bunker, I wrote down some things." Laucan took the scroll out and handed it to Reyn, who took it with a careful, almost unsure hand. "It's everything your diplomats will require to enter Volaris through the Umbral Portal — along with necessities they'll need during their stay."

Reyn read it over. His gaze trailed off the letters, and he squinted as he doubled back over one of the paragraphs. He blinked a couple times, then sighed. "I see, I'll read this over and prepare them." He read over the short list again with a mumbled word of Hanekan and a scratch of his cheeks.

"Is my handwriting hard to read?" Laucan asked at Reyn's uncertainty with his words. "I still need some practice with my Common in its written form but—"

Reyn waved his hand. "No, it's not that. I got the summary of it."

"I... see." Laucan studied Reyn. "I can rewrite it if that helps."

"That's not necessary." Reyn pocketed the scroll and folded his arms. "You should be with your people, King Laucan."

Laucan frowned when Reyn stepped away. "Is it true that the Hanekan side of the wall wouldn't hold against the Derelicts without Naveera's help?"

"I'll be the first to acknowledge that your people's stonemasonry is next to none," Reyn echoed his previous sentiment. "We could use that knowledge to fortify the border. Anything to stop the advance of the Derelicts if they attack on my side — because if the citadel falls, it won't just be Tebora or Haneka hit in the crimson tsunami. They'll wash over mud and bodies to consume all there is. Surely you know this?" Confusion filled Reyn's heavy brow.

"I..." Laucan dropped his head. "I don't know — this is the first major Derelict attack I've been in. Most of my people don't know the death the Derelicts bring — we freeze to death more often than not."

Reyn's brow furrowed further. "I see. Yes, King Laucan, I do believe that we wouldn't be able to hold if what Yuven Traye says is true about the Teboran citadel." Laucan flinched at the mention of the missing Traye prince, but Reyn sighed. "Of course, we could hold for a while, but not forever — so I'm not above asking for help, and I believe we shouldn't be if we're to weather the storm."

Laucan gazed at the Hanekan king, who his father dismissed as another savage barbarian in a distant land. He thought we were above them all. Above their spats and above the threat of the Derelicts. I imagined you as some sort of... war-scarred, white-haired beast. Laucan bit down on his tongue, where his small fangs threatened to pierce into the tip. "I'll see what I can do, King Reyn."

Reyn sighed in relief and nodded. "Good to hear. As for my end, I'll see what I can do about tearing a path through the north ocean — and how to give your people some extra warmth." He tipped his head forward into a small bow, and headed past his Sentinel, narrowing his eyes at them when they glared daggers at him. His own relief sagged his shoulders as he headed out of the Hanekan fields, away from their music of hope, surrounded by the death of their own.

Armoured footsteps followed behind him, but he came to a stuttered stop at Yuven Traye as he snapped orders to Storm Wardens with no hint of hesitation as they lifted their wounded onto carts, who made no noise as they held their own blood against their bodies and shifted to find a comfortable spot on the carts. Violet rage tore into him when Traye gazed at him, but he snarled and then hauled himself into the cart, which rolled away towards the train tracks. Laucan forced himself forward with the Sentinel inching closer as Yuven's cart rolled past them.

Time slowed as Yuven glared down at him with no small amount of hatred.

The lifeblood of the Loyalist's cause... Laucan lowered his head as the cart forced itself through the muddy blood. He tried to ignore the mist swirling around him and the call of spatial distortion, but Yuven Traye never left the side of the injured Storm Wardens, no longer looking at him.

"Zila'ken?" the Sentinel questioned.

Laucan ignored them to rush back to the Naveeran fields, where their culture shoved itself into the bunker. He ran through the door, and his bodyguard took their previous post without another questioning word. His people hadn't budged, whispering to each other as they peered at him.

For an answer.

For deliverance.

But I can't say the blizzard is now our only threat.

Laucan moved into another room to silence his own mind of Yuven Traye's hatred. Father's words echoed in his head and battled for dominion. I would never let them talk to me like that young Traye did to you, his ghost taunted him from the past.

You're not our father, Hayvala argued in the distance.

He took comfort in the painted white stone as his breath caught in his chest and he held his temple with a groan. Yuven Traye. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sat down on the edge of the bed. Sharp words and sharper threats hounded him. If King Reyn hadn't stepped in... would he really have murdered me? Over what? He appeared to be angry about the role my father played in the death of his line, but I had nothing to do with it. It was the cult in Irimount... and Father's records held no details on the matter. I'll have to ask Hayvala, see if she knows anything... I just know that if the Loyalists found out he was alive that could be their rallying cry. Unless... He shielded his mouth when bile stained his throat. Unless they knew already. Is that why they've been fighting so hard? Worry sliced his heart in two. Oh no, maybe I shouldn't have left Hayvala alone. If they make a move while I'm not there... and it's not like she has Ser Yokonei anymore. Laucan choked the fresh bed sheets, unable to release the tension winding through his shoulders. Ancients, this was a mistake. He lifted his head up to the snow crystals hanging off the ceiling, meant to ward off wraiths.

A knock on the door froze him to the bone.

"Zila'ken?"

"Yes?" Laucan readied himself for the arrival of Yuven Traye to finish his vengeance.

"A Keeper of Pyon wishes to speak with you at your earliest convenience. He is waiting at the entrance hall."

Laucan straightened himself out and rubbed his arms at the distant chill. "Bring them to me," he instructed, but tried to stop the wavering fear in his voice. "I will talk to them here." A Keeper of Pyon? Is it Keeper Blackwall?

Armoured footsteps disappeared further into the corridor, and gave him time to think out his incoming conversation. Every word he'd need to communicate across the massive gap between Common and Navee. His previous panic returned with its own rueful vengeance, but he kept himself calm. Fingers grasped together to stop himself from fidgeting, he lifted his head at the sound of a whooshing cloak. The door creaked open, and he tried to push away the misty figure in his peripheral vision, but it remained. Bloody and ripped apart.

Blackwall stood there, hair as dark as night, with eyes to match. Laucan released another breath. "Keeper Blackwall, what do I owe the pleasure?"

"There's a reason I came to this Summit," he said. "I heard word through a contact of mine that you were looking for something — or someone, I should say."

"A contact of yours?"

An easy-going smile plastered onto his face. "Keepers are in Naveera, King Laucan. I have heard your sister was recently beset by an auric entanglement caused by a world sphere." He set his hand against his heart. "And I've been recommended to come talk to you about that. I think I can help you."

"What?" Laucan jolted. "I've—I've always been told that an auric entanglement of that severity couldn't be helped."

"It is true an entanglement of that severity is rather difficult to untangle," Blackwall went on with another smile. "But, I wouldn't call it impossible if one has the right understanding and auric ability. As a Keeper, I have done extensive research on world spheres. Obscura texts have extreme side-effects on Aurus, and sadly, world spheres are considered 'obscura'."

Laucan chewed on his cheek and allowed the Keeper to continue.

"If I am overstepping my boundaries, say so," Blackwall said with a bow. "I should like to mention, this research may help other Aurus, not just your sister."

"I—" Laucan hugged himself for more warmth. "Yes, her aura was entangled by a world sphere, and my sister's medication dulls in its potency as time continues." He stared at the Keeper, unable to keep his hope away. "You say you can help her?"

"I can certainly keep her far away from the fate which awaits her, Your Grace." Blackwall frowned. "There are several things we'd need to do to start the process — but she need not fall into the endless Slumber."

Laucan opened his mouth to accept the help, but stopped at Hayvala's hidden warnings about the lords, and their endless wishes and wants at the cost of his people. He asked, "Before I say anything, what do you get from this?"

"I only humbly request that you allow me to study the Naveeran world sphere," he said. "I think this is a win-win situation for the both of us." His smile never faltered. "Out of all obscura texts, Naveera's true history eludes even the greatest minds in the Order. What better way to fill in the blanks for you and yours than to use a world sphere which has seen all of its history by a properly trained Aurus?" Blackwall bowed his head again. "Your sister might've seen things in the sphere, but to untangle the web around her mind, we must echo the flow of the sphere."

Laucan listened for the subtlety of a noble, but heard nothing within Blackwall's tone. It was simply passive, polite interest.

"And—" Blackwall continued, "I believe through the world sphere we can circumvent your other problems."

"My other problems?"

"Naveera is dying, is it not? Your culture. Your language. Everything your people are," Blackwall pointed out, and Laucan bit down on the sharp ice digging into the back of his throat, sending tears into his eyes. "Unable to breathe, your people freeze. It's only a theory of course, but maybe I can learn the truth of how this blizzard formed and through that, well..." He flicked his hand. "I'm sure you can come to a conclusion."

Laucan's heart thrummed with a different, speedy beat. "Do you really think so? Could that be true?"

Could our people be saved?

"I enjoy a challenge," Blackwall remarked. "Let's start from the beginning. How far into the auric entanglement is your sister?"

"It happened when I was crowned king. It's only gotten more severe. She gets horrible auric migraines, but I don't know what's causing them."

Blackwall pinched his cheek. "Interesting indeed. Well, it seems to me that we need to figure out the cause of her migraines. You see, the auric entanglement becomes worse when it catches more auras. Or added stress. Neither of these things help the condition, so it is often best avoided."

I have hope. I believe in my people, and that my sister will be able to see a future where Naveera can see the sun... and that beautiful mirror Ser Yokonei told her about.

Unable to believe the opportunity placed into his hands, he held onto it for his life as Blackwall left the room. Stuck in the blizzard, with his flaming hope dwindling into the ice. A smile crawled onto his face. If—If Blackwall can really help Hayvala, if the world sphere can relinquish its truth then maybe... maybe Naveera has hope after all. Our song can return. We'll be able to hear it again. We can be delivered from the frozen darkness.

His hope reignited in the tundra.

And I'll bring it to my people, so they can yet see the sun.