Young Writers Society

by @Featherstone & @soundofmind

White: the purest of all hues, a reflection of every color visible to the human eye, desecrated with silt and sand beneath the cloven hooves of four-eyed creatures only faintly reminiscent of the oryx and ibex and extending in its muted, frozen cloak from the icy road under the soles of his escort's heavy boots to a distant, ashen horizon. Upon the world's edge, three moons clung, dangling upon the precipice like tightrope walkers on a high demi-pointe, held only by thin, ragged threads that could snap and send the heavenly bodies crashing to a small and barely-hospitable world as its final amen. Through clouds, a sallow yellow sky was visible, the color of cream blocked out by rolling, distant, monotone dust. Even the air here was different, like one had climbed a mountain and stood at too high an altitude, every step lighter than it had to be on a larger planet.

Like the last tooth of some ancient skull ossified and frozen, a jagged structure rose from this barren waste. It was dark, even had it been set against some warmer hue, as if it swallowed every bit of light shone upon its surface, towering into low-hanging fog that devoured its silhouette. The place exuded an ancientness palpable even in the dry brumal atmosphere, palpable in every xeric breath and searing exhalation, as if every stone sung with the sublime and sanguinary song of everlasting seasons now turned white.

The man sent to escort Carter was almost human, just close enough to go unnoticed until one stared at him for too long and began to notice the subtle irregularities, like a face formed by artificial intelligence that couldn't quite master a mimicry of man. His irises were just barely too yellow; his teeth, a few degrees too pointed; his build, barely too thin to match his admittedly impressive musculature, like a cheetah on stilts. When he pulled his hood away upon entering the keep's gates, jutting cherrywood-colored horns spiked out of his umber curls, and a prehensile tail of the same hue wove out of his pant leg to hang loosely behind him, sheathed blade glimmering at its tip. The hound that had accompanied him came out of the interworldly shadows the size of a lion--larger, even--with a wolflike face and feline gait, something between a dog and a cat but vastly more terrifying than either one, even before his spectator noticed the fangs long enough to protrude from his jowls.

Monstrous, draconian creatures opened the double-doors to the castle, with meaty, scaled talons for feet and scaly skin blacker than coal, heavy skulls wreathed in twisted horns. The castle's halls were eerily silent, as if the darkness swallowed more than just light, but every voice that dared to defy it as well. Torches flickered in sconces far above, flattened by an interminable draft that danced over every brick and pulled at its sovereign's cuff like a playful lover.

None of this, however, was comparable to the throne room widening before the man of Nye.

Vast, vaulted chambers yawned into shadowed corners illuminated with grey sunlight through a barred window dominating the wall that opposed its entrance. Braziers, alight with luminescent, crackling embers, did nothing to warm this space--where it had been frigid before, now winter's teeth gouged into any unprotected skin like the serrated claws of some invisible beast--and the walls and columns were engraved with daedal depictions of deities and death. Dragons' wings unfurled and nonhuman creatures with two and four arms bowed before them; talons and teeth fell upon blades and bludgeons; magic rose and fell, and so too did the monsters that were nothing more than misty memory and lost legend but for the singular individual perched upon his throne.

The man standing behind him was pitched into shadow by the bloodied wings frozen in enthrallingly grotesque beauty and primal terror above the dais. Dark-skinned, wearing a long skirt and sleeved, white shirt, khopesh at his hip. His eyes all but glowed with distant red-gold. Next to the throne was another creature, this one not dissimilar to the canine-thing that had accompanied Carter: she was white, streaked with silver instead of black, but every bit as large as the other one, blue eyes meeting those of the newcomer's with intensity in the way that a hawk beheld a hare.

Of all these, it was the lanky form on the throne that demanded attention. The ice marbling the throne room's tiles thickened as it came up the dais and turned his seat the same color as snow, making his ivory skin cadaverously pale. Ebony hair was pulled into a tight ponytail at his nape and a heart-shaped countenance housed owlish black eyes sunken from his almost-emaciated gauntness, yet the sickly look of him was belied by the sharpness in his gaze and commanding quiet. He had no crown, bore no scepter, wore only a grey and silver suit absent of any elaborate adornment, but all here bowed to his absolute authority.

"Carter of Nye," the demon who'd brought him here announced and fell to one knee before his sovereign. The king looked down at him, languid in the slow speech that succeeded his subordinate's words, voice a low and legato tenor.

"Rise. Thank you for your service. You are dismissed."

Another bow, never once turning away as he backed out of the room with that russet-grey monster of a pet, doors clanging shut heavily behind him. Cornyx watched, waited until the last booming echo ceased, and then turned his attention to his guest with a smile that might've been friendly or malicious and there was no telling which one.

"Carter," the dragon king of Sukur purred, "it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

Cornyx's fearsome servants, towering palace, and commanding presence were all things he could only wish to attain. It was impressive, and wonderful, and everything he would've expected of Cornyx, for what he already knew of him - which, admittedly wasn't as much as he would like, but he did enjoy him immensely thus far.

Carter hid the excitement that was brewing in his stomach at being on someone else's world. This time was different than the others. He was here by choice. On invitation. He hadn't been dragged here by mysterious forces for whatever reason. He was here to dine with a friend. That would've been enough to make him smile stupidly large, but he chose to bow before the king, before doing anything else.

He took a knee, and as he lifted his head looked up to Cornyx with a warm smile, to which the severe chill of the room served as a poetic contrast.

That said, Carter wasn't miserably cold. He'd made sure to wear the furs and armor he would don in the harshest snowstorms of Nye, and that left only his head and nose pinched by the cold.

"The pleasure is mine," he said. "It's an honor to be here."

The king's breath condensed in the air, pouring from his nostrils like a dragon from Revelations, but here there was no lake of fire, no triumph of sin or salvation. His attention lingered on Carter, unblinking and almost reptilian but for that acute, underlying intelligence and deliberation that hung from his every mechanical motion. Yet, in spite of the long stare, he never once met the other's eyes. His spindly fingers moved in an upwards gesture indicating that the human was free to rise. The respect was more than Cornyx had expected, but he accepted it nonetheless: propriety and cordiality were important to him, and the fact that Carter extended the favor put him further into his good graces.

"I do hope the journey treated you well?" he asked after a few moments. His physical interactions were all long and drawn-out, perseverating each line and motion as if the cold had sunk so deeply into him that prompt action was as impossible for him as a serpent in winter's early morning.

While he spoke, he dropped his hand, resting the tips of his fingers on the hound's crown. The beast responded instantly, settling back onto her haunches and putting her head on her crossed forepaws, still watching Carter but looking less like she was contemplating eating him.

Ah, the journey. Carter recalled as one of Corynx's servants came and took his hand, pulling him through the void and almost instantaneously landing them in front of the palace gates. It was an experience like none other, that was for sure. He'd experienced few more abrupt transitions, but at least, this time, he knew where he was going. That was something to be grateful for.

His smile grew as he stood to his feet and looked back up at Cornyx, who, though he was steps above him, seemed like he would tower over him even on level ground.

That was a normal experience for Carter, but still. He always noted it.

"Oh, yes, it was just fine. Five-star service, really."

"Good, good. I am glad to hear it." He paused, eyes turning up to the dark figure at his back and speaking in this place's native tongue. "Gue'leshakah gral vish'tel." The guttural command rolled through his lips, and his subordinate dipped his head, then descended the dias and made his exit.

This done, the Winter King rose, drawing himself from his seat to tower at his full height. He was short compared to the draconian demons outside but those standards were incredibly skewed: against most humans, he was towering, and that air of authority he had about him only made him seem taller. He did notice Carter's height, and did not dwell on it. Auryon had been shorter still and that woman had taken a decade off his life in the time and effort he'd put towards her capture alone, much less keeping her.

He stepped down off the dais, taking all three steps in a single stride. His gait was reminiscent of the way a heron might walk: long, rhythmic, graceful in a rather jaunty way, like his legs were just a bit too lengthy even for him. The hound rose to trail behind her master, silent on the tiles. He gestured for Carter to follow, leading the way through another door and into the maze of passageways that made the castle up. To a newcomer, it was nearly unnavigable; to its residents, it was home.

"And what of Nye? Have things been well there?" he queried, turning up a stairway.

Carter joined Cornyx at his side and followed his lead.

"Things in Nye have been pretty quiet, really. Though I think what I consider to be quiet has changed since I've become aware of the existence of other worlds, there really isn't a lot to report."

He shrugged, and the fur-lined collar around his neck brushed his chin with warmth.

"I'll be honest with you. King Blackfield has been at death's door for a few too many years. No one likes to say it, but it'll be any day now before his daughter takes the throne. I think she'll bring a new perspective to things... she's more open-minded than her father, and less stubborn. Both good things."

He looked up at Cornyx. "Not many people know, but Blackfield has been sick for several years, and only getting worse. It makes public appearances more tricky, and nowadays, he doesn't really make them at all."

"But anyways, enough about the old and dying - I'm so intrigued by your home, here. It's quite beautiful."

King Blackfield: the sovereign Carter served and, evidently, didn't hold particular respect for. If he was so close to death, it seemed to Cornyx a perfect opportunity to sweep in and pick up the pieces, but perhaps that was why he was accused of being a vulture--which he didn't deny. Sure, he was a vulture, but it'd earned him his crown. What worked, worked.

He made some mental note of the king's condition, as he did most new information, then glanced back down to Carter. Beautiful? Now that was an adjective few people used in regards to Sukur, or even the White Empire as a whole.

"I'm glad to hear that you find Sukur...interesting. I can't say that most newcomers use either of those words for my white domain. 'Frozen hellhole' is the general interpretation," the dragon king mused, a hint of what might've been amusement lilting through his apathy, but it could've just as easily been a vocal undulation caused by his change in gait when he pushed through another door.

Carter scoffed. "A lot of people don't appreciate the cold, but if anyone lets that blind them from seeing the beauty of this place, it's their loss." He shrugged, and paused in his steps as the door opened before them. Yes, everything was icy, and on theme but that only felt right. It was befitting of Cornyx and the way he carried himself. The palace was a reflection of who Cornyx was.

Cold. Except what Carter knew of him - at least, from their small conversations, usually enjoying making fun of others, which was a worthy bonding exercise - was a little more warm than that.

Of course, Carter wasn't dumb. He knew how Cornyx was perceived by others. He could tell the moment he stepped foot on this world. He was a powerful king, and all of the boasts he made about his accomplishments were grounded in reality. There was always room for exaggeration, but it was clear that Cornyx was feared, and for good reason.

A part of him envied that kind of reputation. He was valued and respected in his own right, but so much of his energy was spent gaining trust and loyalty by affection more than fear.

The only thing about him naturally intimidating was his family name, and that only applied to the people of Nye. Everything else, he'd had to work for.

He looked back to Cornyx with a small smile.

"All that to say, I'm happy to be here," he said.