LAUCAN

If there was ever a moment of truth for his people, it would be now. As he stood on the balcony where he once tried to take flight, he bit his lip at the bells of the cathedral which rang out through the roar of the blizzard while it battered down on the ancient barrier he maintained with the icehearts. The children's playground released a haunted emptiness from the squeaky swings far below. Others refused to abandon their homes. His words fell on some deaf ears, but the quiet told him some listened after all. Past the curling of snow, a cracked rattle of death. Derelicts. Ooze started to slip through the cobbled streets. Here they come. Looks like my window of time is up. Laucan placed his gloved hands on the railing, brushing off small mounds of snow to pour onto the courtyard. This is what our legacy amounted to... our warring families who fought over the throne on who would rule over those who would sooner see themselves buried, and for what?

"Your Winged Grace?" Efram slipped through the snow-shaped door, donned in thick furs and his head wrapped in a scarf. "The rest of the household staff are within the palace temple, in-including Princess Hayvala, who bids you to join us. Lord Vlasiz went ahead into the evacuation tunnels to make sure our path remains to us." His knees quaked in time with Efram's. "Y-Your Grace?" he pushed through at another howl against the barrier, and Laucan found himself trapped between two walls of fear and duty — as the last king of Naveera. "Do you need assistance with your traveling furs? We do not have a lot of time."

How many people died within the walls? How many more are left? Laucan shook his head against the crushing of his temples. "You're dismissed, Efram. Join the others, I will follow posthaste," he said, entering his room to close the balcony doors behind him. The multitudes of storybooks Mother used to tell him with joy in her voice and song — the crown Father threw at his feet with his death and the demonic visage which bared its teeth at him with pure hatred, the entwined wyverns drawn in blood, setting a snowrose on fire. He hesitated by his fireplace with a nod at Efram, who dipped low and scampered, but he found himself frozen with the last embers of the flames near his boots.

"You have to fall before you can fly, Little Prince, not before," Magistera Titania's voice was clearest among all the rest. Laucan drew his teeth into his lips then pried the icesteel chakrams off the mantle. Runes along the edges filled with skyblues, and he tucked them at his sides before leaving the room behind. Those books. All the petitions and letters from the lords, or lords on the behalf of noblewoman and courtesans. "And it's only when you fly, that you find meaning in the fall." Golden scales glowed in the snow while Neven Lotayrin took the justice he should've bore alone. Down the steps and out of the royal wing, he shivered when the lamps dimmed of their pale hues. No Sentinels stood at the doors, some had died in the long night, or under mysterious circumstances. All his warnings. Reports of murders within Volaris. Every time he screamed out for them to listen. Listen. Hear. Feel.

Sing!

It growled behind his ear, but he ignored it for the time being to catch up to Efram. What remained of the household staff hovered over the platform, the glyph of space and time which Yuven Traye escaped through with Fenrer Pyren and Adara Sazaka. It was their turn — to right his mistake so long ago. His down pressed against his ears, trying to protect them from the cold, but he readied himself when Hayvala floated over to him. Alive, away from the Endless Sleep with Keeper Blackwall's medication. But what price have I paid for it? For you to live? He snapped his arms against his sides when she wrapped her hands around his sleeves. "Why have you not gone yet?"

"We were waiting for you," Hayvala said. "Lord Vlasiz and the Knight-Valiant await us below." Tugged along, a child right to the very end, he crossed the threshold of his last chance in the face of the end, but on the boundary, he dug his heels in. Hayvala paused, her moonsilver feathers extending outwards past her looped white hair. "What is the matter, Laucan?"

"You were right." Laucan kept himself from his chance while he faced down the sister he disappointed over and over again — but still she believed. "You... and all the rest, including Yuven Traye." He faced the end, refusing to bow as the king. "I have made so many mistakes that have made my people, the people I've only ever wanted the best for, to see the sun, the stars, the warm winds of the sunlands, that I have done so much damage equal to Father. I never thought to ask anyone what they wanted. I just assumed by virtue of stories." His fingers dug into his palm, and Hayvala frowned. "I'm not the Snow Prince come again, the once and future king. I pulled out a prop sword out of a prop stone, that does not make me a king. I claimed to bring the sun to us... but the sun has rejected us in response. Any chance we had ends here." Laucan gave her a nod. "And that's why you have to escape. You can bring about stability to Naveera once this is over. Seek shelter with the Storm Wardens, where they wouldn't accept me after what I've done... they will accept you, and the innocents of which they claim to shield against the abyss."

The clouds along Hayvala's blue spirals thickened when her pupils shifted into beads. "What are you saying, Laucan?"

"I am still the king."

Laucan took a large step back, though when Hayvala went to follow, he sent the clock into the glyph of space. It clanged with the tolling bell outside, and those who served his family and him faithfully, huddled closer in fear and a taste for the sun he promised them, though Hayvala stared at the barrier. Unable to hide anything from his sister, he tried to hide within his fur collar when her fangs started to reveal themselves. "What do you mean to do, Laucan?" she demanded. Accused. As all should. "You're the king, yes, which means it's imperative that you survive. We are being swallowed by darkness on all sides, as you said. The reprobate beast you keep in the Ice Gaols was but a symptom! Do you mean to fight it alone? If you stay in the palace without assistance—"

"No." Each hand of the glyph started to fill. "I mean to give you time to escape, but I would not have anyone else suffer because of me." Yuven's blood continued to stain the hem of his coat, unable to be washed out in his mind. Some of it dotted the fabric when he thought himself free. A reminder from the one who everyone on his council, in his court, claimed was the threat to his rule, but had never been one at all. "Let me do this one thing, Hayvie," he drew out when the platform below them glowed silver. "I could never be what you tried to instill in me — I failed that the moment I threw Traye in the gaol. I failed the moment I ignored your wishes. I failed." Laucan released excess magick building in his lungs through his nose, and Hayvala pressed her hands against the barrier. Her concerned rage fell into disbelief, despair, but he came closer to smile at her. "But now, I can do something. I can do something with the song one man left across this city. We are the blizzard, and so long as we remember and are remembered... all of this—" He tossed his arms around.

We shall never die.

"Laucan—"

"Lord Vlasiz will keep you safe until the Storm Wardens can deliver unto us the light we tried to reject — and are being punished for." Laucan lowered his hand, then snapped his fingers.

At each toll, one by one, the royal staff disappeared when the glyph turned for each one. Hayvala brought up her own magick, but she released a soft hiss when her fingers curled. "Laucan, don't—!"

"I remember when you used to be so fierce and went against anything Father told you to do. You put your foot down. You refused to bend to the whims of the Lords, even when they treated you as porcelain just because you're a woman... when you were more a wyvern than they were," Laucan told her and found his strength to smile. "And what could I... a little boy do when you were held back from saving the one person who meant the most to you? Ser Yokonei Traye?" He tilted his head forward. "We decried him a traitor—" Another person disappeared into the tunnel below with a startled gasp. "Oathbreaker—" Laucan bit on his tongue when Efram jolted, staring at him in disbelief before disappearing too. "But he was none of those things. He was not sworn to Father. He was sworn to us. To you, to me, and he served faithfully. He served until it killed him. Family killed him... just as it killed his older brother."

Hayvala froze. "What?"

Laucan shivered. "I was there when Ikarun Traye attempted to take Father's life, and it was me who prevented justice... and he ended up getting the last laugh, didn't he? After Father had him murdered out in the snows, all alone... all because he wanted his little brother. Because he pleaded for Ser Yokonei to return home, and Father denied him, laughed at him, spited him, and in the end, he died for it as Ser Yokonei died to protect his family." Laucan stepped closer when the last person disappeared, but Hayvala continued to fight against inevitability, when she had once told him there was nothing to be done. "It was you, wasn't it, Hayvie? It was never the Traye's. You begged the world sphere for justice... and justice it gave — but it is a thing beyond us. What would it see as justice? In killing the Traye's, justice would have to be equivalent. Justice would see it returned. To take as we have taken. Give what we gave to our own. Such is an immutable rule of magick, is what my Magistera always told me. An unbreakable law." A song, light and airy, sounded in his ears. "It puts the price on your head, and... in cursing Father, everything he was, everything that meant anything to him..." Laucan put a hand on his heart. "I am the last, which means when it ends... you might be freed as long as you can outlast it, and to the end, I would see you live."

Hayvala released a quieter hiss, and Laucan tasted happiness when the ferocity returned to his older sister. As her hand cracked against the barrier, the final ring sounded out its song, and she disappeared out of his reach. Finality. Through the mosaic which glittered above, the barrier held strong against the blizzard, taking away his magick to keep it alight. But instead of fighting against it... maybe this was its purpose. The bells silenced, and he stood over the escape he refused for others. Every statue of the Snow Prince's legendary knights looked down upon him with the weight of the ideals he failed to uphold and the legacy he squandered. In front of them, the Snow Prince himself, with Evyriaz's giant wings wrapping around him, in protection, with his blessing.

Back to his childhood, to Mother's stories, he forced himself forward through the muck of crimson he once left in his wake, oozing past Yuven Traye's lips. Against his echoed footsteps, he tread the halls of the palace built on the backs of his own people, crushing them under its shadow. Into the grand foyer, he hesitated in front of the massive doors which led to the throne room. They're waiting for you, Hayvala's words from his sixteenth nameday rang through his ears, and he checked his gift of a moonwatch for the time. It tried to follow past the blizzard's oppressive energy, so he snapped it shut with a click and entered. Alone.

She couldn't hold my hand forever.

Blood washed out of the marble stonework below, he crossed the woven rug of grey up to the steps. His own ones. Up them without Yuven's penchant for skipping through echoes, he hesitated in front of the chair which people fought and died for. On the cushion, his crown of pearls. Far too past the point of no return when he took it into his hands, he scowled at the tiny reflection within its carved surface, his downy feathers fuzzed out. As the bells fell silent with one last dissonant chord, he frowned, loosening the tension in his body when all that was left was the song in his ears. Airy against the thick current, bile stuck in his throat when he turned at the movement of shadows and an empty voice, "King Laucan Travon."

They wore a fur cloak, woven black. Their faces hidden in a mass of shadows, Laucan put the crown down before facing them in full. Over all the rest, it was himself he saw within the mass. Malicious and intentful, while he stood in the shoes of his supposed enemy with no one right and no one left. But this time... I'm not letting you win. Even if its my blood that sheds— Laucan swallowed the vomit made of his fear and the song grew louder in his head. Even if I have to die here for my people to be free to choose. It tore at him skindeep, something clawing to be free, but he focused on what was in front of him. "You're not an Iceshard."

"No."

Laucan curled his fingers around his ice chakrams. "Then you're the ones responsible for Derelicts infesting the city."

"No." The shadowed mass shook their head. "It was you and yours. We did not have to do anything. We just took our opportunities that we were given. You will serve the higher purpose — this world of malcontent. Its incompleteness cannot be suffered to continue. The Anima paid the price, and they shall pay it again before we are whole once more." Their sword whispered against the ground and left a trail of rotted crimson behind it.

Anima? Adara Sazaka? Why would... No matter, they still need time regardless. Laucan flicked his attention to the windows, where the snow slowly became a flurry the longer the blizzard pounded on the barrier. There's one for now, but where's the rest? In the city...? Giving the Derelicts an opening? What have we done? He tensed when they drew out a sword of red, jagged crystal, the air around it a slicing pressure. He kept Magistera Titania's voice in his head, tough, but encouraging. Fly or fall. Fall or fly. For when there was no option, there was no use fighting against the flow of the dance. It's them. These people... we handed Naveera to them on a silver platter to do what they will. We may not be only responsible for the ruin of ourselves, but everyone else... but I will not stand for it. Their arm raised, and he found himself lunging out of the way when a whip of red slammed forward.

It hit his crown instead, splitting it in two and shattering the red pearls.

But they aren't as fast as Yuven Traye... and also can't escape this echo. Ice gathered around his chakrams, feeling another ripple in his blood, but he ignored it. And if they wish to bury us... I may have no other recourse. Ice curled around him, but burst into flames. Again and again, a throne room washed in blood. Laucan switched on his heel, throwing his chakrams not at his opponent, but at the windows. It struck with a crack, shattering the protective glass which kept out the endless cold. With twine around his fingers, he summoned the chakrams forward, before allowing them to slide across the walls and into the cultist. Sword raised, they deflected both, bht pieces of their sword chipped onto the ground. Teeth started to break out of the tiny, malformed eggs, and Laucan shivered at the roar all around him. Mist fell past his lips when he leaped off the throne's great platform, sending his family's flames downwards onto the formation of Derelict ooze. Pressure popped his ears, and he ducked lower when the cultist flicked the sword forward into a thrust, causing a wall behind him to cave in on itself.

Laucan timed the steps of the dance, pushing off his heel to slide closer to the broken chair and crown. Though he failed to peer into the darkness, the cultist stepped closer. "You must realise you do this in vain, King Laucan."

It sang in his ears. It rippled underneath his boots. An answer to the question he sought while the barrier kept away the true ferocity of Naveera out. He weaved out of attacks, one nicking his arm. Skin sliced, he slammed his teeth onto his tongue to stop himself from screeching out at the hot pain starting to flow through his bloodstream. A festering poison when he tried to maintain the ice along his chakrams when it started to melt. Back to the throne, the ancient barrier pulsed with his blood. A faint flutter when the cultist came closer.

White stained red, he threw a chakram upwards, rolling on the flames before slamming down at the cultists feet. Stone scattered into their face, causing them to take a step back. Laucan pressed forward, kicking the chakram upwards. Though their sword deflected it, it scattered more of the hellforged blade across the room. Metal slipped into his hands, he shook his head of the growing heat in his temples. Yuven's scattered flames swallowed what could've been Derelicts, and Laucan spread them further. Along the vaunted banners. Over the prideful flags. Everything he had grown accustomed to burned.

The cultist lunged forward as he finished tearing apart the last tapestry.

Laucan sent one chakram forwards. Though the cultist ducked out of its way, it hit his true target. The door behind. Glyphs of pure ice grew outwards into a barrier. If there's no escape for me... so be it. Another glyph left his remaining chakram to take the brunt of the hellsword, scattering wet, red snow into his face when he stumbled back from the force. Bile crawled up his throat when he spotted himself in the pale reflection below. Blood crawled down his face from the very snow he sought to use. Magick blood. As the blizzard of his people's heart raged, he steadied himself with a breath, releasing the bile. Only the song remained. Sing. Sing. Sing.

"If you're trying to go for another Irimount... I'm afraid you can't."

The cultist sent another lunge forward, but Laucan tilted out of the elongated attack of hot, Derelict infested air when it slammed once more into the wall behind him. "Irimount was a taste for this."

Terror tried to freeze him in place, but he found himself laughing instead. I see... well, if someone must win this ancient fight of our family... Magick started to form over his skin. Scales of white. It seared against his skin, hotter than the Derelicts poison, but everything became lighter. "This isn't Irimount. It's Volaris." Laucan let his chakram hover in front of him, his broken shield of faith, and the burning pillars around him made of ferocious white flames. His enemy jerked, then lunged forward, but his chakram froze. Static. The sword stuck, but crimson tendrils buried deeper.

Below him, the mirror. A wyvern stared up at him, calm again, where beautiful hearts of ice spun lazily on top of blooming snowroses. "You're in my home," he said, and another growl rumbled outwards, not from his own lips. Feathers fluttered against his ears, while the scales tightened and created a glimmer of a magick cloak. "This is my home, these are my people, and if you wish to bury me, then you're coming with me!"

Cracks formed along the floor, sending pillars of gathered power upwards into the roof. The ceiling caved in and dropped stonework onto the ground, though the cultist pushed against the broken shield while the barrier above started to disappear. In an instant, the frozen wasteland it kept from encroaching on Volaris dropped in a hailstorm of crystals and ice needles. Hand outstretched to regain his other chakram, the crimson cracks grew along his shield.

I am the blizzard, I will never die. A repeated mantra when the icesteel chakram tore itself from its grown wall, and flew towards himself and the cultist. The tendrils scattered the barrier. Icesteel met bone and caused the cultist to grunt in pain. Gut punched, he tasted blood as the pillars which cracked through the throne room took down the foundations of bone. It swelled within when he shivered, then dug his fingers into the chakram against his chest, unable to hold back the sword forged with crimson. It slammed into the cultist, throwing them backwards onto the other chakram lodged in their back, with no way out.

Blood power gathered, Laucan drove the return of his might through the chakram. It spun with the ticking glyph. It stretched, driving itself into the walls. Each crack grew larger. The entire palace shook. As the blizzard came down with its jaws, he released his own.

It slashed forwards, splitting the palace in twain. Old walls fell forwards. Supports dropped to the ground. Glass scattered. Chandeliers broke apart. Wyverns screeched out in fury, echoing Yuven deep within the gaol. Debris clattered downwards onto the throne room, and he found himself stumbling backwards when one of the pillars blocked his route to the cultist, scattering snowdust while the blizzard pounded down on his home.

But... as long as we live... Laucan lifted his hand from his crimson robes. Thick rivers slipped between his fingers as the pillars of magick tilted towards him, an eye of the hurricane. Laucan jolted when instead of a cultist, it was a Derelict which tried to tear its way out of the debris. His mind pulsated when the power from the icehearts below embraced him.

The palace of Volaris fell, and there was nothing left but endless snow white, pulled down into the safety of darkness.