NEVEN

Gryphlings pulled carriages rolled through the spiked gate of Irimount's walls, loaded with needed supplies for the next torrent of the blizzard battering the faded barrier. Flurries smacked him in the face when he sat out on the windowsil to the Lotayrin villa, snug between the massive spires of Irimount to pierce the mountains themselves. He snuggled his nose behind his snow scarf, holding out his gloved hand to catch snowflakes in his magick. It crystallized on his palm, and he spread it across their backyard to join the growing piles. He tried not to squirm at the glaives strapped to their backs

A story read a thousand times.

The great Knight-Valiant Atoran Lotayrin, a legend born thousands of Turns ago, in the same city Neven resided. He who walked the same streets, saw the same spires and pledged his service to the Snow Prince who wielded the silver blade forged in the waters of Avae'londu to slash through the crimson night. He wanted to fill the boots of his ancestor, and to find the Ice Tombs and bask in the radiance of the golden glaive Atoran wielded against all manner of beats — to clever ice wraiths or savage wolfbears of the mountains.

"Soon enough, Neven," Father said with a grin from behind his desk, surrounded by scrolls from his students at the Spire. "I sent a recommendation to the Knight-Valiant of Irimount. He'll see you in a while to test you."

Neven curled his fingers. "You didn't have to do that for me, Father."

Father's sapphire gaze shimmered with pride. "It's a lot of hard work to become a true Ice Knight of Irimount."

"I will," Neven promised.

I'll make you proud.

His own oath echoed in his mind, to do right by his homeland with glaive in hand, and to carve his own story. He glanced back when Father entered his room and raised his hand to his brow. "I'm heading over to check on the Traye's and your mother. You want to come?" Father grinned once more. "I hear Little Yuven is quite taken with you."

"He is?" Neven rolled back into his room and closed the window and the flurry he carried his voice through. "He always sounds like he's complaining whenever I hold him." He shuffled on his feet and held onto the words from before. His one chance to step into Atoran's boots and to hold the weight of a glaive in his hands. "I'm not holding him wrong, am I?"

"No, Neven," Father assured and tucked a tome underneath his arm. "He is young. He's trying to talk to you. Talk to him in return. Help him find his song."

Neven slid on his boots and hat, tying the strings underneath his chin to keep it firm over his head before smoothing out his feathers underneath the fuzzy fabric before following Father out the back door. Wheels cracked against the snow in the streets and dug the snow deeper into the marble. Sentinels ignored them as they brought the supplies to the Spire, but Neven frowned when Father's smile died at the small boxes inside the carriages, barely enough to feed a block let alone a city.

Time flew in Naveera and brought with it dimming hope, and no matter what Father told him, he couldn't imagine the idea of the 'sun', or the idea Naveera once bloomed with a rainbow of tundra flowers. Darkness pierced the roar of the blizzard outside their walls. Neven dug his fingers into his palm and another promise lifted on his tongue. Once I'm an Ice Knight... I'll do whatever it takes. On the steps to the half-underground sanctuary, he opened the door first into the building tucked behind their estate, out of sight from those who peeped like snow peepers in the dunes.

Mrs Traye held Yuven around the middle, who bounced on his hindquarters to make the wings of his stuffed wyvern flap. Inside the small kitchen, Mr. Traye stood in the corner of silence. Heavy shadows plagued his cheeks and storming grey eyes as he stirred a pot full of simmering broth. Neven's mouth watered at the meaty taste in the air.

Mother hovered at the small window leading into the alleys. "I was wondering when you two would show up," she joked, but Neven frowned at the droop to her beautiful golden feathers.

Mrs. Traye kissed Yuven on the cheek and set him on the couch. "I'll be right back, my little wyvern," she whispered into his downy feathers and brushed a hand through his white hair. "Your friend is here."

Yuven flapped the wyvern in his direction — and he realised he was the friend she spoke of.

Neven plopped himself beside the toddler. "Hello, Yuven."

A quiet noise of annoyance left as a squeaking hiss through Yuven's unformed canines when he pouted. He smacked the wyvern off the back of the couch before shoving it into his hands. On his small knees, he choked his forearms with a surprising amount of baby strength.

"What?"

Yuven kept an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. Neven tried to grasp for help from one of the adults, but all of them collected in the kitchen in hushed whispers. Each one shifted in discomfort, but Mother remained serene as a snowrose, never betraying anything past the weariness to her feathers.

Another small noise of complaint whined into his ear. "Fly," Yuven demanded a single note. "Fly."

Fly has become his favourite word whenever I come around... "Fly?"

"Fly," Yuven repeated.

Neven drew his magick through the air to pierce the ebb and flow of the world, and the wyvern wings flapped with obvious force. A gentle hush of wind licked through his fingers when the stuffy came to life in his hands.

"We'll figure it out, Taliyah," Mother assured through the icy air.Mr. Traye refused to look at any of them. "It might mean something with the arrival of these supplies..."

Sudden pain from his ears released the growing gasp in his throat. Yuven released his clump of feathers to slump onto the cushion with a pouty huff. He pointed at the wyvern who dared to not fly, and Neven jolted when let out a small cry. In a burst of panic, he shoved wind into the wyvern with his attention forced on the toddler beside him, he listened in on the dreary song coming from the kitchen.

Mr. Traye stopped his mindless stirring. "I've heard people were disappearing from the streets of Volaris... within city limits," he said, gaze stuck on the wall. "...and I haven't heard from Yoko for months. He wouldn't have disappeared off the face of Naveera without saying something. I know my little brother. He would've said something to me, at least."

Neven raised his arms when Yuven crawled into his lap. "Do you like it when he flies?" he asked.

"Fly?" Yuven blinked and turned to the kitchen. "Mo'mo?"

Neven snorted at the baby coos. "Your father is right there." He pointed at the two adults in the kitchen.

Yuven copied his point to Mrs. Traye and Mr. Traye in turn. "Mie'mie and Mo'mo."

"Yes." Neven nodded. "Good job."

Yuven widened his violet eyes. He raised a hand to point at Neven at the nose. "Fly."

"You... want me to fly?"

"Fly!" Neven swirled his magick around the stuffy to float it in the air above Yuven's head. Yuven wrapped his stubby fingers around the legs to yank on it, but the hemming never gave or ripped, but Yuven looked straight at him. "Fly?"

"My name's Neven."

Yuven let go of the wyvern. "Fly."

"Nev-en," Neven spoke out the power of his name to give it to the young toddler, for him to repeat and feel the song of his own.

Yuven hummed. "Fly!"

Neven sighed and used his arms to support Yuven's wobbly stature. "Close enough... I guess."

A hard knock wrapped against the other door to the sanctuary. Neven wrapped his arms around Yuven to bring him closer. Mrs. Traye flinched at the sound and huddled beside Mr. Traye, who tugged out grey flames from the rune stove with a scowl of his own.Steel filled Mother's serene expression as she stomped to the door, but Mrs. Traye stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

Mr. Traye answered the door in Mother's place.

Wind carved a chill down his spine, and Yuven cuddled closer to him, stuffing his face into the wyvern.

"Is this the residence of Ikarun Traye?" a deep voice asked behind the scaled helmet, in the cold Volarian song.

"What is it?" Mr. Traye asked and folded his arms, his long gray feathers twitching. "I received the last message—"

"We are aware," said the scale-plated Sentinel, where the armor hung around his legs like folded wings. The sigil of the ruling family of Naveera stamped into the breastplate with snow-white trimmings. He took a scroll from his pouch and handed it without noise into Mr. Traye's hands. "This is a matter of importance, Prince Traye."

At the title, Mr. Traye raised his head completely from the scroll in his hands, but the sentinel left up the steps back into the streets with their entourage.

Air distorted around Yuven when he raised his hand to the wyvern and it rippled through a flying reality when Yuven's hands phased through its wings. He giggled, causing the other adults to turn to him. All but Mr. Traye, who read the note before bringing it up to his brow.

"Mo'mo!" Yuven called out to Mr. Traye, whose feathers stiffened. "Fly!"

Mr. Traye dropped the letter from his brow to place it on the small table by Yuven's cot. Neven allowed Mr. Traye to take his son into his arms, holding him close as he wandered to the crib while Yuven cooed over his shoulder.

"Ikarun, what's wrong?" Mrs. Traye asked.

Mr. Traye released a silent sigh before putting Yuven in the crib, swaddled in blankets. Neven scooted closer to reach his hand into the crib as the adults gathered around, forgetting the existence of him.

"I'm not going to put you in anymore danger," Mr Traye murmured.

"Ikarun," Mother argued. "We've always been in danger."

"This is different," Mr Traye said in crystal clear despair. "I want..." He hesitated, scattered. "I'm going to go find my brother."

"What?" Mrs. Traye whispered. "Ikarun, what do you mean?"

"That letter just denounced my brother as a traitor, an Oathbreaker."

Neven winced when Yuven grabbed onto his fingers with a small coo.

"Oh, Ancients..." Mother rasped.

"I cannot leave him there," Mr. Traye said with a shake to his song. "I can't. Yoko is my baby brother. Curse him, he had no good sense to keep his head down, and I fear he's done something reckless in the hope of changing something about this damned place. I need you to be safe," he begged to Mrs. Traye. "I need you and our son to be safe, out of sight until I return — with Yoko."

"What about the king?" Mother rasped.

"I don't give a damn about the king, and I don't give a damn about my claim either," Mr. Traye bit with his canines. "I want my brother back home."

"I am really loath to make this suggestion," Father said from the corner. "I can take Yuven to the Scholars in the Spire. I can keep people none the wiser for a while, but..."

Mr. Traye scowled deeper, and Neven shivered at the hate etched on his face. "Tali," he whispered to his wife, and she took his hand. "His magick is too powerful already."

Father winced. "I wish I had another option for you, Prince Traye."

"I know there's no other way, but as long as they're safe..." Mr. Traye walked over to the coat racks to grab his. "Just get him there, Dimitri. Do what you can."

The blizzard's fury swept through Mother's light blue eyes. "We can figure something else out in the meantime while you're gone. I do not want him in the clutches of the Scholars for too long. Dimitri can keep them in check from trying to advance their own agenda. We all know how they are when it comes to the Traye claim on the throne." Mother nodded with a sense of urgency. "Yes... I think I can get into contact with some of my side of the family on the other side of Whitehaven — they won't turn you away."

What's... going on? Neven released Yuven's hand.

Mr. Traye clasped his coat and hugged Mrs. Traye deep. "I'm sorry," he whispered a forlorn song, before leaving out the way the Sentinels arrived.

Mrs. Traye stood at the cot, lowering her head.

"Neven, come," Mother said, then touched Mrs. Traye's back. "You know where we are if you need anything. Dimitri will get your son somewhere safe temporarily."

Neven lifted himself off the couch and followed his parents out the back way, and winced when Mrs. Traye hurried over to the crib to comfort Yuven when he burst out in tears.

Silenced by the closing of a door.

Neven frowned at the grim lines on his parent's brows, they walked past the bakery, and he resisted the urge to press himself against the glass to beg for creamy poundcakes. Frost carriages rolled in, barren of supplies with weary Sentinels with the sigil of Irimount on their armor.

"Can I visit Yuven again?" he asked as he gazed at the ice-capped connolades lifting the spires higher. Runes pulsed the barrier to protect them from the blizzard, but Neven tasted the dark in the shadows of the alleys.

"We'll see, Snowflake," Mother whispered, and her smile grew in hollow form. "He likes you."

"He likes me because I make his stuffy fly." Neven snorted and tried to keep pace with his parent's sudden rush back to their villa. "Dad... when will I become an Ice Squire?"

"You're not going to hear anything for a while yet, Neven," Father said, then rubbed the top of his head. "You know... Atoran's time is long gone. There's nothing wrong with making your own name."

Neven hesitated at the steps to their estate. "Would he be proud of me?"

Father motioned for Mother to enter first before smiling at him. "I'm sure he would have been, but focus on your current studies. Your time will come, Neven."

I can't wait for that time to come. I need to be an Ice Knight of Irimount, the city of the mountains, to protect my people from the outside of the walls.