Chapter 35 Moon
The White King Awakens, Part V
The Castle of Ice did not sleep. Not after its king awakened. For three centuries the kingdom had existed in patient silence. Now every frozen hall stirred with purpose. Ancient vampires walked crystal corridors. Messengers crossed frozen bridges. Silver-armored Death Reapers assembled within the lower courtyards. The kingdom prepared. Not for war. Not yet. For something far older. Far more dangerous. Hope. High above the castle, within the Tower of Winter Stars, the White King stood alone. The chamber occupied the highest point of the kingdom. Its walls were formed entirely from enchanted crystal. No torches burned there. No braziers. Only moonlight. Endless moonlight. It poured through the translucent walls and transformed the chamber into a palace of silver glass. Snow drifted outside. Northern lights danced across the heavens. The king stood before an enormous mirror. Not magical. Not enchanted. Simply ancient. A relic from another age. An age he remembered only in fragments. The reflection staring back at him appeared regal. Beautiful. Powerful. Yet somehow unfamiliar. The White King studied himself silently. Long silver-white hair flowed past his waist. Perfect. Untouched. Preserved by centuries. The appearance of an immortal king. The appearance his people expected. The appearance he had worn for hundreds of years. And suddenly he hated it. Not because it was ugly. Because it was a mask. The White King slowly raised one hand. The Blood-Drinker appeared instantly. The crimson blade emerged from shadows beside him. Its edge gleamed beneath moonlight. The sword seemed alive. Hungry. Waiting. Without hesitation the king gathered his long hair. And cut it. The sound echoed softly through the chamber. Silver strands drifted through the air. Falling like snow. Again. And again. And again. Until centuries vanished. The long regal hair disappeared. The ancient king stared into the mirror. Silence followed. The figure looking back seemed different now. Younger. Sharper. More familiar. The hair now reached only slightly below his jaw. Soft. Silver-blond. Like pale winter sunlight. The style resembled someone else's. Someone he had seen recently. Someone traveling beside Moon. The resemblance was impossible to ignore. The same youthful features. The same handsome face. The same strong jaw. The same eyes. Yet where Toivo carried warmth the White King carried winter. Where Toivo looked alive the White King looked eternal. His skin appeared even paler now. Like freshly fallen snow. His blue eyes resembled frozen lakes. Beautiful. Cold. Lonely. He stared at his reflection And for a brief moment he remembered. A younger voice. Laughter. Yellow flowers, dandelions in the air. Silver flowers. Moon smiling. The memory vanished immediately. The king closed his eyes. When he opened them again the emotion disappeared. Only stillness remained. The door opened quietly. One of his nobles entered. A woman dressed in silver and white.
She stopped immediately. Surprised.
"My King?"
The White King looked toward her.
The noble blinked. The change made him appear younger. More human. More dangerous. As though the centuries had been peeled away. The noble lowered her gaze.
"The Death Reapers await your command."
The White King nodded once.
"Continue preparations."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The noble hesitated.
Then:
"Will there be war?"
The question lingered. The White King looked toward the northern lights. Toward the distant south. Toward a campfire hundreds of miles away. Toward Moon. For several moments he said nothing.
Then:
"I don't know."
The answer surprised even him. The noble bowed and departed. The chamber became silent once more. The White King approached the crystal balcony. The frozen kingdom stretched endlessly below. Snow-covered forests. Silver rivers. Crystal villages. A realm trapped between beauty and death. His kingdom. His prison. His sanctuary. For centuries he had ruled it. Protected it. Endured it. Waiting. Always waiting. For what? For whom? The answer came easily. Far too easily. The king closed his eyes. A single name escaped him. Softly. Almost reverently.
"Moon."
The wind carried the word away. The northern lights brightened. The castle itself seemed to listen. And far away very far away Moon suddenly looked up from the campfire. The ancient god frowned slightly. As though hearing something distant. Something impossible. Something familiar. Then the feeling vanished.
Toivo noticed.
"What is it?"
Moon stared north. For a moment sadness appeared in his eyes. Then disappeared.
"Nothing."
Yet the answer felt wrong. Even Moon seemed unconvinced. The night continued. The companions remained unaware. Unaware that the White King had awakened. Unaware that he was already moving. Unaware that centuries of longing had begun stirring once more. Back within the Tower of Winter Stars the White King remained upon the balcony. Snow settled upon his shoulders. Upon his silver cloak. Upon his newly shortened hair. He looked younger now. Almost like the young man from his memories. Almost like the boy who once stood beside Moon beneath a younger sky. But not quite. Too much had been lost. Too much had changed. The White King slowly extended one hand. The Silver Sword of Everfrost materialized beside him. The divine blade floated silently in the air. The Blood-Drinker appeared in his other hand. Ice. Blood. Winter. Death. The symbols of everything he had become. And everything he regretted. The king gazed toward the southern horizon. Toward destiny. Toward the one person he had never forgotten. The one memory time had failed to erase. Then he smiled. A small smile. Melancholy. Dangerous. Hopeful. The smile of a man standing on the edge of a miracle. Or a tragedy. Perhaps both. The snowstorm intensified. The northern lights blazed across the heavens. And beneath them stood the White King. Awake. Waiting. Coming. While far away Moon continued his journey north. Unaware that the next volume would not belong to shadow wolves. Or jesters. Or ancient monsters. It would belong to a king. A king of frost. A king of memory. A king who still whispered Moon's name beneath the falling snow. And somewhere in the darkness between them the past was waiting. Waiting to be remembered.
End of Volume III The Mirror Tower
Coming Next
Volume IV The White King
"The frost remembers what the heart cannot forget."
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