Epilogue Winter's Throne
The snow never stopped falling. Across the endless reaches of North Elyria, winter tightened its grip upon the world. Frozen forests vanished beneath white blankets. Ancient mountains disappeared behind curtains of snow. The seas themselves groaned beneath growing ice. It was as though the north had taken a single breath and refused to exhale. Far beyond mortal lands stood the Mirror Tower. A black spire rising above poisoned swamps and endless forests. Its shape resembled another tower. A familiar tower. A tower hidden far to the south. But where Moon's domain sheltered life the Mirror Tower sheltered nightmares. The forests surrounding it crawled with monsters. Shadow beasts. Mutants. Creatures twisted by ancient corruption. And within the highest chamber Eemil stood before a vast mirror. The Shadow King. The Lord of the Hunt. His crown of black iron gleamed beneath pale moonlight. Long black furs hung from his broad shoulders. Silver runes shimmered across dark armor. Behind him, enormous shadow wolves rested like loyal hounds. Their eyes burned silver within the darkness. Eemil stared into the mirror silently. The magical surface rippled. A reflection appeared. Not his own. A figure emerged from darkness. Tall. Lean. Wearing black jester clothing decorated with silver patterns. A white mask concealed his face. A colossal scythe rested across one shoulder. Matias. The Laughing Reaper. He stepped through swirling shadows as though emerging from another world. The journey through Middle Elyria had left marks upon him. Scars crossed parts of his armor. His cloak was torn. Several puppet charms hanging from his costume had shattered completely. But his laughter remained unchanged. Soft. Amused. Dangerous.
"He escaped."
The statement echoed through the chamber.
Eemil snorted.
"Obviously."
Matias laughed.
A sound that made even the shadow wolves raise their heads.
"You were right."
The Reaper tilted his head slightly.
"Moon is stronger than expected."
The mirror darkened. Another figure appeared. Not physically. Only a reflection. A frozen throne room. Crystal pillars. Silver fire. Endless winter. And seated upon a throne carved from a glacier the White King. Silence filled the chamber. Even Eemil stopped speaking. Even Matias became still. The White King sat motionless upon his frozen throne. His appearance had changed. The long silver hair was gone. Now his pale blond hair framed a face disturbingly similar to another. A face that resembled Toivo.
Only colder.
Older.
Sadder.
His blue eyes reflected endless winter.
Northern Death Reapers knelt below him. Hundreds of them. Silent warriors clad in silver armor. Their pale cloaks spread across the icy floor like fallen snow.Each carried weapons forged from frostsilver. Each bowed before their king. The throne room itself seemed alive. Ice spread endlessly across walls and pillars. Snow drifted through the air despite being indoors. Blue flames burned within crystal braziers. And above it all towered the throne. A monument to loneliness. A monument to waiting. The White King listened quietly while Matias delivered his report.
Moon.
Toivo.
Kev.
Gret Ironwolf.
The Dragon of Fire Mountain.
Everything. When the report ended silence returned.
Eemil folded his arms.
"Should I go myself?"
His silver eyes glowed faintly.
"The hunt ends quickly if I do."
Matias chuckled.
The White King did not answer immediately. Instead he looked beyond the chamber. Beyond the kingdom. Beyond the blizzard. Toward the south. Toward someone. Far away. For a brief moment the ancient king looked almost human. Almost vulnerable. Then the expression vanished. The White King slowly rose from his throne. The Frost Death Reapers lowered themselves even further. Outside the snowstorm intensified. Winds screamed across North Elyria. Frozen rivers cracked. Ancient forests bowed beneath winter's power. The White King stepped toward the enormous crystal windows overlooking his kingdom. And there for the first time a faint smile appeared. Small. Melancholy. Beautiful. Dangerous. The smile of a man who had waited centuries. The smile of someone finally approaching the end of a very long journey. Far away beneath northern stars Moon continued traveling. Unaware.
The White King gazed toward the distant horizon.
Then quietly spoke.
"The Moon has come north."
The entire throne room fell silent. The Frost Death Reapers remained kneeling. The blizzard roared outside. The White King slowly closed his eyes. And remembered. A younger sky. A younger world. A celestial with long black hair. Dark eyes changing into Silver eyes. A gentle smile. Moon. When he opened his eyes again the king's voice echoed through the frozen hall. Calm. Absolute.
"Then bring him to me."
The snowstorm swallowed North Elyria.
The Frost Death Reapers bowed. The Shadow King smiled.
The Laughing Reaper laughed.
And far away fate began moving.
End of Volume III The Mirror Tower
Volume IV
The White King
"The frost remembers what the heart cannot forget."
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