Far, far away, there sits a country that is always covered with snow, ice and cold the very lifeblood of the land. It lies upon the mountaintops, on every rooftop and threshold. It can be found resting on the ice coating the rushing rivers. One can even see it in the residents, in the white fur and grey eyes, the light pawsteps developed to avoid the sharp edges of frozen water hiding beneath the snowbanks.
The majesty of cold is hard to see unless you stand back from it and observe. There is an awesome sort of grandeur found in tall, chilled peaks, slopes grown over with evergreen trees, their needles hidden beneath white flakes and hanging icicles -- it is a cold and distant beauty, however, and completely unrelentingly harsh to those unlucky creatures attempting to brave the climate. Sparkling plains as far as the eye can see are gorgeous as long as you aren’t walking across them, while grey oceans teaming with silver fish can be painted but never swam in without risking death by hypothermia or frostbite. However, life still exists. A good deal of it, in fact. This fact is proven by the spirals of smoke pinpointing the locations of villages, by pawtracks in the snow almost everywhere even remotely habitable, by the boats and barges moving up and down the rivers that bump ice floes and debris to the banks. Most of all, of course, it is proven by the stunning sights of the capital cities of Clandon. The white walls and golden domes of Karenian. The massive tree-buildings of Golnen, trunks hollowed out to accomodate for the beasts of the Westerwind. The abandoned ruins of Santena’s Field and the Deadlands, relics of civilization before war and famine tore through Clandoran, wrecking the adjacent countries and even the land itself. The flat, yet elegant, structures that make up the Flatlands Residences. Most awe-inspiring, of course, have always been the deep, glittering caverns of the Diamond Falls, carved out by the strength of both natural and artificial forces. Found tucked away in what may be the most impenetrable fortress ever recorded in the world, a great distance into the Mountainous Lands, it is home to the Bear Empress herself. Halls and great rooms are dug straight out of the rock, and precious stones are set in the walls to make them glow. To the very back of the tunnels and passages, one can discover balconies set high in the cliffs overlooking the Whitecap Sea, Uncharted Waters, and even the Gi Ederqa’d Cürjza on a clear day. Notwithstanding its beauty, for those with a distinct aversion to a more arctic climate, a journey across the ocean might be necessary. Whilst it is true that the Plainsterritories of Clandon enjoy a more temperate set of seasons, they are so small in comparison to the rest of the continent that one has hardly walked into them before he has stepped out the other side. The same, obviously, goes for Therrenia and its weather -- the small island has hardly enough mass to sustain its own citizens. It might be easier, then, to simply cross the waters, for over the Whitecap Sea lies a second land, a second major continent. ***** This is Evergreen. Rather than ice cold snow and terrifying mountain peaks, it is filled with all sorts of things: green meadows, towering trees, birdsong, rivers, streams, bushes, flowers, deserts, hills, prairies, forests, tundras, jungles, and almost anything else that you could imagine, dear reader. It has snow, but not nearly as cold as that which falls on Clandon. It has dead forests. It has underground cities. It has hundreds and hundreds of creatures, birds soaring through the skies, squirrels in the woods, foxes, ermines, ferrets, weasels, rats, bears, wolves, and even the odd lizard or two. Otters swarm all over the southern islands, lush with vegetation and all sorts of life. Owls silently wing their way over the Tribune River in the north of Icelen. Snakes lift their heads beneath the full moon in the Ratlands of the western deserts, whilst timid hares and mice peek around the massive dead oaks of Darkroot. The climate isn’t nearly as extreme in the larger part of Evergreen as in Clandoran and East and West Clandon, so there isn’t much of a need for cities on most of the continent. Nevertheless, take a journey to the very center of the forest, and you will find “The City”, the single biggest collection of life in the entire world -- buildings stacked on top of buildings simply to make living room for the huge population. The palace itself, even, is absolutely crowded with creatures, because there’s nowhere else to go to live a good life. Unless, of course, you would like to take your chances living in one of the many small villages that dot the countryside and the forest, though these are more for those creatures willing to work with their own two paws to live at all. One could take a chance on life in the desert, though for water or food of any kind one would have to go to Darkhold, the largest and lushest oasis on the entire western peninsula that hasn’t already been stripped of resources, or go and scrape out a hovel on the banks of the Mudswell. However, this is not where our story leads us. Not yet, at the very least. Let me take you back to the Diamond Falls, on the eve of the Battle At Santena’s Field, deep inside the halls of the Empress. ***** “Wake him up.” A horrendous scream echoed through the halls of the Lord’s Mountain, only to be drowned out by the ever-present thundering of the falls at the gates. It was the cry of somebody in incredible pain, one being tortured in unthinkable ways. One on the brink of death. Bright One looked up toward the Mountain. He sniffed the air and twitched his ears. “Did you hear that?” he asked his older brother. Mountain Base grunted and shrugged his massive shoulders. “No,” he said in his low, rolling voice, and continued to drag the basket of ore up to the foundries. The young polar bear paused, then shook his head and followed his brother, tugging on his own basket of raw blacksteel as he did. It was tough work -- the basket was full to the brim, weighing about two hundred kilograms, and he was pulling it along rocky, uneven ground, uphill. “Ugh,” he groaned, as his paw scraped against a hidden stone in the snow. It didn’t feel too deep, though, so he kept moving. “Hurry up,” Mountain Base called back, his sturdy legs carrying him much more quickly than the younger cub could even run. He was so much stronger that Bright One, which was appropriate as he was a full seven cycles older than the young one, but Bright One still looked at him with admiration, as well as some envy. His older brother was not only the most powerful miner in the entire Imperial Tribe, but was also the strongest warrior in all of the Mountainous Lands -- he was one of the four Great Ones, the generals to the Empress, and at only seventeen cycles old, that made him a prodigy. Bright One set his shoulder against the harness and struggled to speed up. When he reached the foundries, Mountain Base was already on his way down to the mines for yet another load. “You must get stronger, ithiniel,” he said, using the old speech nickname everybody shortened the cub’s name to. Bright One puffed out his chest. “I’m getting bigger. I brought up one and a half times as much as I did last time you brought me with you.” Mountain Base shrugged. “Maybe,” he rumbled, and then started climbing back down the miners’ path. “You may get even larger than me,” he chuckled to himself. Bright One, of course, didn’t hear, as he was dragging his load into the nearest forgery. He set it down beside the entryway and leaned against the stone wall to rest for a moment. He took a deep sniff and smelled the comforting scent of smoldering metal and hot coals, the scents he’d been brought up to love as the youngest of a warrior family. He watched as the blacksmiths brought their hammers crashing down upon the heated chunks of ore. The cub heaved a sigh of longing. “Someday,” he murmured. His father, Stone Heart, was a blacksmith-warrior, and a Great One, as well as his father before him. Mountain Base had been drawn to the mines. Their father had been so disappointed . . . Bright One wished that his father had stayed behind to see the day that he would become a blacksmith like him. He’d been sent on ahead to the Fields of Darnell with one of the war tribes to fulfill the treaty with Old Clandon, and would most likely be gone deep into Clandoran for a few months. Their mother had died soon after giving birth the second time, which left Bright One in his older brother’s care for the time being -- in other words, in the care of the Empire. If only he could hurry and get older. At eleven cycles, each cub was considered an adult and was allowed to choose their path of labour and new name: miner warrior, farmer warrior, blacksmith warrior, pure warrior, or royal. Bright One would be eleven cycles old in twelve days. Mining and farming were quite common labour paths, simply because they were the most useful and best paying, as they were well suited to the body of a bear. Blacksmiths were always in high demand, of course, because of the skill required to become one. Most blacksmiths, like Bright One, had been brought up on the craft. Pure warriors were often one of three things: criminals, not allowed to participate in regular society so assigned to the military -- special cases, those individuals with exceptional talent for war -- or a member of one of the two war tribes, the Blackmountain Tribe and the Shore Tribe. The two were founded for the sole purpose of training in battle, and all of their cubs were raised on bloodshed and combat. Royals were born into it: they were those tasked with delegation between tribes, government roles, and scribework. They had the option to refuse the path of the royal, but . . . Who wants to give up the easy road? Bright One thought. “Ithiniel!” a voice shouted, snapping him out of his musings. He scrambled to a standing position and whipped around, looking for the source of the exclamation. Eagle’s Eye stood by the entrance. The old Master Smith nodded towards the door impatiently. “Did you not hear the summons?” he demanded. “The horn sounded. The Empress is calling, and you are simply lounging around in the smithies?” Bright One looked around. All of the other bears had already left the forgery. How had he not noticed? He dashed for the entrance, and Eagle Eye stepped aside with a stern glare to let him through. “Always off in his own world, this one,” the elder bear muttered to himself. ***** The entire Imperial Tribe was gathered at the falls, each bear standing with others of his or her path of labour. All of the young ones stood with their parents or siblings if they didn’t already know their path. Bright One stood close to the falls, in the shade of a rocky overhang, away from others. He had no parents to stand with, and Mountain Base was standing on the highest balcony with the other two Great Ones behind the Empress. Standing beside Bright One’s older brother, Dragon Claw shifted back and forth impatiently. He was the pure-warrior Great One, renowned for his ruthlessness and cold, chaotic temperament. On Mountain Base’s other wide was the eldest Great One, whose name was Grey. His silver fur was the only thing that betrayed his age. His muscular frame and the massive sword strapped to his back seemed to fit somecreature of a much younger generation. He had fought in countless tribal wars during the Rebellions, and had served as one of the Empress’ closest advisors for cycle after cycle; Bright One admired him the most of the three, for he was one of the blacksmith-warriors. The Great Ones were impressive, but Bright One could only look at them for a few short seconds before his eyes were drawn to the sovereign herself. To call Empress Jade Eyes beautiful would be a severe understatement. To Bright One, she was the absolute pinnacle of elegance, the summit of everything majestic and lovely. Her perfect white fur stood out against the rough black crags of the mountain behind her, and her piercing green gaze seemed to look over every single bear below her and see into the innermost places of their souls. The only decor or ornamentation that adorned her was the simple silver circlet on her brow, with one diamond set in the very center of it. She was, quite simply, royal. She watched quietly, until no more bears were filtering into the valley of the falls, then raised a single paw. A hush fell over the tribe. The Empress then gestured towards Grey to come forward and speak. The Great One took a step forward. He spoke. “Our war tribe has returned.” His low, powerful voice carried out over the crowd of creatures there, sending them into convulsions of whispers and murmurings. Bright One smiled. Father is home! Grey cleared his throat, and they all went silent again. “We entered this country that we have been paid to invade, and encountered, by sheer luck, the king himself, along with two others,” he said slowly. A roar of victory erupted from the grown warriors who were listening, and the cubs joined in with whatever degree of snarling and growling they could muster, but Grey shook his head, and the cheers died off. He paused, then added, “We were driven out.” The silence that followed his statement was deafening. Grey waited another moment or two, then continued. “They were much more powerful warriors than anticipated. According to my brother-in-war, Dragon Claw, they did, in fact, use magic, as our allies in Old Clandon warned us. The king and a young fox, who we assume is his son, managed to inflict thirty casualties on their own, before escaping to their city. Among these fallen were Armored Paw, Strong Heart, Fir Tree . . .” Grey continued to list name after name, new wails of mourning greeting him at every one from among the tribe gathered there. Bright One leaned against the rocks, thunderstruck. We were defeated? When Grey had finished, he bowed his head and stepped back as cries of anguish echoed throughout the valley. Dragon Claw stepped forward, dragging something behind him. “The third was a wolf, black as midnight,” he cried. “His strength was almost not of this world, and without magic or anything but a sword -- a sword of our making! -- he managed to slay twenty of our warriors!” He was shaking with fury and bloodlust, his voice almost a roar as he lifted the thing he’d been dragging. It was the carcass of a massive, dark wolf, but mangled almost beyond recognition. “We captured him, barely alive, but he would not tell us anything!” The Great One threw the carcass down to the pure-warriors. “Feast on his flesh!” The savage ferocity with which the warriors tore into the broken body of the wolf almost made Bright One vomit. “Those that fell at his paw are these!” Dragon Claw continued. Then followed another list of names, another series of screams of sorrow and outrage. One after another, until Bright One almost couldn’t bear it anymore. He was only listening for one name. “. . . and the Great One, Stone Heart!” Somebody screamed, a howling shriek of pure grief. Bright One thought it might be his brother, but Mountain Base was completely, soberingly still. And the young cub realized that the desolate keening was tearing from his own throat. ***** Mountain Base heard a knock at the stone wall of the entrance to his personal cavern. “Come in.” “He still hasn’t come out.” It was Eagle’s Eye. The Master Smith had been assigned care of Mountain Base’s younger brother ever since the news had come back about Stone Heart. “How long has it been?” “One hundred and sixteen days.” Eagle’s Eye sighed, and at Mountain Base’s invitation, took a seat on a nearby pillow, folding his tired paws beneath him. The Great One took a seat across from him and put a paw to his eyes in exhaustion. “Must his mourning carry on for so long?” Mountain Base’s tears had dried up days ago, and though he shared in his brother’s grief, there were things to be done, battles to be fought. Bright One had been due to choose his path and his adult name one hundred and four days ago, but he was allowed to postpone it because of Stone Heart’s death. However, it was getting late, and not many Path Masters would be willing to take him at this point. “He is still young,” Eagle’s Eye argued. “He may need more time than you, my lord.” “Still.” Mountain Base shifted his weight in frustration. “At least, you might convince him to leave the cavern for a day or so. For his own good.” “Perhaps.” Mountain Base leaned back, then nodded towards the table of food beside them. “Eat.” “Thank you, my lord.” Eagle’s Eye picked up a piece of salted fish and began to chew thoughtfully. “How go things in our campaign against Clandoran?” he asked once he’d swallowed. “Well enough . . .” Mountain Base gently picked up a slice of melon between two of his front claws. “The king and his son have remained tucked away within their city, so reaching deeper into the land has not been very difficult, particularly with the old dotard’s help.” “You might do well, my lord, to . . .” Eagle’s Eye started, but withered under Mountain Base’s severe stare. “Might do well to what, my good Master Smith?” Mountain Base asked calmly. He waited, but Eagle’s Eye lowered his head. “To speak of our allies in a less disrespectful manner, perhaps? I will do no such thing. Claatral is merely an ancient relic of the past with high aspirations, too high for his age. We’ll use him for the resources he can provide us, then abandon him.” “And -- well . . .” “Speak.” “The Empress agrees with this plan?” Mountain Base covered his muzzle to yawn, then lounged against the cushion with a quiet look of concentration on his face. “It was hers to begin with.” Eagle’s Eye looked up in surprise. “Really? That’s rather ambitious of Her Majesty,” he mused. “War for the sole sake of business --” “Not for the sake of business,” Mountain Base interrupted. “I’m sure you are, Master Smith, aware of the other tribes’ needs as it comes to land, and food?” “Of course, but --” “And you are aware of the dwindling supply of farmland since the famine struck the coasts and farmers were forced up into the mountains?” Realization dawned in Eagle’s Eye’s face. “She’s doing it for the other tribes,” he murmured, placing a paw on his chin in thought. He looked back up. “She is a good ruler.” “Indeed.” Mountain Base bowed his head. “May she live long and well.” Eagle’s Eye bowed his head in response as they both honored their Empress. After a moment, Eagle’s Eye stood up. “I will do what I can to convince him to leave his chambers, my lord,” the older bear promised, and bowed to the floor once more. Mountain Base bowed in return, and the Master Smith turned as if to leave. “Eagle’s Eye.” He turned to see Mountain Base holding out a paw. In it was a simple iron charm, strung about a long length of cord. It was round and flat, and impressed upon it was the likeness of a young bear raising his paw to strike in battle. On the bottom was written, “Harnya.” Eagle’s Eye’s eyes widened. Mountain Base nodded. “Give him this, and tell him to come see me after he’s spent a day outside of his cavern.” He paused, then added, “Don’t tell him what it means.” The elder bear hesitated, then nodded rapidly and exited the room. The Great One released a long breath and went back to the pillow and laid down. “Oh, ithiniel,” he murmured. A single tear managed to roll out of his eye. “I miss him too.” ***** “No.” “Please, ithiniel, just open up,” Eagle’s Eye begged. He continued knocking on the large flat stone blocking Bright One’s quarters’ entrance. “Your brother sent a gift.” “I don’t want his gifts.” Bright One shoved the door aside and glared at Eagle’s Eye. “Tell him he can keep it.” He looked awful. Tear stains matted his fur to his face, and the dark circles visible under his eyes told of countless nights lacking in rest. He was barely standing. Eagle’s Eye held out the medallion. “I am under orders to give this to you, and to tell you to go to the Great One’s, your older brother’s, chambers after spending a single day away from your chambers.” “I said no.” Bright One wiped at his eyes and started to close the cave entrance again. Eagle’s Eye’s paw stopped the stone from rolling back into place. “Please, young one. Your brother is grieving too . . . just do him this one favor,” he said softly. Bright One wavered for a moment, then sighed, stepped out of his cave and took the medallion in his paw to look at it. He turned it over in the light of a nearby torch. “What is it?” “No idea,” the older one lied. “He just said to give it to you.” The cub turned it over once more, then slipped it around his neck with a sigh of resignation. “Fine.” He started walking down the hallway towards the gates of the South Caverns. “I’ll be outside,” he called back gruffly (or, at least, as gruffly as his young voice could allow). Eagle’s Eye exhaled in relief. Now, all he had to do was watch his charge. Of course . . . there might be time for a quick bite to eat first. The bear turned around to make his way to the kitchens. In all fairness, it was nearly breakfast. Bright One stopped by the washrooms on his way out, great big caverns with streams of water running through them and large sheets of polished glass hanging from the walls to act as mirrors. He bent down to take a drink, but stopped when he saw his reflection. “I look awful,” he muttered, and instantly dunked his head in the nearest hot spring, scrubbing at his snout and eyes with one paw. He came back up to shake his head dry. “Harnya.” It sounded strange when he said it out loud. “I wonder what it means.” “Who’s there?” called a voice from another part of the washrooms. Bright One jumped up from the spring, startled. “Speak up now, who’s there?” the voice repeated. “Come over here where I can see you.” Bright One made his way over to the source of the questions, but stopped when he saw Grey, the Great One, drying himself off against a towel. “Ah, the younger one,” the old bear chuckled. “Finally decided to come out of your hole?” Bright One instantly felt resentment towards the casual tone that Grey took. “What’s it to you, greyfur?” he asked, turning up his nose slightly. “Mm. Angry, aren’t you?” “Oh, leave off.” Bright One spun around to leave the washrooms. Grey snorted. “It’s almost like you don’t deserve that necklace.” Bright One stopped, then turned, a confused look quite evident in his eyes. Grey raised his eyebrows. “Oh, he didn’t tell you what it means?” he mused. “Well . . . if he didn’t, there’s no reason for me to.” Bright One gave him a furious glare, and departed in a mere few seconds. He was out of the caves and in the valley now, breathing in the fresh mountain air, but he didn’t pause to admire the peaks and snow, instead turning around and climbing up towards the summit of the one that he had just come out of. The Imperial Mountain. “Old fogey,” he hissed, thinking about Grey. “Toying with me like that . . .” How dare he! How dare that old greyfur treat me like that! The cub made his way steadily up the mountainside. Nobody can see me. Nobody feels what I feel. Grief has a funny way of giving way to fury when left unbridled for too long. Unbeknownst to Bright One, it was already eating away at his heart and mind, devouring him from the inside out, a special kind of blackness that betrayed the young one’s very name. It usually seethes, just beneath the surface, and waits to show itself, but an opportunity to release itself was to be revealed sooner rather than later. The very peak of this particular mountain was the highest in the entire range, but was in no way the most dangerous. However, because of its sheer scale, most were too afraid to even consider coming all the way up, and generally tended to avoid it. Stone Heart had taken Bright One up here when he was but four or five cycles old. It had always been a special place for the cub, and had always managed to calm him before, when he was feeling grief at his lack of a mother, or at the passing of his grandfather. Yet today, it would not have the same effect, for it was not abandoned as usual. In fact, it was rather crowded for such a remote spot: six or seven young bears, all about the same age as Bright One, were wrestling and laughing uproariously on the same rock that Bright One usually sat on. “Aww, Fox, leave it alone!” one chuckled, as the two main wrestlers kept fighting. “No!” one of the wrestlers, presumably Fox, shouted. “This idiot -- oof!” He gasped as the smaller bear drove a paw into his stomach. “And that’ll teach you to call me short,” the victor said decisively. He strode off the rock with a swagger in his step as the others all cheered and applauded. Fox rolled over to look at his opponent, but then looked past and saw Bright One. “Oh, look who it is!” He gave a snicker. “The little shutaway.” Bright One stopped walking and went silent. “Heh, doesn’t he still have his cub name?” the smaller bear from earlier added. The others started laughing amongst themselves. Bright One turned around and started to walk down the mountain. “Hey, wait a minute.” Fox gave a growl, the deepest Bright One had heard from a cub yet. “Don’t turn your back on me. “You little bastard.” Bright One froze. “Woah, now, Fox. That’s a little much --” the smaller one started, but Fox cut him off. “Shut it, High Crag.” Fox took a step towards Bright One. “This little bastard’s father couldn’t even beat a little wolf. I’d be pretty ashamed if I were this kid.” He chuckled sardonically. “Imagine being the orphan bastard who had that failure as his family.” Something in Bright One started to bend. All of that blackness began to boil to the exterior as he slowly turned to face Fox. “What did you call him?” Fox hesitated, but then looked at his companions and gained a surge of confidence. He lifted his head and stared down at Bright One. “A failure,” he restated proudly. The something snapped. ***** High Crag scrambled down the mountainside, sobbing and tripping over his paws. He slammed into the ground in front of the cavern entrances, screaming like a madbeast as he dashed inside. “He’s gone mad!” he screeched, tearing down the hall, deeper inside the mountain. Further in, Mountain Base heard. And smiled.
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