*THE WHITE FROZEN CASTLE*
Snow falls in thick, silent curtains outside the White Frozen Castle—great drifts pile against walls of polished ice and white granite that gleam like bone under a pale, cloud-shrouded sun. The wind howls through spires sharp as icicles, carrying no sound but its own bitter wail. Inside, the throne room is vast and cold, with floors of black marble that mirror the frozen vault above. Torches burn with an unnatural blue flame in sconces shaped like twisted bones, casting long, dancing shadows that seem to move with wills of their own. Heavy draperies of white fur and dark velvet hang between pillars carved to look like frozen trees, and the air smells of frost, iron, and something ancient and sleeping.
From the massive arched doors at the far end of the hall, two jesters glide forward—Klemmen, tall and lean with a jester mask and wears a crown and a sharp grin, and Solène, her movements fluid as water despite the heavy bells that jingle from her pointed hat. They walk the length of the hall on silent feet, their colorful motley outfits stark against the castle's monochrome chill.
At the room's heart sits a raised dais, and upon the throne—a twisted construction of white antlers and frozen wood—rests a mysterious figure clad in form-fitting white royal leather. The material catches the light like snow, etched with subtle patterns that seem to shift and twist as one watches. Four more jesters flank the throne, each distinct yet unified in their sinister air:
Lewin, the shortest, with tight curls peeking from under his hood, wears a dark red tunic with a rounded collar stitched with delicate cross patterns. His mask has exaggerated, grinning features with vivid red accents around the eyes, and the cotton-linen fabric looks soft against his frame.
Behind him stands Steid, in a structured jester's jacket over a dark base layer—pointed hat ringing with small bells, trim in deep red and black, velvet and linen blending to give an air of both whimsy and menace.
Next is Sigismund, wrapped in a hooded robe of thick wool or felt that matches the others' color scheme. A skull-like mask covers his face, its hollow eye sockets seeming to drink the light, and faint decorative trim traces every seam of his garment.
The last, Thinnuete, wears a wide-shouldered cloak of dark red burgundy, its high cowl hiding most of their head. Their mask has stitched, mismatched features, and the fabric bears subtle woven patterns that catch the blue firelight.
Klemmen and Solène reach the dais and drop to one knee, bowing their heads low.
"Larry is now gone, my Lord," Klemmen says, his voice carrying clearly through the vast room. "As you commanded."
The White Lord's gloved hand rises in a slow, approving gesture. "Well done, Klemmen. As expected of the leader of my Six Fingers."
Klemmen lifts his head slightly, his painted smile never wavering. "No need for praise, my Lord—this was but a simple task, unworthy of such honor."
"Then I shall give you a task worthy of your skill and standing." The White Lord rises from the throne, and even beneath the leather and shadow, his presence fills the room. He gestures for the four waiting jesters to join Klemmen and Solène before the dais.
"I can finally feel it…" He draws a deep breath, as if tasting something on the air. "My Beast. Its presence grows stronger with each passing hour." He turns his gaze toward the frozen windows, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. "History will repeat itself—but this time, no dragons will stand in the way of the Primordial Beast's awakening."
Klemmen steps forward slightly. "With all due respect, my Lord—who is this worthy vessel you speak of? Who will bear the power you seek?"
The White Lord turns back, and though his face is hidden, a cold amusement seems to radiate from him. "You will know soon enough. He will come to us—inevitably. Every step he takes, every choice he makes… all according to my plan."
Lewin claps his small hands together, his mask's grin stretching wide. "As expected of the White Lord! Your foresight is unmatched!"
"Then what is your command, my Lord?" Klemmen asks, his tone sharp with readiness.
The White Lord's voice rings out, clear and final: "Eradicate every variable that threatens our purpose. Klemmen, Solène, Steid—I want you to invade Thullford. Do not return until you have disposed of the threat there."
Klemmen's eyes glint with understanding. "Her? As you wish, my Lord."
"Sigismund." The White Lord turns to the figure in the skull mask. "Travel to the Celestial Council Palace. I want you to eliminate someone for me—the Elder."
Sigismund bows deeply, his voice a low rasp. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
The White Lord turns his back to them, facing the frozen wall as if gazing through it to distant lands. "Do not fail me, my children."
In unison, Klemmen, Solène, Steid, and Sigismund reply: "Yes, my Lord." Then, in a swirl of motley and shadow, they vanish from the hall as if they were never there at all.
Lewin takes a small step forward, tilting his head. "And what of us, my Lord? Thinnuete and I—what task awaits us?"
The White Lord turns partially back, and a low chuckle echoes through the cold room. "I have something special in mind for the two of you…"
*Back into the Road towards Northern Mountain "
The sun hung low in a pale winter sky as their group crested a ridge, revealing the Northern Mountains rising stark and jagged against the horizon. Snow dusted the lower slopes, but higher up, great sheets of ice clung to granite faces like white scars. The ground here was rough and rocky, churned up by freezing winds that bit at their cheeks and slipped down collars.
"Whoa—hold up!" Ethan called out suddenly, pulling hard on the cart's reins. Sure enough, just ahead, the path narrowed to a steep, switchback trail carved into the mountainside—too narrow for wheels, with drop-offs so sharp you could barely see the bottom through the mist. "No way we're getting this heavy wagon up there. The wheels'd get wedged in every crack, and one wrong move…" He trailed off, nodding toward the edge.
Hythesion hopped down from the front, testing the ground with his boot. "He's right. It's no use trying to push it further—we'll have to walk the rest of the way."
One by one, the group climbed out of the cart, stretching limbs stiff from hours on the road. Akmenos cracked his knuckles with a wince; Maitara was already checking that her pack straps were tight; Geth ran a hand over the hilt of his sword, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air.
Bayron, though, stood staring at his two draft horses—their coats dusted with snow, steam pluming from their nostrils—as if he'd just been told he had to leave his own family behind.
"No, no, no…" he muttered, pulling a blanket off the cart to wrap around their necks. "My poor babies… I can't just leave them here!" His voice cracked slightly, and he buried his face in one horse's mane for a moment. The big animal just nudged him gently with its nose, chewing placidly on a mouthful of hay Ethan had tossed down.
Hythesion clapped him on the shoulder. "They'll be safe here, Bayron. There's fresh water in the trough just over that rise, and no predators in this part of land... Probably. "
Dale stepped forward, his golden eyes sharp and focused. "I want all of you to stay here," he ordered his men, pointing to a trio of soldiers who'd ridden with them from Silverlake. "Guard the cart, look after the horses, and if anyone comes snooping around—you know what to do."
The soldiers snapped to attention, saluting first Dale, then Hythesion. "Yes Sir!"
Bayron pressed his forehead to each horse's in turn, speaking in a soft, silly voice that made even Ethan crack a small smile. "It's okay, my sweet babies… Daddy's coming back real soon, okay? Be good for the nice guards, and I'll bring you back apples from the mountain valleys!" The horses just blinked at him and went back to their hay.
"Come on, big guy," Geth said with a grin, slinging an arm around Bayron's shoulders.
An hour later, they'd climbed high enough that the trees had thinned to stunted pines and bare rock. At a wide, flat clearing marked by the remains of an ancient stone archway—its carvings worn smooth by wind and time—Arkar held up a hand to stop them.
"Okay," he said, his breath forming clouds that caught the faint light. "Beyond this archway lies the deadliest part of the mountain."
To prove his point, he knelt and plucked a small blue mountain flower growing in a crack in the stone. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it through the arch. For a heartbeat, it floated in the air—and then it dissolved, crumbling into grey dust that was swept away by the wind before it hit the ground.
Ethan's eyes went wide. "Whoa… what was that?"
"It's not just the plague we need to worry about," Arkar explained, his voice grim. "There's an acid smoke that clings to everything past this line—corrodes flesh and metal alike. They really don't want any curious minds wandering up there."
Ethan kicked at a loose stone, frowning. "If they're out here collecting bodies for whatever they're planning, why put up something that'd destroy them too?"
Dale's ears swiveled as he scanned the path ahead. "Only means one thing—whatever they're hiding up there is bigger, more important than anything they might gain from more bodies. Something they'd protect at all costs."
Arkar stepped forward, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he began to chant—words in a language that sounded like stone grinding against ice, old and powerful: "Dlios, Sladeir, Alova, Fendross, Alumarksin, Keyeme…"
As he spoke, a warm white light began to glow at the center of each of their chests—faint at first, then growing bright enough to chase away the mountain chill. Hythesion felt it settle deep in his core, warm and steady as a live coal. He whispered to himself, "Ancient Holy Magic?"
Arkar's chant rose louder: "…Drakovis, Aknaya… angels of Vanessa, Guard us… Holy Faith!" He pressed his hands together in prayer, and in an instant, the light exploded outward—wrapping each of them in a shimmering white veil that clung to their skin and clothes before fading to nothing.
Hythesion ran a hand over his arm, surprised to find no trace of the light—but feeling a strange warmth all the same. "Impressive work, Arkar."
The dragonborn nodded, already moving toward the archway. "Now, no plague or acid can harm you." He turns his back and continued, "Let's go"
One by one, the group stepped through the archway—feeling only a faint tingle as the protective magic held firm against the acid smoke. But when Maitara moved to follow, an invisible wall slammed into her chest, sending her stumbling backward a step.
"Sir Hythesion!" she called out, her hand pressed against the unseen barrier as it shimmered faintly in the cold air. "I can't—I can't enter!"
Hythesion spun around and rushed back, reaching for her hand to pull her through. But the moment his fingers brushed hers, a sharp, gentle force pushed them both apart. He tried again, leaning into the barrier with all his strength, but it might as well have been solid stone.
"What's wrong?" Geth demanded, stepping back to study the archway with narrowed eyes. "Why can't she come through?"
Ethan frowned, rubbing his chin as he looked from Maitara to the stone arch. "Is it… because of Gannurim?"
Every head turned to him—confusion clear on their faces. Arkar stepped forward, his golden eyes wide with surprise. "Gannurim? What does the Dragon Lord of Chaos have to do with this?"
Hythesion let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Oh right—we forgot to mention. Maitara here is a warlock. She bears Gannurim's power within her."
Understanding dawned across Arkar's face, his expression shifting from shock to sympathy. "Hmmm… I see. That's why you joined this mission, isn't it? You're looking for a way to free yourself from his influence—to remove him from your life entirely."
The group exchanged surprised glances—they'd all wondered about Maitara's quiet resolve, but none had guessed the full truth.
Maitara's shoulders slumped slightly, her gaze dropping to the ground. "Ye—yes… how did you know?"
Arkar took a slow step forward, his voice soft with empathy. "No innocent child like you would choose to carry power like Gannurim's. It must be hard—sleeping with that weight, feeling his presence at the back of your mind. I'm sorry you've had to bear that alone."
Tears pricked at the corners of Maitara's eyes, but she blinked them back quickly, nodding in silent agreement. "Yes… you're right."
"I promise you this," Arkar said firmly, placing a clawed hand over his heart. "We will not leave this mountain empty-handed. We'll find answers yours as well."
Geth looked to Hythesion, his jaw tight with concern. "What do we do now, sir?"
Hythesion turned to Bayron, who'd been watching the scene with a worried frown. "Bayron—head back down to the cart and wait for us there. Take Maitara with you. Both of you stay safe, keep an eye on things, okay?"
At the mention of returning to his horses, a bright smile broke across Bayron's face—though he still looked concerned for Maitara. "You got it! C'mon, kiddo—my babies'll be happy to see me, and they're real good at keeping people company when they're worried."
Hythesion walked over to Maitara, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about us. We'll be back before you know it—and we'll make sure we find a way to help you."
With a final nod, Bayron led Maitara away from the archway, the centaur's heavy steps leaving deep prints in the diet as they headed down the mountain. Maitara walked slowly, her head bowed—but every few steps, she glanced back at the path leading up to the church, her face twisted with disappointment. As they rounded a bend out of sight, she let out a quiet scoff under her breath.
"Tchh…" she whispered to herself, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.
The climb grew steeper as they pressed onward, small pebbles crunching under their boots and tall grass over the rock. Ethan fell into step beside Arkar, breaking the quiet with a question that had been weighing on him.
"Gotta say—I'm surprised," he started, his breath puffing out in white clouds. "You're a devoted follower of Vanessa, yet you didn't even flinch when you found out Maitara has Gannurim's power inside her."
Arkar's scales caught the pale sunlight as he climbed, his movements steady despite the terrain. "Like me, Gannurim was a victim of false accusations. The chaos he's known for… it was never his nature—it was what they forced him to become." He paused, looking out over the frozen valley below. "Gannurim chose someone to help set him free, and the fact that your friend Maitara is with you on this mission for the pendant… it's no mere coincidence. All she wants is to not be tangled up in his fate any longer."
Geth, walking just behind them, let out a low chuckle as he clapped Ethan on the back. "Wow—ain't nothin' like the first impression from this stupid bard over here, who was ready to run her through the second he found out she's a warlock of Gannurim! Hehe!"
Ethan winced as Geth's hand landed heavy on his shoulder. "Hey, I was just being careful! Chaos magic ain't exactly something you mess around with!"
Arkar turned his head slightly, a small, understanding smile crossing his face. "Anyone would have reacted that way—I can't blame you. Anyone with a plain-minded view of things would act just as you did." He glanced at Ethan briefly. "No offense."
Ethan's eyes went wide as he looked at Akmenos, who'd been walking quietly beside them. "How is that not offensive?!"
Akmenos burst out laughing, slapping Ethan on the arm. "He called you plain-minded! Hahaha!"
Geth doubled over with laughter, nearly slipping on a patch of rock before catching himself on a rock. "Plain-minded! Man, that's gonna stick with you forever, bard boy!"
Arkar held up a hand to calm them, his voice earnest. "What I meant was this—you're a soldier who stands for good. When faced with a power tied to chaos like Gannurim's, your instinct is to fight it to protect others. That's honorable. But I've spent years studying Vanessa's book, digging into the truth behind our history. I understand first hand that things aren't always as simple as 'good' and 'chaos'."
Ethan crossed his arms, though a small smile was starting to tug at his lips. "Well… when you put it like that… I guess I can let the 'plain-minded' thing slide. This time."
After what felt like an eternity of climbing, they finally reached the mountain's peak. Before them stood a massive arcway—far older than the one below, its stone pillars thick with emerald moss and tangled with hardy mountain grasses that clung to every crevice. Beyond it stretched a vast, flat expanse of ground that looked as if it had been carved from solid white stone, polished smooth as a temple floor despite the years. Greenish wisps of acid smoke curled and danced just inches above the surface, hissing softly where they touched stray blades of grass or pebbles that had tumbled onto the plain.
"Stay low," Arkar whispered, dropping into a crouch behind a moss-covered boulder. "Just follow my lead and let me do the talking—we don't want to start a fight unless we have to."
The others nodded in agreement, hunching low as they crept across the edge of the clean white ground, keeping to the shadow of the arcway's pillars. They'd made it halfway across the plain when a voice—sharp as ice and carrying an evil laugh—rang out from high above.
"Such brave souls!"
Before anyone could react, a figure plummeted from the sky, hitting the ground with enough force to send small cracks spiderwebbing across the white stone. The creature that rose to its feet was unlike anything they'd seen—its head was sharp and angular, covered in gleaming white scales with spiked crests running from snout to neck. Bright blue light glowed from its eyes, casting an eerie hue across the smoke-filled air. Thick, shaggy white fur draped over its shoulders and chest, while a dark blue cloth was wrapped tight around its neck like a scarf. It wore layered gray armor with heavy straps, buckles, and textured panels—practical and rugged, built for battle.
A wide, sharp-toothed grin spread across its face as it locked eyes with Arkar. "Never thought I'd see your pathetic coward face here again, Arkar."
Hythesion tensed, his hand moving to his sword hilt as he leaned in to whisper. "Who is this guy?"
Arkar's jaw tightened, his voice barely audible. "Abe Whitefang. One of the strongest warriors in the White Order Church—maybe the strongest. He was trained by the elders themselves."
Abe let out a low chuckle, his blue eyes sweeping over the group as he circled them slowly, his movements fluid and predatory. The green smoke seemed to avoid him entirely, curling away from his path as if afraid.