---
The snow fell like ash.
Silent. Constant.
Eryk walked ahead, his steps heavy, favoring his right side. Though Kalen had healed much of the bear's wound, some pain lingered—rooted more in the soul than the flesh.
Behind them, the woods had disappeared into a wall of white.
> "Everfrost lies beyond the ridge," Eryk murmured.
> "A city carved from glaciers and pride. They call it the kingdom of reason and cold… but there's fire beneath its ice."
Kalen said nothing. He was watching the wind.
He could feel something in it.
A ripple. A breath.
Not a threat… but not quite friendly, either.
---
As they crested the ridge, the vast frozen basin of Everfrost came into view.
Massive silver towers pierced the sky like blades.
Bridges of enchanted glass wove between cliffs.
Giant statues of robed kings stood frozen in eternal judgment.
And at the center, surrounded by aurora-lit spires, sat the Crystal Throne — where the King of Ice and Iron ruled with unflinching will.
Kalen's red eyes narrowed.
> "That place has teeth," he whispered.
---
The Ice Elves
A rustle in the snow.
Then a voice, soft as silk and cold as steel.
> "Most children your age fear the cold. You wear it like a crown."
Kalen turned.
Two figures stood at the edge of a snow-laced cliff, half-shadowed by mist.
Ice Elves.
Tall. Pale as frost.
Hair like moonlight. Eyes shimmering blue, like frozen rivers under starlight.
One was male — lean, armored in snowglass and white fur.
The other, female — robed, her fingers adorned with icestone rings that pulsed softly with mana.
Eryk tensed, stepping in front of Kalen instinctively.
> "We seek no trouble."
The male elf smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.
> "You bring it anyway. The wind told us."
The female's gaze settled on Kalen.
> "His blood is loud."
Kalen met her eyes.
> "Do you hear it scream, or sing?"
She blinked slowly.
> "Both."
---
Unspoken Recognition
There was a silence.
Not tense — more like recognition.
As if the land itself had paused, watching this moment with ancient interest.
> "I am Vaelirn," the male said. "Blade-Sentinel of House Vireleth."
> "And I am Serinya," the female added. "Voice of the White Whisper."
> "We were sent to observe… anomalies. Shifts in the snow. Red stars beneath the ice."
> "And here you are."
Eryk held Kalen's shoulder tighter.
> "My son is not your concern."
Vaelirn tilted his head.
> "Perhaps. Or perhaps he is everyone's."
---
An Offer of Passage
After a long pause, Serinya extended a gloved hand.
> "We will escort you to Everfrost."
> "We have no desire to take the boy. Not yet. But there are… things… that stir. Corruption wakes in places it should not."
> "And you are not the only ones walking toward the city."
Eryk studied her face, then nodded.
> "Then lead."
The Elves turned, gliding across the snow with unnatural grace.
Kalen walked behind them, silent, watching.
The snow shifted around his feet—not because of the wind, but because it respected him.
---
Far Above
In the tallest tower of Everfrost, a man dressed in robes of midnight silver stirred.
He stood before a mirror that reflected not the present, but the future's outline.
In it, a red-eyed boy approached the gates.
The man touched the glass.
> "So… the Red King walks," he whispered.
> "Let the city hold its breath."
--- Maraka – The Forbidden Wing
The scroll hissed as Maraka unrolled it.
He shouldn't be here. The Chamber of Echoed Thought was forbidden to all but scholars of the Ninth Circle. He was seven years old.
But dreams had brought him here.
No… visions.
Flames danced in the silver lanterns, casting strange shadows across the stone floor. The walls groaned softly with whispers, as if knowledge itself remembered every word spoken in this place.
He had found the symbol again and again in his visions:
> A crown of veins. A throne of blood.
And in an ancient codex, older than his empire, he found the words:
> "When the moon bleeds for nine years, the Red King shall rise. Neither salvation nor doom. A choice."
> "He who holds dominion over all that bleeds and all that's red."
Maraka's breath caught.
> "He's real…"
The flames flickered.
The shadows twisted.
And from the air itself, something folded into shape — a figure made of parchment, ink, and smoke.
Eyes glimmered from the void of a face made of written words.
> "You seek truth," it said.
"So truth has answered."
Maraka staggered back.
> "Who—what are you?"
> "I am Klein, Spirit of Knowledge," the entity said. "I was born when the first story was told. I have witnessed kingdoms fall for truths they were not ready to hold."
> "And now you seek him."
---
Klein's Warning
> "The Red King is no myth," Klein said.
"He is a scar upon history. A child born of freedom, which the world calls chaos. Blood answers him, because he is what lies before gods and after fate."
> "He is not good. He is not evil. He is... choice, given shape and hunger."
Maraka's voice trembled.
> "Is he the end?"
Klein leaned closer.
> "He is the beginning that ends endings."
And then the spirit's form began to unravel, its final whisper echoing through the archive:
> "Beware, young prince. Those who study the Red King... often become part of his tale."
The spirit klein chuckles trough the infinit.