LAUCAN

"To Reyn Kolis, the Dragon King of Haneka,

I require an amendment to our trade deal. As you are well aware, any sea-faring entrances into Naveera are blocked by fields of ice, glaciers, and floating icebergs. You are on the course to creating what you refer to as 'icecarvers', specialized vessels for tearing through our cold ocean — but a complication has arisen.

Derelicts are within the capitol, and no one believes me.

We are a stubborn, prideful people, thinking ourselves above the chaos of the darkness seeping into this world. I made a mistake of doing the same until it was too late. A servant within my palace was ripped apart, and many believe it to be the work of the Traye's — the branch of my family that we have been in conflict with for nigh a thousand turns. As their focus remains, I ask you with grief that you beseech the Storm Wardens on my behalf.

I expect either a lack of an answer or an outright rejection to what I have to say due to my actions. Once, I would've made excuses for them, would've made excuses for the decisions I made under the guise of saving my people from this buried fate. I know now the Southern Wall is what prevents the tidal wave... and I have come to realise the blizzard might be ours. But walls lose their function, slowly lose their efficiency. You can have our stonemasons to strengthen your wall, but ours comes at the cost of her people.

My father was blind if he could not see the threat the Derelicts posed — or more so refused to destroy the Traye's and their entire line save for one. The fall of Irimount. That is where this contagion started for us, where they seeped out and spread into the land to taint our songs. I don't need just those icecarvers. I need people who are well-aware of this threat, or else my people are going to die as my voice is drowned out by those who think themselves wise. I will take steps to open up Whitehaven Pass once more to the people of Dyrin to encourage this movement... to give my people a chance to flee. I will do what I can on my end, to make my council see the truth, to prevent any other deaths closest to me, and I will not let their perception define the truth I see with my own eyes.

~ Wyvern King Laucan Travon III, the Protector of Naveera.

P.S For what that title is worth."

Over the flame, the wax burned and dripped onto the folded parchment, a wilted snowrose of an insignia, an incomplete half as he shoved the stamp into it to spread it further. In the massive room meant for kings, he was nothing but a boy surrounded by texts of ruling, of leadership, policy and Naveeran law. None delved into the real threat, the monster underneath children's beds to chew at their marrow until there was nothing left. He shoved them all aside to dig for the storybooks, setting them on his desk to read through each one — for a hint, for when reality refused to acknowledge the truth, the morbid fairy tales never balked at the dark and cold world of theirs.

Each one held poems, sonnets, or long passages meant for musical theater. Though when was the last time I went to the Volaris Opera House and they told any stories of the creatures of the Obscura? Those born from a black hole? He took an original copy of The Snow Prince and the Knights of the Round. Mythical accounts and any historic records of the real thing. From Atoran Lotayrin of the Ice Glaive, or Hayvala's fountain of inspiration, Ser Zahira of the Frozen Shield. There has to be something. He flipped through the pages, able to recount each one of the tales by memory alone, but memory couldn't be trusted. And these are just storybooks, but they're all I have now. Laucan rifled through them with his letter sealed both by wax and magick.

Volaris held its silence outside his balcony, the city lights dim against the darkness the blizzard pounded down on them. Across the cardinal and ordinal points of their multitudes of walls, the anchors which prevented the roar of snow from burying their city.

The nearby park was occupied by ghosts. The swingset shaking in what breeze poured through the cracks of his strength, the merry-go-round following suit. Far away from childhood, but yet a child, Laucan flicked through the sonnets.

The Ancient Fear. Right... I always hated this one. Navei scrawled around the pictures of three figures who raised their glaives aloft against a splotch of writhing teeth. Born of Ushunex'soli, the most twisted of reprobate beings. Teeth wicked and bloody — keep quiet upon the mountain paths — make not a sound, whisper not a song... for it hungers for the voice. Laucan recited it under his breath, the words pushing his feathers close to his ears. Whisper not a song for it hungers for the voice. It hears. It listens. It waits. An avalanche of red. Whisper not for reprieve. Cry not for hope. The Ancient Fear. Laucan brushed his fingers over the three figures, before shutting it with a sigh. And probably the closest story Naveerans have that references something that was probably a Derelict... It told him nothing of how to deal with the creatures hunting the palace from within, which meant he had no details to give to Reyn. He scooped up the previous letter of whispered faith, holding it close to his chest as wind fluttered his silk blinds.

Out of his desk, he wandered over to the tangle of chimes to send a whisk of magick through them. Each bell rang out once, a rising sound as he waited at the door for his attendant to arrive. It took Efram a couple minutes to come, but Laucan wasted no time in putting the letter into their hands with their gaze locked on his shoes instead of him. "It's important this one gets sent out fast," he instructed Efram, whose gold feathers folded in uncertainty, fear of the loss within the walls. "Same place and route as before and be sure to alert me if there's disturbances within the palace," he fought for Hayvala's sense of authority, but his voice threatened to break for his efforts.

"Is it the Traye's, Your Wyvern Grace?" Efram muttered under his breath.

Younger, without thought, Laucan would've affirmed what he never knew for certain. Time gave him no quarter. Laucan nudged the letter closer to him. "No. Go get that letter into the post so it can get to its receiver." Though the Lords may claim as such, I won't even if I'm nothing more than an echo. Efram headed off, the Sentinels Hayvala placed remained at the bottom of the staircase, so he shut his door, with no comfort in what knowledge he had. Flames flickered in his dying fireplace, where his chakrams sat upon the mantle, unused since Yuven Traye's bold audacity to sit upon the throne and look down upon him with not a crown in sight. His own remained on its stand in the corner, along with the ceremonial headdress of feathers and woven pearls. Both of which he wore on his ascent of the wyvern steps of his coronation. Steps his ancestors took, every previous king who then brought their home closer to ruin.

But every story ended the same way — in her greatest need, her worst time, the Snow Prince of Naveera, the once and future king... shall rise again. Laucan lowered his head to his desk. If this is not our worst hour... what is? Or was it just a story to keep us hoping that someone would save us instead of us saving ourselves? Inaction, a font of apathy, their great curse. The Lord's endless sneering, posturing, and ignorance. His ignorance. Laucan pulled at strands of soft white hair as down slipped along to shed itself and make room for real feathers to grow.

But even if I ignore the Lords and that this threat worsens... how do I save my people? Laucan looked out the frosted window. A quiet playground, a whisper to be unheard by the monsters in the shadows with no bastion of safety. Say I call an evacuation order... who will listen? Who would take me seriously? I wouldn't. Yuven's haughty words turned into words of warning — in a way, Yuven Traye had taken him far more seriously than most, the threat he posed to his own people due to his ignorance. He pulled his fingers along the wood of his desk. Traye was right. But the longer I mope about what I've done, the more time escapes me to fix this, fix my mistakes. Fix what I've caused due to my inability to think for myself, to act like a king. He pushed his fist into the storybooks of his childhood, the ones Mother sang him to sleep with. In her words, the memory of her voice and through the mirror, a tiny wyverlet curled into its own scaled, snow-white feathers to hide from the dark.

'Listen to the lies upon their lips, and let them go.'

Laucan pressed his back against the chair and got more papers ready for more correspondence to the other king. Maybe if we make it to the next Summit, I can say all of this to him in person. He started the next letter before putting it aside to gather what he could. He doubted Reyn wanted his mail office to be full of haphazard letters of separated information. Childish pleas for assistance and help from who his people decried as barbaric. But if they're barbaric... we are too. We're not so different though we come from different beings. Giants. Wyverns. Fae. Man. The Derelicts will consume us all. Brow pressed against the bridges of his finger, he relented in further waiting.

Endless, frozen cold.

"You must fall to fly, Little Prince," Magistera Titania scolded him at his flimsy attempts at the Navei dance. "We are the people of movement, of expression — not this belief of ice-cold exteriors." Her headdress of pearls bounced in her hair loops, her arms folded at her direction and education, where she taught him more than the palace tutors could achieve. Her knee hit his hip, and he scrambled to catch his footing when she slid around him, tangling herself with the aerial silks to bring the Avaerilians closer to their ancestors of flight. "More than what we define ourselves, Little Prince. Sometimes one must bring down the stage to reveal the heart of the story we play upon it. It's all a part of the dance." One more hip check, and he found his footing. "You are nothing more to me than a little wyverlet trying to find his wings."

Laucan jolted out of the dream's memory in the silence. Lights flickered outside among the cobbled streets and metal railings of stone catwalks which led from building to building. People carried lanterns as individuals walked through the darkness to return home. He checked the moonwatch given to him for his birthday, though its hands twitched back and forth from the blizzard's latent magick disruption and made it all the more difficult to tell time underneath its suffocating presence. Night. Day. The sun touched his skin when he stepped off the train, but he returned here. Home — the only one they had.

Laucan grabbed the icesteel chakrams from the mantle to hook them on his ribboned belt, tied to appear as wings. Flimsy approximations. Out of his room, he descended the steps, but refused to allow his fear to rule him instead of the other way around. Hands up to stop Hayvala's Sentinels from haunting his steps, he made his way to the palace's recital hall. Besides... if there's a Derelict here... what are Sentinels going to do against it? Feed it? Upon the hills, he halted Derelicts in time — he was his sole defender. And I can't do it for long. I do not have an Anima's power... just mine. He curled his fingers into his palm and went to open the door into the recital hall. Another place which saw a lack of use since his foolishness and ignorance.

I will save my people. They will see the sun.

Crystals of snow ceased the fall from the chandelier, the white flames whispering out with the wind. Terror kickstarted his heart, but when he looked over to the closest window, it was closed and no reflection of a beast smiled on the other side with twisted fangs. To call upon him to take flight to his death. It filled his head with another song, but he shook it out. Be strong. I have my own song — the one I give to the icehearts to keep my people safe. As the door inched open with a quiet hum, he stopped it at a distant, dissonant one.

Mist left his nose in plumes, and he shivered at the sudden breath down his spine. Left into the dark when he closed his eyes to try and pry himself out of it, he came face to face with his watered down reflection. Underneath him, a small wyvern, eyes half-open as it made no noise, remained silent with the oppressive shadows around it. Though when he tried to touch the surface, it shimmered to reveal himself. Shadows dug underneath his eyes and the sky-blue irides he still shared with Mother. Out of the view, he looked over his shoulder at the sound of clanking metal. Sentinels.

Though when he counted the steps, he frowned at the uneven tempo.

Laucan closed the door to the dancing arena, shuffling forward across the pale carpets.

Maybe the Knight-Valiant changing the posts? Laucan folded his arms and headed for the scene of the crime, but gasped when his boot slipped on the carpet and he landed on his hindquarters. Up again, he twisted around. Out of the way, he frowned at the length of squished goo from his stepping in it across the fabric, staining it a dark color. As he knelt down to it, an electric shiver stiffened his feathers. Fear screamed at him to flee, but he clenched his fist to keep him there and then lowered his gloved hand to the fresh goo.

He touched it with the tips of his fingers, before drawing it up to discover the truth.

Crimson within the black.

Laucan took his gloves off and shoved them in a pocket. Frost bit at his skin from within the safety of the palace, but he looked down the corridor the trial headed down. Must be fresh. Against his preservation, he continued on his new track, but held his nose at a stale waft of air. Too quiet. Too silent. The Derelicts who descended upon the fields moaned in pain and screeched in agony. Or the wind blocked the noise. Rot. Decay. It spread the smell when sound failed. Laucan hurried his steps around the bed, but ducked into cover.

Efram.

Between him and his attendant, a creature sat on one of the chandeliers, their tongue lashing around the crystals. Light sucked into the darkness, but between a second set of jaws, a new limb. Teeth grew from its formless mass to devour it with a crack of bone, and Laucan sucked in his lips when it spat the bones to the ground below. One more ice spike developed across its shifting spine.

Efram met his eyes, ashen and feathers on end.

Tendrils snaked out of its being when it used them to lower itself from the chandelier with a squelch of the carpet when claws grew out of some to latch onto the ground. With a crack, it swung its neck back and forth with a rattled hiss, revealing multiple rows of wicked teeth. Another crack, and Laucan bit on his tongue to hold the silence when it turned its neck the complete opposite direction to face him, a frosty sheen over its blank, crimson orbs. Each one which tried to develop on its body, another casing took its place.

Efram let out a stuttered breath and caused its neck to slam back into place at the sound.

Laucan rounded the corner to reveal himself with its back to him.

You're in my palace.

"Duck!" Laucan drew an icy glyph through one of his chakrams, then sent it swirling into the air as the Derelict made to lunge in two directions of noise. Sinew extended out from its spine for its prey, but the chakram cracked through each of the icy spines, sending them downwards to lock it in place. Efram took his chance to bolt for him as teeth grew along the ridges of spikes and started to chew out of its own binds. A spring of sinew, Laucan shivered when it coiled on itself and a splatter of blood doused the nearby flames. Through the wind, a low, grating moan sounded between its main pair of jaws.

"Your Grace!" Efram screeched with the Derelict when it slid forward.

Laucan brought his other hand into the blade of his other chakram until its biting sting oozed across his palm. Tendrils snaked its way out of the beast, but he lifted his hand to it as its tongue snaked its way through the ground, picking up the bones it had discarded to join the rest within its maw. Pressure rang out from the other side, and Laucan tugged on air.

It whistled with the ice he put inside it, riding on the misty wave as it pierced through the Derelict and into his other hand. Fangs in his tongue to add to the sting, Laucan dropped the chakrams at his feet, then brought his own being to bear. Clocks wound in his ears, a golden glyph with many hands ticking ever forward around the Derelict when it stretched its broken neck to him. Icy spikes drove into its body, locking it in place as the golden points came to a stop at each focal piece of power. It rang a hollow song, and he let the blood he spilt to save one person strengthen the ward. Just one, instead of an entire hilltop.

Red smeared against his hands, he threw ice into the distortion, and he let go of the Derelict when it slammed to the ground, frozen in its time. Its crimson orbs zoned in on him, the hiss rattling, but it remained unmoving. Behind him, Efram stumbled to dry-heave, but he found himself within the chirurgeon tent full of dying Hanekans. He found himself drawn to it, clenching his fists as its eyes continued to follow him.

You.

Laucan knelt down to it to stare into its eyes even as fear screeched at him and the sound echoed through the time-frozen Derelict in front of him.

Efram went quiet.

Laucan straightened himself out. You know what... I don't need them to take me seriously. I just need them to take you seriously. Twine left the blood upon his hands when he sent them forward to bind the Derelict further. This won't hold you forever... but as long as I live, it will hold you.

At least until I have shown them all what you really are.