Tower of thorns Tower of Fangs Volume 4 chapter 32

 

Volume IV  The White King

ARC V  THE WINTER WAR

Chapter 32 White King Unleashed

The battlefield had become impossible. Moonlight and winter collided beneath a shattered sky. Glaciers rose. Moonlight dissolved them. Blizzards screamed. Silver ribbons silenced them. The heavens themselves seemed caught between two ancient powers. Above the frozen world Moon floated amidst spiraling moon fairies. Below the White King commanded winter itself. And somewhere far beyond the battlefield Eemil smiled. The Shadow King stood within the Mirror Tower. Silver eyes glowing softly. Thousands of mirrors surrounded him. Every reflection showed the same thing. Moon. Nico. The war. The past. The future. Everything converging. Everything approaching a single inevitable moment. Eemil raised one hand. Shadow gathered beneath his feet. Not darkness. Something alive.  Something intelligent. Something loyal. A fox emerged. Small. Elegant. Beautiful.Terrifying. Its fur appeared black at first glance. Yet silver reflections moved beneath its coat like liquid starlight trapped beneath midnight. Nine tails drifted behind it. Each tail made entirely of living shadow. Its eyes glowed crimson. Not bright. Hungry. The fox looked upward. Toward Everfrost. Toward Nico. Toward Moon. Eemil crouched beside it. His fingers brushed its head gently. Almost affectionately.

"You know what to do."

The fox nodded. As though understanding every word. Because it did. Then it vanished. A ripple moved through shadow. Across continents. Across mountains. Across reality. And suddenly the fox appeared upon the battlefield. Nobody noticed immediately. The war between gods commanded too much attention. Moon's ribbons shattered another frozen mountain. The White King answered with a tidal wave of glaciers. Moonlight exploded. Winter answered. The sky screamed. Then the fox moved. Fast. Far too fast. The Frost Reapers saw only a blur. The moon fairies sensed something wrong. Their lights flickered. Warning. Alarm. Fear. The fox darted between collapsing glaciers. Through storms. Through divine attacks. Through impossible destruction. Moon noticed first. Silver eyes narrowed, the fox was already gone. It moved through shadows cast by glaciers. Through cracks between moments. Through places where light could not reach. A creature born from Eemil's authority. The authority of hidden things. Forgotten things. Unseen things. The White King turned. Too late. The fox landed upon a glacier directly behind him. Silver eyes turning red. Crimson eyes glowed. Its mouth opened. And something emerged. A crystal. Red. Not blood-red. Not ruby-red. Memory-red. The color of old wounds The color of longing. The color of regret. The crystal pulsed. Once. Twice. Three times. Then shot forward like lightning. The White King spun. Ice erupted. Glaciers rose. Storms screamed. Too slow. The crystal struck his chest. Silence. Everything stopped. The storm. The wind. The battle. The world. For one terrifying moment the White King's silver eyes widened. And the crystal shattered. Not outward. Inward. The red fragments dissolved into him. Into his heart. Into his soul. Into every wound he had spent centuries pretending no longer hurt. And suddenly Nico remembered. Not the kingdom. Not winter. Not power. Moon. Young Moon. Laughing beneath spring sunlight. Moon reaching for his hand. Moon smiling. Moon sleeping beneath flowers. Moon running through fields of white blossoms. Moon saying his name. 

Nico.

Nico.

Nico.

The memories flooded him. Every beautiful moment. Every precious moment. Every lost moment. And then came the worst memory. Moon leaving. Carried like a bride by someone else The pain hit with the force of a collapsing world. The White King staggered. Winter faltered. The storm trembled.

Moon immediately moved.

"Nico!"

The name echoed across Everfrost. The White King looked toward him. For one brief moment Moon saw him. Not the king. Not the god. Nico.  Moon saw in the White Kings eyes glimpses of the boy he was.  Terrified. Heartbroken. Lost. Then crimson light appeared inside his eyes. Small. Tiny. Growing.

Eemil's voice echoed from nowhere.

And everywhere.

"You never let go."

The crimson spread.

"You never moved on."

The White King trembled.

"You wanted him back."

The memories twisted. The spring fields became empty. The laughter became silence. The love became abandonment. The red crystal fed upon every regret. Every fear. Every lonely century. And slowly the White King's resistance began breaking. Silver eyes became crimson. The storm exploded. Winter roared. Moon's expression changed. For the first time in the entire war fear appeared. Not for himself. For Nico. Because he recognized exactly what Eemil had done. The Shadow King had not controlled him. He had reopened every wound. And turned grief into a weapon. Above the battlefield winter and moonlight faced one another once more. But now the White King's sword slowly rose. Pointing directly at Moon. 

And far away within the Mirror Tower Eemil watched silently. Not smiling. Because this part of the plan was never enjoyable. Only necessary. The war between gods had entered its final stage. Moonlight, Against Winter. Love. Against Regret.

Auroras twisted through storm clouds like rivers of liquid spirit-fire. Silver moonlight collided with crimson shadows. Reality itself seemed strained, stretched thin by the presence of beings who had long ago surpassed mortal understanding. Far below, armies watched. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Because gods had begun to fight. And when gods fought the world listened. Matias stood alone upon the frozen plain. The Laughing One. The Jester. The Reaper. The smiling mask gleamed beneath moonlight. White porcelain. Golden cracks. A painted smile that never changed. Never faded. Never died. His long black-and-crimson coat drifted around him like torn funeral banners. Shadows flowed from beneath his boots. Not darkness. Something worse. The absence left behind after death. The emptiness between heartbeats. The silence after laughter ends. Across from him floated Moon. Weightless. Effortless. Beautiful. Terrifying. His white robes shimmered beneath silver light. Ancient runes drifted across the fabric like living constellations. Long black hair floated around him as though submerged beneath invisible water. And surrounding him Thousands of tiny winged fairies. White. Silver. Luminous. Each one no larger than a butterfly. Yet together they filled the heavens. An entire galaxy orbiting its moon. A celestial court gathered around its king.

The storm itself waited. The wind held its breath. Even the snow stopped falling. Then Matias laughed. A single laugh. Soft. Playful. Wrong. And the dead rose. Across the battlefield corpses jerked upright. Shadow wolves. Frozen soldiers. Ancient remains buried beneath glaciers. Hundreds. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Black strings emerged from the heavens. Thin puppet cords woven from shadow. Attached to every corpse. Every skeleton. Every forgotten death. The dead moved. Dancing. Twisting. Jerking. Like marionettes dragged across a stage by invisible hands. Broken limbs bent backward. Skulls turned impossibly far. Bodies moved without muscles. Without life.Without mercy. Moon watched silently. Then he raised one hand. The fairies answered. Silver light exploded across the sky. Thousands and thousands  of tiny wings unfolded simultaneously. The sound resembled snowfall. Or prayer. Or stars singing. The moon fairies descended. Not as soldiers. As light itself. They swarmed the corpse army. Tiny hands touched rotting flesh. Silver dust scattered. Moonlight spread.And wherever moonlight touched the puppet strings snapped. Thousands of corpses collapsed instantly. Lifeless once more. Released. Freed. Allowed to rest. The battlefield became a war between death and mercy. Fairies versus puppets. Moonlight versus graves.

Matias laughed louder. The corpse army multiplied. More dead emerged. More strings descended. Entire waves of corpses surged forward. An ocean of death. The moon fairies answered. Silver galaxies collided with darkness. The sky filled with swirling light. Tiny celestial beings darted between skeletal warriors. Their wings left glowing trails. Constellations painted across a battlefield.

Toivo stared from the frozen ridge. Speechless. Because it looked beautiful. Beautiful enough to hurt. Meanwhile the gods finally moved.

Matias vanished. No warning. No motion. One moment he stood upon the battlefield. The next he appeared directly behind Moon. The Death Scythe screamed. A weapon forged from nightmares. Its blade curved impossibly long. Black metal consumed light around it. Red runes glowed like fresh blood. The air died wherever it passed. The scythe descended. Moon didn't turn. His ribbons moved. white silken ribbons erupted around him. Moonlight woven into fabric. Living cloth. Divine silk. The ribbons intercepted the scythe. Metal met moonlight. Reality cracked. A shockwave erupted. Frozen mountains shattered. Glaciers fractured. Entire forests bent beneath the force. The Death Scythe pressed downward. The ribbons resisted. Neither yielded. Matias grinned behind his mask. Moon remained calm. The ribbons multiplied. Thousands became rivers. Moonlight fabric spiraled through the heavens like celestial dragons swimming through starlight. The ribbons wrapped around the scythe. Around Matias. Around shadow itself. For a brief moment the Jester vanished beneath moonlight. Then laughter erupted. The ribbons exploded apart. Black shadow poured outward. The darkness swallowed entire sections of sky. Stars disappeared. Moonlight dimmed. From the darkness emerged a thousand copies of Matias. Every reflection laughed. Every reflection carried a scythe. Every reflection moved differently. Nightmares. Possibilities.

The battlefield became a carnival of death. Moon closed his eyes. For a single heartbeat. Then silver light opened within them. Entirely silver. Living moonlight. The illusions froze. Moon saw through every lie. Every copy of Matias shattered. Only one remained. The real one. The ribbons struck instantly. Moonlight crossed the battlefield faster than thought. Matias blocked. The Death Scythe collided with divine silk. Again and again.

Scythe.

Ribbon.

Shadow.

Moonlight.

The two figures vanished and reappeared across the battlefield. Mountaintops. Frozen rivers. The sky. The clouds. Reality itself. Every collision birthed shockwaves. Every strike reshaped the landscape. The Death Scythe howled through existence. Moon's ribbons danced around it. Violence against grace. Death against beauty. Madness against serenity.

Matias spun. The scythe carved a crescent across the heavens. A wound opened in reality. Crimson darkness spilled outward. Moon answered. A white lotus bloomed. Small. Perfect. Radiant. The flower opened. Moonlight erupted. The crimson wound sealed instantly. The battlefield became silver once more.Matias stopped laughing. Only for a second.

Then the smile returned.

"Still cheating."

Moon's expression remained calm.

"You call healing cheating."

Matias tilted his head.

"Of course."

And then both gods attacked again. The heavens shook. The moon fairies blazed. The corpse puppets screamed. The Death Scythe devoured stars. The ribbons of moonlight wrapped around worlds. And beneath a sky split between silver and shadow the battle of gods continued.

The moment Nico broke free the battlefield exploded. With fury. The White King stood between Moon and Matias. Breathing hard. Silver eyes trembling. One hand pressed against his chest. The red crystal shard still protruded from the glacier armor above his heart. Cracks of crimson light spread beneath the ice. Like poisoned veins. Like bleeding memories. Like grief made visible. The mind control had not vanished completely. Eemil's magic still lingered. Still pulled. Still whispered. Still tried to drag Nico back into the past. But for one moment one precious moment Nico had won. His sword rose. The weapon appeared forged from an entire frozen sea. Silver-white crystal. Ancient runes. A blade longer than most men were tall. Frost drifted from its edge like ghostly breath. Wintermourne. The sword of the White King.

Nico pointed it directly at Matias.

"No."

The word echoed. Simple. Absolute. Matias stared. The smile painted across his mask remained unchanged. Yet somehow everyone could tell he was surprised.

The Jester tilted his head.

"You chose him."

Nico's grip tightened.

The answer came instantly.

"Always."

The battlefield froze. Even Moon looked surprised. The confession had escaped before Nico could stop it. The truth. The terrible truth. The truth that had built an entire kingdom. Frozen an entire continent. Destroyed centuries. Created Everfrost.

Always.

Matias sighed dramatically.

"Oh dear."

The Jester placed one hand over his chest.

"Now you've ruined everything."

His scythe appeared. Death itself took shape. A weapon taller than its wielder. The blade curved impossibly. Black. Silver. Red. The metal seemed alive. Faces moved beneath its surface. Thousands of them. Crying. Laughing. Screaming. Praying. Every soul Matias had harvested. Every death he carried. The Reaper's Scythe. Moon moved. Silver ribbons exploded around him. Hundreds, Long strips of celestial silk unfurled through the air. Moonlight woven into fabric. Stars sewn into every thread. The ribbons danced like dragons swimming through an invisible sea. Moon fairies erupted into motion. Thousands of tiny winged beings filled the heavens. Silver. White. Radiant. An entire celestial army. The corpse puppets answered. Every dead wolf. Every fallen monster. Every battlefield corpse. They rose. Black strings descended from the storm. Thousands. Puppet soldiers. Dead things dancing to Matias's laughter. Then war began. The moon fairies collided with the corpse puppets. Light against death. Tiny silver spears of moonlight pierced shadow bodies. Black claws tore through fairies. Silver explosions filled the sky. Entire constellations fought above the battlefield. The heavens became a storm of stars and shadows. Moon attacked. The ribbons struck first. Hundreds of luminous fabrics whipped forward. Graceful as water. Deadly as divine judgment. Matias spun his scythe. The blade carved black crescents through reality. Space itself split apart. Moon's ribbons collided with the darkness. The impact shattered mountains. Silver and black detonated. The sky cracked. Frozen peaks collapsed. The northern lights exploded into spirals of impossible color. Moon floated effortlessly above the destruction. White robes flowing. Black hair dancing through moonlight. Thousands of fairies orbiting him. Beautiful. Terrifying. Divine. Matias laughed. The Reaper vanished. Then reappeared behind Moon. The scythe descended. Death screamed. Moon's ribbons reacted instantly. A dozen silver fabrics intercepted the strike. The collision sounded like worlds breaking. Silver sparks erupted. Moon glided backward Weightless, Elegant. Matias pursued. Scythe. Ribbon. Scythe. Ribbon. The battle became almost impossible to follow. Two gods moving faster than thought. Death against moonlight. Shadow against purity. Ancient friends. Ancient enemies.

Meanwhile Nico moved. The White King exploded forward. Winter followed. Entire glaciers rose behind him. His sword carved through reality. A wave of frozen destruction surged toward Matias. The Jester blocked. Too late. The glacier smashed into him. Mountains of ice swallowed the battlefield. Frozen oceans erupted from the earth. Snow hurricanes screamed. The White King roared. Centuries of grief became power. Centuries of loneliness became strength. Winter answered its king. Thousands of ice spears filled the sky. An entire blizzard transformed into weapons. They descended. Matias laughed. The scythe rose. Death expanded. The frozen spears shattered. Yet Nico did not stop. He attacked again. And again. And again. Wintermourne flashed. Glaciers split. Storms erupted. The battlefield vanished beneath divine warfare. Moon joined him. For the first time they fought together. Moonlight and winter.Silver ribbons spiraled around Nico's attacks. Moon's fabrics guided glaciers.

The White King's ice became sharper. Faster. Deadlier. Moon's moonlight flowed through the frozen storms. Their powers intertwined. Not perfectly. Naturally. As though they had always belonged together. Matias saw it. the Jester stopped laughing. Because suddenly he remembered. Spring. Three boys. A world before betrayal. A world before gods. A world before war. And for one terrible moment Matias looked sad. Then the sadness became rage. The scythe screamed. Reality split open. An ocean of darkness erupted from beneath him. Corpses, Ghosts. Lost souls. Dead kingdoms. Everything Matias had collected across centuries. Everything he carried. Everything he had become. The battlefield darkened. Even the moon vanished. Even winter retreated. Only death remained. And standing against it Moon. Nico. Together. The Moon God and the White King. Moonlight and winter. The last fragments of a friendship that once changed the world.

The Jester was defeated, but the white king was still under the Shadow kings mind control

The storm still howled across the frozen plains. Ice still cracked beneath distant glaciers. The northern lights still danced above the world like wounded spirits trapped between heaven and earth. Yet compared to the chaos moments before the world felt still.

As though reality itself had stopped to watch. Moon stood upon a field of snow. White ribbons drifted around him. Living silk woven from moonlight and divinity. Countless moon fairies circled his body. Tiny celestial beings no larger than butterflies. Their silver wings shed starlight into the storm. Every movement left trails of luminous dust floating through the air like fragments of forgotten dreams.

The White King. Winter incarnate. His silver-blue eyes glowed through the blizzard. Platinum hair whipped violently around his face. Ancient glacier armor covered his body. Every piece carved from ice older than kingdoms. Runes glowed beneath the frozen surface. Blue. Silver. White. The colors of grief. The colors of memory.

The colors of a heart that had frozen long ago. For several moments neither spoke. Snow drifted between them. Crystal flakes. Beautiful. Fragile. Dying the instant they touched the earth. Just like dreams. Just like love. Finally Nico laughed. Softly. Bitterly. Painfully.

"You know what I hate most?"

Moon remained silent.

The White King smiled. The expression hurt to see. Because it wasn't anger. It wasn't hatred.

Only sadness.

"You never changed."

The storm swirled around him. Entire glaciers groaned in the distance. Yet his voice remained quiet.

"You still look exactly the same."

His silver eyes traced Moon's face. The long black hair. The pale skin. The silver eyes. The same eyes he had fallen in love with centuries ago. The same eyes he had betrayed. The same eyes that still haunted every dream.

Nico lowered his gaze.

"And I remember everything."

The confession slipped from him. Quiet. Honest. Broken. The northern lights reflected within his eyes.

"I remember the gardens."

A pause.

"The lakes."

Another.

"The yellow flowers, the dandelions, the berries."

Moon closed his eyes. The memories hurt. Even now. Especially now. Nico laughed again. The sound trembled.

"I remember how happy I was."

The words shattered something. Because happiness had become foreign to him. Something distant. Something mythical. Like summer. Like paradise. Like love.

The White King stared into the storm.

"I remember waking up excited to see you."

His voice grew softer.

"I remember wanting every day to last forever."

Snow gathered around his feet. The temperature dropped. Winter responding to his emotions. The way it always did.

"I remember feeling alive."

Silence followed.  Long. Heavy. Then Nico finally looked at Moon. Silver tears shimmered within his eyes. Not falling. Simply existing. Frozen.

Like everything else.

"And then I ruined it."

The words echoed through the storm. Simple. Honest. True. Not Eemil. Not fate. Not destiny. Him. Nico. He had done it. He had listened. He had doubted. He had betrayed. He had taken the purest thing either of them possessed and shattered it with his own hands.

The White King laughed weakly.

"Funny."

His gaze lowered.

"I stabbed you."

The storm darkened. The sky seemed to mourn.

"And somehow..."

His voice cracked.

"...I'm the one who never recovered."

The confession hung between them. Raw. Ugly. Real. Because betrayal wounds both people. The victim bleeds. The betrayer rots. Nico had spent centuries rotting. Century after century. Winter after winter. Building castles. Building kingdoms. Building glaciers. Trying desperately to freeze a wound that never stopped bleeding. Then his gaze shifted. Toward the distant ridge. Toward Toivo. The blond warrior stood far away beside Gret and Kev. Watching. Waiting. Praying. The White King's expression changed. Something ugly appeared. Not hatred. But Fear. Fear disguised as jealousy. Fear disguised as bitterness. Fear disguised as curiosity. Nico stared at Toivo. Then back at Moon.

And quietly asked:

"Does he remind you of me?"

The question froze the battlefield. Even the wind seemed to stop. Moon said nothing. The silence itself became an answer. Nico smiled. A broken smile.

"Of course he does."

The White King's eyes returned to Toivo. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Northern blood. The same homeland. The same stubborn courage. The same willingness to throw himself into danger. The same impossible devotion. The similarities hurt. Because Nico saw them too.

He laughed softly.

"Is that why you chose him?"

Moon remained silent.

Nico's smile trembled.

"Is he my replacement?"

The question came out smaller. More vulnerable. Like a frightened child. Like the boy hidden beneath the king. Like Nico.

Moon finally spoke.

Only three words.

"No one is."

The White King froze. The answer struck harder than any weapon. Moon looked at him quietly. The storm reflected in silver eyes. Not judgment. Not anger. Only truth.

"You were never replaceable."

Nico stared. Unable to breathe.

Moon continued.

"You were never forgotten."

The White King's knees nearly buckled. Because those were the words he had secretly wanted. For centuries. Wanted more desperately than forgiveness. More desperately than redemption. More desperately than love itself. To know he mattered. To know he was remembered. To know he had once been loved. Moon stepped forward. Snow melted beneath his feet. Moonlight spread across the battlefield. The moon fairies followed. A galaxy descending. A constellation approaching winter. Nico watched him. Helpless. Terrified. Hopeful. Moon stopped before him. Close enough to touch.

He was no longer Nico he was the White king again. The white king arrived like winter arrives like an ancient enchantment cast across the land, draping forests, mountains, and forgotten villages in a cloak of silver and white. Winter had always obeyed him. Tonight it remembered why. The battlefield remained silent long after Matias vanished. Snow drifted across shattered ice. Moon fairies hovered nervously above the frozen plains. The Frost Reapers stood motionless. Even the wind seemed hesitant. Something had changed. Toivo felt it. Everyone felt it. The White King stood alone at the center of the battlefield. His head lowered. His pale hair moved softly in the wind. The king looked calm. Too calm. Like a lake moments before breaking beneath a storm. Moon watched him quietly. The celestial god's silver-black eyes never left him. Because Moon understood. He knew exactly what was happening. The White King was angry. Not ordinary anger. Not human anger. The fury of an immortal. The wrath of a being who had spent centuries burying grief beneath ice. And now someone had touched old wounds. Very old wounds.

The White King slowly lifted his head. The northern lights dimmed. The temperature dropped instantly. Toivo felt frost forming across his armor. His breath crystallized. The snow beneath his boots froze solid. Then froze deeper. Then deeper still. Until the earth itself began cracking. A low rumble echoed across Everfrost. The sound resembled a continent breaking apart. Mountains trembled. Forests shook. Frozen rivers stopped flowing entirely. Then the impossible happened. The entire landscape bowed. Literally. The snow bent toward him. The wind bent toward him. The storm bent toward him. Winter itself knelt.

Toivo stared.

"What..."

The White King's eyes opened. They no longer looked human. No blue remained. Only silver. Brilliant. Endless. The color of glaciers. The color of dying stars. The color of a world trapped forever in snow. The sky darkened. The sun vanished behind storm clouds. The northern lights transformed. Emerald became silver. Silver became white. White became something older. Something primordial. The heavens themselves began freezing. The Frost Reapers immediately knelt. Every single one. Thousands. Their weapons lowered. Their heads bowed. Not from loyalty. From instinct. The way wolves submit to an alpha. The way mortals kneel before gods.

The White King spoke.

Only three words.

"I am tired."

The world froze. Literally. The distant horizon crystallized. Clouds became ice. Entire forests transformed into silver sculptures. The sea beyond the mountains stopped moving.Frozen solid. Toivo's blood ran cold. From awe. This wasn't magic. This wasn't power. This was nature itself obeying a king. A god of Winter. Moon remained calm. Yet even he looked solemn. Because the White King had stopped holding back. The White King took a step forward. The frozen plains exploded. Glaciers erupted from beneath the earth. Mountain-sized formations rose toward the heavens. Thousands. Millions. An entire kingdom of ice born in seconds. The battlefield disappeared beneath crystal cathedrals. Frozen towers. Silver spires. Ancient structures that looked less constructed than remembered. Like winter itself was recalling a forgotten age. The king raised one hand. And something emerged from the storm. Giants. Dozens. Hundreds. Colossal ice giants stepped from the blizzard. Each larger than castles. Each carrying weapons formed from glaciers. Ancient guardians. Sleeping beneath Everfrost for centuries. Awakened. The White King had summoned an army. Not soldiers. Legends.

Toivo stared speechlessly.

Gret simply muttered:

"By the gods."

Kev looked unusually serious. Which somehow made everything worse.

Moon remained silent.

The White King continued walking. Snow swirled around him. Not touching him. Orbiting him. Like moons around a planet. Like stars around a sun. The king looked less human now. Far less. Beautiful. Terrifying. Tragic. Like winter given flesh. Like loneliness given a crown. Like heartbreak made immortal. Then the White King looked north. Toward the distant horizon. Toward the Mirror Tower. Toward Eemil. Toward the past. His voice echoed across continents. Across mountains. Across oceans.

Across reality itself.

"Eemil."

The name shook the heavens. Snowstorms erupted across the north. Entire glaciers cracked. The world listened.

And somewhere very far away inside the Mirror Tower Eemil stopped smiling. For the first time in centuries. The White King continued.

"You wanted my attention."

A pause.

The northern lights became blinding. The frozen wilderness transformed into a sea of silver. The king's silver eyes shone brighter than stars.

"Now you have it."

Silence followed. Terrible silence. The kind that comes before disasters. The kind that comes before wars. The kind that comes before gods begin killing one another. Moon finally moved. He stepped beside the White King. Black hair. White robes. Silver eyes. Moonlight standing beside winter. The two ancient beings looked toward the northern horizon together. The sight felt mythological. The kind of scene future generations would paint. The kind bards would sing about for centuries. And standing among them Toivo suddenly understood something. The White King wasn't merely powerful. He wasn't merely immortal. He wasn't merely a king. He was one of the oldest beings in existence in Elyria. A creature who had frozen his own heart centuries ago. And tonight that frozen heart had begun beating again. Unfortunately for the world it was beating in anger.

Far away in the Mirror Tower a crack appeared across one of Eemil's mirrors. Then another. Then another. The Shadow King stared silently. And for the first time in a very long time he looked worried. Because winter had awakened. And the White King was no longer content to wait.