SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Ice Heart

All was dark inside Nawhasou. The fissure that led to the centre of the world was covered with shadow. No lights glinted off the polished onyx and jet floor slabs, chequered to be matte, then glossy, matte then glossy. Nor did any brightness reflect down from the many faceted faces of the walls, nor was it absorbed by the greedy power of the black diamond throne on which the source of Darkness sat.

Alone, except for the never wavering presence of Noctis by his feet, Nawaquí sat slumped forward on the seat, fingers clenched in his hair, faced buried in his hands. Self-loathing drenched him with guilt and questions, so many questions. Where had these emotions come from, these feelings, these actions and unexpected consequences? For all his life and existence he had loved but one woman; Maskaoí. She was his world, his reason, his choice and his breath. His heart beat to the sound of her name, his darkness danced to the music of her call; a call which would not come. She was his all and his everything. Yet she was not his.

Why now did something come along to threaten that well worn obsession; the love that changed with every breath from longing to loathing? The emotion and pattern that had defined his life, altered his existence and coloured his choices. That left him weak, yet made him strong with every moment he went without seeing her, hearing her voice, knowing her mind.

Until he had met Her. Who was this strange woman who had freed the innocence of his heart, which he had long since presumed dead? Or at least hoped. In her simplest movement she had roused the desire to nurture and protect, something that not even his own children had succeeded in doing. He had felt it for his grandson, but never acted upon it. Had never allowed himself to show such a weakness of emotion, to let his heart overrule his mind. With Blitz - Luimá - he had been given no choice; she had drawn these actions and emotions out of him without even trying. Most of the time she was trying to push him away, yet he could not release her, and perhaps that was how she had succeeded so successfully in snaring him. The web was tight about him now, and he could find no reason why he should let her go. Why he shouldn’t give into these feelings that were telling him to go back? Go back now, plead forgiveness, live a different life.

It had crept upon him so stealthily, mixing with his head telling him what he wanted, how to get it, why he had to tie this woman to him. All the time had it merely been his heart creeping into his perception to drive him to this dark, jagged brink of despair? Was this just a bid to send him mad again? Was the last time not enough for his strange and twisted conscience? Did it plan to enact revenge on the man who could not, would not, feel? Or had love finally decided it was time to claim him for its own?

It would not last, of that he was sure. Nothing sweet, pure and innocent ever did around him, and he was certain that this strange, unlooked for love would go the same way as everything else. Only three emotions were allowed to fester about his person: anger, at the poor way he had been treated; resentment at all that had been denied him, including Maskaoí and her love; and jealousy. That was the one that burned strongest of all, and one name that he hated above all else: Shaiel. Even now, simply thinking that name had the power to loosen the guilt he was currently feeling, bound so tightly up with his obsessive core.

Yet the guilt still remained. Somehow the sweet, gentle way in which the childlike Luimá had coaxed him into dancing on the roof, in the midst of a storm, had burrowed like a burr into his heart. All he had to do was stand still long enough for it to fall out again. That was all. Then it would be over.

But how?

Footsteps echoed in the empty, cavernous hall, and he looked up. Through the darkness, his emerald eyes searched and discerned the figure, seeing how the tiniest measure of light reflected on her white, white hair. He smiled. Here was the answer to all his problems.

“What can I do for you, Icaenó?” he inquired, allowing some of his shadows to fall into the abyss, and let light once more into his hall. Not all had eyes as adjusted as he.

“Riésa sent me to look for you. He hasn’t seen you for almost two weeks, and not really talked to you for almost three months. He was worried, we both were. Is - is everything all right?”

Softened by the painful emotions Luimá had roused inside of him, he felt touched by her concern, and hurt by her reticence in coming any closer. Did she expect him to hit her that much? To be cruel, to lash out, burn her with his words, punish her in someway? Hand her the opal? Sadly, he reflected, she probably did, and with just cause. He smiled softly, ruefully, at himself and his need for the destruction of all those around him. “Can I ask you something?” he wondered.

“Anything,” she replied, slightly wary, yet unable to deny him.

“Your powers,” he began, his mind wondering if it was doing the right thing, “how strong are they?”

“As strong as I need them to be,” she answered, with no small measure of arrogance creeping into her tone.

“So, if I asked you, could you freeze something for me?”

“What kind of something?” she asked carefully, her thoughts clearly working feverishly, not wanting to let him down.

“A person.”

She blinked. “I - I don’t know, I’ve never tried it. Won’t it kill them?”

He smiled again, his eyes glinting as he felt a small sliver of his old malice igniting within his heart. “Afraid of a little bloodshed, Icaenó?”

“No,” she replied too quickly, and he laughed softly.

“I forget, you never have been one to get her hands dirty. Then again, you’ve never really needed to. There was always someone else around to do it for you.” He dropped his hand to brush the menacing head of Noctis, resting against his leg.

“I can do it.” Her defensive tone made him want to laugh again, but not unkindly. She was like a stubborn child being dared to do her worst nightmare, too proud to back down.

“I am sure you can, Winter’s Child, but I do not want you to kill anyone. Not yet. Though I will keep your eagerness in mind for later, perhaps.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “But I’m not sure I could freeze someone over, and not kill them. Their body would not be able to cope.”

“No,” Nawaquí nodded in agreement, “I don’t suppose they would survive it. But I’m not asking you to freeze someone.”

“Then what are you asking?” she demanded, faintly exasperated rather than afraid.

“I want you to freeze me.”

~ ~ ~

Pacing the main hall of Nawhasou, he couldn’t help but wonder, time and time again, if he was doing the right thing. Icaenó’s reaction had been predictable; shock, outrage, even indignation. That had been followed by the expected rush of questions; why? Why? Why? He hadn’t answered, after all there really wasn’t much need. She could read it in his eyes.

The harshly demanded words still echoed through the hall, slowly making their way to the roof, continued to whisper accusingly inside his mind.

She knew he was lying, he could see it in her eyes, a reflection of what she could read in his. She’d always known him better than anyone else. Then again she was the only one who had really been allowed access to Nawhasou. The first of the Aekhartain that truly chose to stay with him, the first that was really his. Even Noctis trusted her. She might fear this Master of Darkness most of the time, but that had not stopped her from being an individual, and sneaking a small pearl of understanding from his closed persona. It was unsettling to know that she knew him that well, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

He had sent her away to fetch Riésa; they had to talk before anything happened. Who knew how long he would be frozen for, he could not tell, he only knew with growing certainty that it was the only thing he could do to free himself from this wretched guilt.

“Define yourself by your actions,” he told himself, pacing across the abyss and back again, aware of Noctis’ worried eyes following each and every one of his movements. “Make no choices that you will not see through to the bitter end.” And he would; this was one crazy, strange, baffling choice that he would go through with. No one would stop him.

The scuff of a shoe on the onyx slabs drew his attention, and he smiled to see Riésa’s utter confusion. “Come with me,” he called, marching across the great expanse of floor to where his grandson waited for him. Noctis, his ever present shadow, loped across the floor to hug his heels. “We must talk.”

Riésa followed his grandfather in silence, shooting Icaenó a confused look at they passed, but her eyes were fixed on the floor. She seemed nervous and saddened, but had refused to tell him what any of this was about, simply that Nawaquí wanted to see him now. Not later, not in two minutes’ time, not tomorrow, but now, this very instant. Yet he had no idea why. Trepidation crept through his body as he followed the winding path his grandfather took through the hallways of Nawhasou, going ever higher towards the pinnacle of the tower, closer to Nawaquí’s private chambers, which he permitted no one to enter.

Curiosity tried to gain a hold on Riésa’s mind as he walked, but he was too worried, unsettled and even frightened, by the various possibilities that prowled across his imagination, to feel anything else. Whatever was going on, he simply wished someone would tell him soon, just so he could know what he was supposed to be feeling.

Instead he had to watch Noctis pace beside Nawaquí, the darkness itself seeming to pour from beneath their very feet. They were taking him to the edge of the world, he realised, to the boundaries of time, beyond human thought and perception. He only hoped they would bring him back. The hallways he walked might seem familiar, but in that moment Riésa could have sworn they were a lost labyrinth, full of peril and confusion.

Nawaquí walked along a short corridor, straight towards a dead end wall that would have made anyone else turn back. Not he. The Aekhartain of Darkness had long perfected his illusions to guard the ways and secrets of Nawhasou. With sure steps he walked right through the barrier, and Noctis vanished just as quickly. Even though he knew it was an illusion, that there was not a real wall there, Riésa had to shut his eyes as he stepped through. No matter how much logic told him it was a simple trick of the light, his eyes were telling him, walking into walls hurts, don’t do it! Don’t! Yet he knew that the slightest hesitation would be seen as a weakness on Nawaquí’s part. Best not annoy him too much, Riésa thought grimly. After all, he had yet to be told what this whole thing was about.

Nawaquí smiled faintly, hearing the tiny falter in his grandson’s feet as he crossed through the wall; illusions had never been his thing. Perhaps it was due to the whole clear as day sayings. Daylight was not a time for illusions and mind tricks, that was evening, dusk, night and darkness. It amazed him often that his grandson still stayed with him; what was there to hold him here? This place of Darkness and hidden meanings. Whatever it was mystified Nawaquí, but pleased him too. Nawhasou was a lonely place before the others had come.

Without ceremony, they were suddenly at a door. Riésa hovered nervously as Nawaquí touched his fingertips to the handle, muttered strange words beneath his breath, and opened it. He didn’t turn around and invite Riésa in, just assumed he would follow, as he moved to coax life out of the fire.

Riésa did follow, cautiously, his eyes trying to take in everything, yet nothing, all at once. He might never again be invited into the inner sanctum of his grandfather, and did not want to miss his one opportunity to try for a deeper understanding of the man who ruled his life. It was dark, as were all the rooms within Nawhasou, with a huge fireplace, almost six paces across, with the mantle looming up and around it. It looked like a great mouth, complete with gothic iron work, making it appear to be the head of some monstrous beast, teeth, eyes and all. Nawaquí knelt before the fireplace, as though paying great homage to the creature, offering wood to placate its hunger.

Shuddering at the thought of what would happen should the massive jaws drop down, Riésa turned away, gazing at the fittings of the room. A walnut sideboard was against one wall, with clear, unadorned crystal decanters lined up along it, glasses like soldiers huddling beside them. The floor was polished jet, a long, emerald rug stretching across it, bringing warmth to the otherwise oppressive dark of the room. Two chairs faced each other before the fire, but why, Riésa could not guess; who did Nawaquí ever have to talk to? The rest of the room was blank, a long mirror yawned across the top of the mantle piece, and a dark wood table was set up beneath the window, which was blocked by thick, heavy shutters. There was no decoration, nothing that did not serve a purpose. All was dark, black, bleak even. No clues to the man who lived his life within the room, who spent nights before the fire, contemplating the Shadow alone knew what.

Two other doors led away from the sparse room, one he assumed to Nawaquí’s bedroom, though he couldn’t be sure - did his grandfather sleep? The other he could only guess was a study, or perhaps a kitchen, but then he’d never seen Nawaquí eat either.

“Come on then,” Nawaquí’s voice interrupted his musings, “take a seat. There’s no need to stand around and gawk. Very few things change here, for there are very few things to change.”

Swallowing his nerves, Riésa moved to the free chair and tried to sit down, only to find Noctis already there. The dog growled warningly, one red eye trained upon him.

“Noctis,” Nawaquí warned, “that is not your chair now. Here.” With a snap of his fingers, Nawaquí called the dog to his side, ruffling his ears with absent affection and watched Riésa reluctantly sit in the vacated chair. “There is no need to be wary of me, Ree, I have no plans to bite you.”

Riésa laughed faintly, trying to sit comfortably in the padded chair, all too aware that it smelled of dog and was covered in little black hairs. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Oh?” One dark eyebrow rose fractionally. “Then what are you worried about? You are watching me as though I am about to leap for your throat,” he noted sadly; had he grown so far apart from his own grandson that the boy was frightened of him? Did he walk so many steps away from everyone else, that there was no one who would talk to him without the shadow of fear in their eyes? Once he had enjoyed that power, now he regretted it.

“I am not afraid,” Riésa mumbled, shifting awkwardly under the emerald gaze; it seemed different, more attentive, less calculating, perhaps more caring. It unnerved him further. “I am merely confused. Why am I here? Icaenó wouldn’t tell me.”

Nawaquí frowned slightly, looking down at the hand which stroked his hound. “I am surprised. I thought the two of you were close.”

Riésa shrugged. “Not anymore, not like we were. Things change. I’ve changed, so has she.”

Sighing, Nawaquí tried not to feel too frustrated; there was so much Riésa wasn’t saying, as though he was holding two conversations at once. The full transcript was inside his head, the edited highlights were what he spoke. How could Nawaquí ever hope to understand the boy if he wouldn’t tell him the whole truth? Sitting back in the chair, he crossed one ankle over his knee and locked his emerald gaze on that of his grandson. “Talk to me,” he ordered.

For a long moment there was silence, while Riésa dropped his eyes, letting them roam around the floor as if looking for things to say. He groped ineffectually for something, anything, before he finally lifted his gaze again. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

The words, whispered innocence that they were, spoken like a child in the darkness, pierced Nawaquí harder than any arrow or sword he had encountered on the battlefield during his lifetime. The hole in his armour, created by Luimá’s touch, gaped wider, making him more vulnerable still. He did not like the sensations. His face remained expressionless, but something of what he was feeling must have shown in his eyes, because Riésa blinked, surprised, astonished, and even more wary than before. It was Nawaquí’s turn to look aside. “Talk to me, tell me about your day, everyday. What do you do for the Argonauts? What news of the streets? Anything, tell me anything. I need to hear your voice.”

Again Riésa blinked; this time he was stunned, wordless and completely at a loss for what to say. He had no idea what was going on, and he did not want to know either. That Nawaquí was taking an interest in his life scared him more than he was willing to admit. “Umm…” he fumbled for something to tell him, then found it. “I heard a strange rumour today.” Emerald eyes encouraged him to go on. “From one of my spies - young boy, has close links to most places in the city, very good at what he does. Brought me word from the streets of south side.”

“And what did he have to say?”

“It was about Blitz,” Riésa said carefully, watching his grandfather for a reaction; if there was one, he didn’t see it, though inside Nawaquí flinched. “She… they say she…” he trailed off.

“What?” Nawaquí demanded, trying to still his racing heart that was pounding painfully in his chest. He would never forgive himself if she had done something stupid like attempting to kill herself again. But she is Aekhartain, he reminded himself, calming slightly, nothing can harm her now. He settled back into the chair again, maintaining his air of calm with great difficulty. Only you, his mind whispered. Only you can hurt her now.

“They say she’s pregnant,” Riésa muttered flatly, his eyes fixed upon his hands.

“And the father is?” Nawaquí asked, forcing the words out through his suddenly tight throat. It cannot be true, he told himself, not daring to hope. It could never be true. It was just one night, that was all.

“They say they don’t know,” Riésa half whispered, playing with his fingers. “They say no one but she knows, and that she will tell no one.”

“And you?” Nawaquí asked softly. “Do you know?”

Malachite eyes narrowed darkly as he lifted his head. “What do you think?” Riésa hissed at him. “Of course I know. I knew the day she came storming into my office, having killed Shadow knows how many of my people, and knocked out even more. I knew then, just as I know now. How could you?”

Stunned, Nawaquí felt as though he’d been slapped. “I’m sorry?” he asked.

“You knew I had chosen her for my own, how could you steal what was already mine?” he demanded, the fear in his eyes faded away completely now, replaced with a spark of anger, a flicker of fire, the fierce light of day. “But you didn’t care, did you? All you wanted was to prove yourself better, again.”

“I gave you three years!” Nawaquí pointed out in his defence. “You had your chance and you blew it. Because of your little schemes we almost lost her.”

“And because of your stupid games, we have!” The argument brought both men to their feet, glaring at each other face to face, practically nose to nose. Emerald eyes locked on burning malachite, they were so alike, save that one had hair the colour of wet autumn leaves, and the other’s curls were dark, but not quite black. In the shadow shrouded room, with only a flickering fire for light, they could have been a reflection of each other. Then Riésa looked away; younger, paler, his youthful face peppered with freckles, he was clearly not Nawaquí’s equal.

Emerald eyes regarded his victory sadly, feeling older than he had in his entire existence, watching the spirit of his grandson crushed once more beneath his own heartless gaze. He would always win these fights, because he was fighting as himself, not pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Riésa could never succeed in anything until he stopped pretending to be something else.

“You are not me, Ree, stop pretending to be.”

“I don’t want to be you,” Riésa growled, trying to fight his own despair. “Can’t you see that? All my life I have wanted to get out from beneath your shadow!” he yelled in frustration.

“But you can’t by trying to be me!” Nawaquí shouted back at him. “You never were in my shadow, you stupid boy, you put yourself there by trying to be like me. In doing so you’ve cast your own dye, now wash it off and be yourself, Shadow damn you!”

“Shadow damn you too!” he snapped back furiously. “Do you not think I’ve tried to be something different, wanted to be someone else, but I can’t, can you not see that I can’t!” Weary with the expended energy of shouting and losing the battle against Nawaquí, he sank back into his chair and buried his face in his hands.

Nawaquí knelt down and gently pulled his hands away from his face, searching out the bruised malachite eyes, which tried to evade him. “Tell me,” he whispered softly. “Tell me why you can’t.”

“Because,” Riésa began, then shook his head, not wanting to say it, not wanting to admit his own failures. Nawaquí’s gaze was unrelenting, and no matter how much Riésa cringed against it, tried to shrink away from it, he could not escape it. With a sob of defeat he let the words pour out, “Because as myself I could never be good enough for you. Could never do the things you wanted me to do. Could never live up to… to what you wanted my father to be.” In defeat he slumped in the chair and closed his eyes, waiting for the blow he expected to come.

Slowly Nawaquí released him, and ran a perturbed hand through his own dark curls. He stared at the boy he thought he knew, and realised he was staring at a stranger, a wondrous stranger, full of hope and potential and abilities he had yet to even imagine, let alone tap. And beneath it all he saw the child he had forgotten, the boy he had neglected to love, to nurture, to care for. He hated himself in that moment, and his resolve hardened even more.

“Look at me,” he commanded, seeing Riésa shake his head, filling him with pain and anger, but it was directed at himself and the monster he had become, had wanted to become, had succeeded in achieving. “Ree, please,” he half pleaded, “look at me.”

Stunned to hear such a tone, Riésa’s eyes flew open before he could stop them, and instantly he was snared by that same hypnotic gaze. A look he had tried throughout his life to replicate, but had failed; there was something missing in his own eyes. Like the rest of him; there was always something missing that stopped him from being good enough. He always fell below the bar, and always would, because he was a useless failure. He didn’t need to hear the words spoken, he had read them in the eyes of everyone he had ever met. Blitz had seen it; it was no wonder she had chosen Nawaquí instead of him. He couldn’t even blame her. And now she carried his child - Riésa’s uncle! The thought made his head swim.

“I’m sorry,” Nawaquí whispered, breaking through Riésa’s thoughts. “I am so sorry, my boy.”

Stunned beyond belief, and wondering if he was dreaming, he felt Nawaquí reach out and pull him into a tight, fierce embrace, which begged for forgiveness in every tight line of muscle between them.

“Can you ever forgive me?” he whispered, and Riésa could feel the warm touch of tears as his grandfather buried his face against his neck.

A hundred thousand thoughts raced across his mind, a million accusations, unnumbered nights when he had wept and begged anyone who would listen to make him good enough. Memories beyond count swum before his eyes, moments where he’d failed, where he feared, where he hurt and ached for a second, a single glance, where Nawaquí would show that he cared about him.

A lifetime, ten lifetimes, of pent up emotion, wanting to recapture the laughing, smiling man who had played with him when he was but a child, barely old enough to form memories. The man who had vanished one day and never returned. Each of them passed through his mind with a damning word ready on his lips, a fierce denial, an angry rejection. Yet he could not say any of them.

Instead his own arms drew tight around his grandfather in return, and he sobbed, letting out the pent up years, before he whispered the only words he could say, “I was born to forgive you.”

~ ~ ~

They walked through years that night, opening doors that had been locked and barricade against the world for decades beyond number, yet each one opened with a simple key. The key that Luimá had given to them. And for those few short hours they were closer than they had ever imagined they could be. It showed how truly alike they were, and how different; where their passions lay, and their anger. They learned each other anew, and forgot more memories than they could bare to remember. Lifetimes passed their lips, but none were important.

“This is where it begins,” Nawaquí told him as a faint smudge of grey from the now opened shutters warned them of morning. “The new day, Ree, your day. From this moment you will be only who you are supposed to be. No more hiding in shadows, no more pretending, no more fleeing from the truth.”

Riésa nodded, his throat raw and aching from all the talking he had done. “I promise.”

“Good,” Nawaquí nodded, “good.”

Together, with Noctis loyally walking between them both, they descended the great tower of Nawhasou, heading back to the huge hall that sat in the very centre of the place, connected to the heart of the world. There they found Icaenó.

Seeing them both walk in, stride for stride as equals rather than master and subordinate, she burst into tears. “Don’t make me do it,” she begged, falling to her knees as Riésa rushed to comfort her. “Please, don’t make me do it.”

Confused again, Riésa looked to his grandfather for an explanation, but he simply shook his head and motioned for him to move aside. Then he stood before her and reached for her hand. “Tears do not befit you, Winter’s Chill, you are as cold as the season you represent.”

“Only to you,” she mumbled, but took his hand anyway and let him draw her upwards, until she stood before him on her own feet.

There he tipped her face up and wiped away her tears. “Will you do as I asked, Icaenó?”

“Do I have a choice?” she asked, schooling her voice to ice, even though her pale eyes still swam with tears. She would not let him down.

He smiled. “There is always a choice.”

For a moment she frowned, then nodded, and he finally let her eyes go. “If you ask this of me, then I will do it. I can do nothing else.”

“Then let me know when you are ready, and we can begin.” Already his voice was returning to the cold, detached tone of old, as he contemplated the fate before him. Ice. If he was to be locked inside it, then he would become it.

“I am ready when you are,” she hiccupped.

“Good.” With Noctis at his heels, he strode across the hall, then stopped, turning to where Riésa was watching him with troubled eyes. For a moment his frozen exterior melted slightly, and he walked over to him. “Know this, whatever happens, last night was real. I meant what I said this morning, and I need you to know that only your forgiveness can allow me to do this. Whoever I emerge as, know I do love you, Riésa, you are my blood. You matter to me. Take care of my world while I am gone, and talk to the shadows, communicate with the Darkness. They are yours to command in my absence. I will listen for you there.” Squeezing his hands in silent farewell, he turned away again, trying not to let the hopeless fear in those malachite eyes haunt him. Riésa would be fine, he just needed a chance to prove himself. That chance would come now.

Lifting his head, he strode onwards and built a bridge of shadows across the chasm without thought. Before he stepped out onto it though, he stopped one final time. Noctis still hugged his heels, devoted, loyal and loving when all else would have left him. Red eyes looked up at him and begged.

“Oh no, my friend,” he whispered softly. “Not you.”

The great hound whined, more puppy than fearsome monster. His red eyes pleaded, he did not want to be left alone. He understood all that was going on about him, and feared it more than he had feared anything else. Even the loss of his wings he had withstood, because he had remained with Nawaquí. To lose him would be to lose his way entirely, leaving him to tumble in the dark.

With a sigh, Nawaquí knelt down and pressed his forehead to that of his closest friend. “Do not make this harder than it must be, Noctis. You cannot follow me everywhere I go, and this is one place I will not permit you. Stay here, guard my realm, protect my people. Watch over me. I will come back for you, do not fear that.”

Red eyes stared at him hopelessly, ears lay flat against the huge black head and his tail was pinned to his side, the merest tip wagging.

“No,” Nawaquí told him with a crushing finality, and the hound who had never disobeyed an order in his long existence, slunk down onto his belly and whined in defeat.

Without looking back, unable to, Nawaquí stood up and strode alone across the bridge of shadows, allowing it to collapse behind him, before he mounted the dais and sat himself upon his black diamond throne. Then he allowed himself to look. Riésa knelt beside Noctis, and for the first time in his life, Riésa allowed himself to take comfort from the monstrous hound, who permitted his touch equally for the first time. Arms around the dog’s neck, he watched his grandfather as the emerald eyes slid to Icaenó.

“I am ready.”

She nodded wordlessly and raised her hands, then stopped. “How will we bring you back? I can call a winter, but I cannot thaw one. That is what spring must do.”

“I will thaw it myself,” he promised her. “When the time comes, it will melt all else around me.”

“Your heart?” Riésa asked, hoping that this new grandfather he had only just met would remain afterwards.

With a twitch of a smile, a hint of his old self, Nawaquí shook his head. “Oh no, not that. I think that after this my heart will never thaw again, and I will do all I can to prevent it from doing so. No, my mind will thaw the ice, when I am once again myself. You may begin now, Icaenó.”

They were but children, he realised as he settled himself further into the hard, cold throne and prepared for the first touch of ice. They could not understand. Watching them as they watched him slowly become encased in the diamond blue glass, he could see tears in their eyes, and already began to wonder why. What had he ever done to deserve such loyalty? Such love? Were they just foolish children after all? Or was he the fool, the one who denied his heart what it asked?

It crackled across his feet, the layers growing swiftly as Icaenó pulled the chill from the shadows and used it to build him an impenetrable wall. The wall which he himself had requested, desired, needed, to stop him from moving, to stop him from thinking, to stop him from being, long enough to let the burr of Luimá’s love drop away from him, and leave him inhuman once more. Obsession he could deal with, it worked with Darkness, it came from those depths. But love was an altogether different emotion, and one he was not willing to address. He was not human, he was Darkness, the Nawhaekhartain, and here was another chance to prove it.

As ice crackled up over his lips, he let himself smile, knowing it to be a mocking one, which sat so easily upon his face. Emerald eyes remained open, compelling, commanding, as the layers crept across him and the world darkened. There it was. The moment. Stillness. The crackling of the ice was all he could hear as it snuck over his ears and locked him inside. Then nothing.

Nothing.

Silence. No breath, no movement, even his heart ceased to beat. Death entombed, yet not death, just stillness. Ultimate immobility, and ice. An ice to encase his heart.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He wandered, a million miles he crept, whispers passed him and brought him rumours of the worlds he had left behind. They meant nothing to him, so he wandered on. Shadows and darkness carried him, taught him things he would not remember, showed him wonders he could not comprehend. He witnessed the true power of stars, the extent of Shadow, the balance of darkness and light, yet he would not remember - would not want to.

How many beats his heart forgot, how many breaths he did not take, how many words he did not speak, he did not know. He did not care. They meant nothing to him, for they were nothing. All that was, that mattered about him, was ice. The Darkness which had slipped away from him when Luimá snared him, crept back into his soul, delved into his bones, became him once more, and his mind was eased. A balance, his heart told him; power, his mind whispered. He would always choose power over balance, for balances were fickle and likely to change. Power he could control.

The ice around him began to melt.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The shadows called to him as he slept, eyes open, mind distant. Somewhere within him he saw Noctis pining by the foot of his throne, the black shape which refused to go elsewhere. Icaenó came often, to check on the ice she had formed, to comfort the hound that she cared for. Riésa came less and less, his pain and fear something the Darkness could feel. He struggled, it noted, battled hard to become his own person, someone different from his grandfather, a Day apart from the Darkness. The promise he had made bound him to keep trying, but it was not as easy as he had hoped. Seeing the figure of his grandfather upon his ice throne just made it even harder. The Darkness did not blame him, and Nawaquí did not notice.

Then, one morning, when the ice was gradually melting away, Nawaquí’s eyes focused through the distorted fractures of the ice and blinked. He could see. A figure stood watching him from the Darkness beyond, something familiar in the way that the shadows responded to him.

Theiran? his thawing mind wondered, and with a lurch his heart beat once.

But no, this could not be his first born child, for one thing this man was nowhere near Theiran’s great height, did not have the breadth of his shoulders, the slight awkwardness of pose.

There was nothing awkward about this man, he stood straight, eyes roaming, arrogance in the way he tipped his head back to brush the black curls from his eyes, glossy and crisp, as though a little wet. He was slight where Theiran was tall, narrow where Theiran was broad, feral where Theiran was gentle. Yet there were too many similarities for Nawaquí to dismiss him as inconsequential.

A grandson he did not know about? Theiran and Anna’s perhaps? Yet he carried nothing of Anna’s looks about him, was nothing like Riésa. He could not decide, until eyes reached through the ice and met his own emerald gaze.

Emeralds, chipped with fierce yellow streaks, unusual, yet familiar all at once. A name, unbidden, rose inside his mind, perhaps planted there by the shadows and Darkness. Zaoraíhn. Son of Darkness and Lightning. Storm child.

A fierce crack echoed throughout the hall and for a moment Zaoraíhn’s arrogant composure failed; he jumped, turned and gazed about him, his strange eyes flaring almost all green for a heartbeat or two. Then, when the roof did not appear to be about to fall on his head, he relaxed, and stared at the iced throne again, eyes once more a delicate balance. Watchful, waiting, expectant even.

Cold. After his vision, the next of his senses to return was touch, and all he could feel was cold. Even as the ice began to drain away, trickling against his skin and dribbling into the abyss, where it steamed and hissed, creating a cloud between the two men. Then sound. The ice crackled and groaned; a tired old beast, giving out its final death cries before it dropped from existence.

Then smell. Clean, crisp, cold. Then taste. Ice; water dribbled into his smiling mouth and he gasped his first breath in more years than he had neglected to remember, and coughed. With the movement of his chest, fierce, swift, the ice cracked further, then burst outwards in a shower of shards and water.

Zaoraíhn threw up an arm, bringing up the edge of his long coat to shield his face, but still his black curls were plastered to his forehead by the explosion, and he shook himself with annoyance, looking every inch the disgruntled cat, before he glared at the crouching, shivering man on the dais before a black diamond throne.

Too cold and weak to do anything, Nawaquí simply stared at his latest son with emerald eyes, and waited. In this state the boy - man - could do anything to him, and he was helpless to resist.

Zaoraíhn stared at him, then smiled; a cruel, mocking expression that was purely inherited from his father, while his eyes flashed yellow lightning, so reminiscent of his mother. “So,” he began slowly, voice a soft purr as he rolled the word around his mouth, “you must be my father.” He flicked his eyes over Nawaquí’s thin form, and shook his head. “I always knew I’d be disappointed.”