Volume IV The White King
ARC II THE CASTLE OF ICE
Chapter 10 The First Conversation
Night fell over Everfrost. Auroras danced across northern skies. Silver. Blue. Violet. Their reflections shimmered across the frozen towers of the citadel. The palace slept. Or at least pretended to. Toivo could not. The image of the White King refused to leave his thoughts. The resemblance. The way he looked at Moon. The way Moon looked back. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Much more. Meanwhile far above the palace Moon stood alone upon a crystal balcony overlooking the kingdom. Snow drifted gently around him. Moonlight illuminated his pale skin. His long black hair flowed behind him like liquid silk. The fairies surrounding him floated quietly through the night air. None of them spoke. The kingdom below glittered beneath fresh snowfall. Beautiful. Silent. Ancient. Footsteps approached. Moon already knew who it was. The White King emerged from the shadows. Alone. No guards. No servants. No crown. Tonight he wore only simple white robes beneath a heavy fur cloak. For a moment he looked less like a king. And more like someone remembered. Neither spoke immediately. The years between them felt too large. Too heavy. Eventually the White King stopped beside him. Together they looked out across Everfrost. The silence stretched. Comfortable. Painful. Familiar.
Finally Moon spoke first.
"You built all this."
The White King nodded. Snow drifted across silver hair.
"Someone had to."
His voice remained calm. Yet something trembled beneath it.
Moon lowered his eyes.
"The forest."
A pause.
"The lakes."
Another pause.
"The mountains."
The White King smiled faintly.
"You remember."
Moon did not answer. The answer was obvious. How could he not? The silence returned. Then unexpectedly the White King laughed. A quiet sound. Gentle. Rare.
Moon looked surprised. The immortal king shook his head slightly.
"You still do that."
Moon blinked.
"Do what?"
"Refuse to say what you're thinking."
The fairies surrounding Moon brightened faintly. A small reaction. A familiar reaction. The White King's smile softened. And for a brief moment the centuries seemed to vanish. Moon remembered. A woodland. Long ago. Before kingdoms. Before towers. Before grief. Sunlight filtering through leaves. Wildflowers. Green grass. A young celestial lying beneath an ancient tree. Long black hair spread around him. Jet-black eyes reflecting the sky above. Beside him another boy. blond hair. Blue eyes. Watching him. Smiling. No crowns. No kingdoms. No immortality. Just two young souls staring at one another beneath summer skies. The memory arrived suddenly. Sharp. Painfully vivid. Moon immediately looked away. The White King noticed.
"You still remember."
Moon's expression remained calm. Too calm.
The White King's smile faded. Because he knew that look. The same look Moon wore whenever something hurt. A long silence followed. Then the White King quietly asked:
"Do you remember the river?"
Moon closed his eyes. The memory returned. A river valley. Sunlight. Laughter. Grass beneath bare feet. A first kiss. Awkward. Gentle. Innocent. The kind of moment that only exists once. The kind that feels eternal while it lasts. Moon opened his eyes again. Silver briefly flashed within the darkness. Then vanished. The White King's gaze lowered. Neither spoke. Because both remembered what came after. Not clearly. Not completely. Only fragments. Broken pieces. A battlefield. Blood. A night sky. Three shadows. A betrayal. Pain. Moon's hand unconsciously moved toward his chest. Directly above his heart. The White King's eyes widened slightly. He noticed. Moon immediately lowered his hand. Too late. The immortal king looked away. A shadow crossed his face. Regret. Ancient regret. The kind that never truly disappears. Snow continued falling. Soft. Silent. Merciless.
The White King finally whispered:
"I didn't understand."
Moon remained silent.
The king laughed bitterly.
"Perhaps none of us did."
A distant memory flickered. Four young figures. Together. Laughing. Traveling. A celestial. A wolf. A jester. A silent boy with blue eyes. Then darkness. A choice. A terrible choice. Power. Blood. Moon's expression tightened. Only slightly. But enough.
The White King's voice became softer.
"We were young."
Moon finally answered.
"We were not children."
The words struck harder than anger. The White King's shoulders lowered. Because Moon was right. Whatever happened they had chosen it.
The king looked toward the stars.
"The others still blame you."
Moon looked surprised.
A bitter smile appeared.
"They always did."
"Eemil especially."
At the mention of the name the night itself seemed colder.
The White King sighed.
"He tells himself you abandoned us."
Moon's expression became distant.
"No."
The answer came quietly.
Yet carried centuries of sorrow.
"I didn't."
The White King closed his eyes. Because somewhere deep inside he knew that was true. Moon had never abandoned them. Something else had happened. Something worse. Something neither of them seemed willing to speak aloud.
The silence stretched once more.
Then Moon quietly asked:
"How much do you remember?"
The White King smiled sadly.
"Less every century."
His hand touched the balcony railing.
Ice spread beneath his fingertips.
"I remember your face."
A pause.
"Your voice."
Another pause.
"Your eyes."
Moon looked away.
The king continued softly:
"And the feeling that I lost something important."
The words lingered.
Neither moved.
Neither spoke.
Far below Everfrost slept beneath falling snow. High above the auroras danced. Beautiful. Ancient. Silent. The White King finally looked toward Moon. For the first time that evening the ruler of Everfrost seemed tired. Emotionally. The exhaustion of carrying centuries. Of remembering too little. Of regretting too much.
"You should hate me."
Moon was quiet. The fairies surrounding him drifted lazily through the night. Then finally the celestial god answered.
"No."
The White King's breath caught.
Moon's expression remained gentle. As it always had.
"I tried."
The confession shattered something. For a moment the White King looked younger. Not a king. Not an immortal. Just a lonely soul standing beneath northern stars. Moon looked toward the horizon. Toward endless snow. Toward forgotten years. Toward wounds neither of them fully understood.
Then quietly said:
"Some things hurt too much to hate."
The White King lowered his eyes.
And for the first time in centuries neither knew what to say.
Far below unseen by either of them Toivo stood at a distant balcony. Watching. Unable to hear the conversation. Unable to understand. Yet somehow his heart still ached. As though the snow itself carried the sorrow of two people who had once meant everything to one another. And somewhere deep within the frozen north old memories continued to awaken. Memories of love. Memories of friendship. Memories of betrayal. And a night when Moon's heart had been broken. Not by enemies. But by the people he trusted most.
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