The chamber was a dark cube of ice. Rough walls made of cut ice blocks, slick with frost, blocked out the light from the room, with the exception of a single window which cast a beam of radiance on Lyrien, who sat huddled in the center, like a spotlight, his small frame surrounded by shadows. The room itself seemed to have a faint, ethereal blue glow from the ice itself, adding to the eerie and chilling atmosphere. Every breath he took was amplified in the oppressive silence, a symphony that made Lyrien tremble.
In the next chamber, the air crackled with a different kind of cold – the chill of barely restrained fury. Clementine stood before the tribal elders, her voice a low, dangerous tremor. The elders, their faces etched with the wisdom and weariness of centuries, formed a semi-circle before her, their expressions impassive.
"There's nothing we can do," one of the elders, his voice raspy as the grinding of glaciers, stated flatly. "We have an agreement."
Clementine's head snapped up, her eyes blazing with an icy fire.
"An agreement? And what about what happened to my brother? Was that part of the agreement? The knights from the surface… they attacked him! They…" Her voice hitched, the raw emotion threatening to overwhelm her carefully constructed composure.
Another elder, her face a web of fine lines, spoke, her tone sharp as shattered ice.
"He was on the surface. He was not supposed to be there. The context of the situation is clear."
Clementine's hands clenched into fists at her sides. She wanted to scream, to shatter the very ice around them with her rage, but she held it in, the effort making her tremble. She opened her mouth to speak, to argue, to plead, but a deep voice resonated through the chamber, silencing her.
"Clementine."
All eyes turned to the speaker, a figure who radiated an ancient, formidable presence. This was Boros, chief of the Snow Lycans, and Clementine's father. His face, usually a mask of stern authority, was etched with a weariness that belied his power.
"If we are to consider taking action against Ezkanur, what is it you would want us to do, child?" he asked, his voice heavy with a sorrow that mirrored the weight of the ice around them.
Clementine looked up at him, her gaze unwavering.
"We should use… 'it'," she said, the word hanging in the air like a shard of ice.
A collective gasp swept through the elders. Boros's eyes widened, a flicker of something akin to disbelief crossing his impassive face. "You don't know what you're saying," he growled, his voice a low rumble.
"That… 'thing'… it's a power far greater than any mortal can wield. Even the Pope himself wouldn't dare to try and control it."
"That's exactly why we should use it," Clementine retorted, her voice rising with desperate conviction.
"Against Ezkanur. Against those who spill our blood and then hide behind their 'Goddess' as justification for their actions!"
Boros looked down at his daughter, his expression softening slightly, though his resolve remained firm.
"You're bitter, Clementine," he said, his voice gentler now, but laced with a deep sadness. "You're hurting. You are young, yet old enough to still feel the sting of every slight, every injustice our people have suffered. And what happened to Lyrien… I understand your anger. I feel it too."
He got out of his chair and stepped closer, his fur cloak sweeping the ground, his shadow falling over her like a shroud.
"But you must also understand that there are treaties, agreements, territories, and boundaries. Lines drawn long before you were born. The pain of one Snow Lycan, even one of my own sons, does not give us the right to break them."
Boros turned to leave, his broad shoulders sagging slightly. Before stepping out of the igloo, he paused, turning back to Clementine.
"There are powers at play here, Clementine. Forces far greater than you can comprehend. It is not a warrior's place to question, but only to obey." He stepped out of the igloo into the underground city, accompanied by his elders, leaving Clementine alone with her fury.
"Yes… Father," she said to his retreating back, the word heavy with a bitter irony. But as the icy door closed behind them, the carefully constructed dam of her restraint shattered. Clementine whirled around and punched the wall of ice with a guttural cry of rage. A spiderweb of cracks erupted across its surface, the groaning sound accompanied by a tremor that shook the room.
Inside the adjacent chamber, Lyrien flinched as the wall behind him shuddered. Small pieces of dislodged ice rained down, stinging his skin like a thousand tiny needles.
"It's all my fault," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the howling wind outside.
"It's not your fault, little one."
The voice was a silken caress, a whisper that seemed to slither from the very shadows themselves. Two slender fingers emerged from the darkness behind Lyrien, wrapping around his neck in a gentle embrace. A beautiful face, pale and luminous, brought her head closer, her presence soothing and yet alarming.
"Clementine wouldn't have confronted Father like that if I hadn't been so… curious," Lyrien said, but a slender finger gently touched his lips.
"Shhhhhh," she said, moving her arms around his shoulders. "I was the one who told you to go out and explore, my little star." she purred, her lips brushing against his ear. "It's not your fault. It's those… surface dwellers. They degrade us, treat us like animals. They act all high and mighty, believing themselves superior simply because they have their… Goddess."
Her voice dripped with venom on the word "Goddess." "What kind of Goddess is she?" she hissed.
"One who turns a blind eye to such injustice? Isn't she the Harbinger of Luminescence, the source of Light itself? Where is that light for us, little one?"
Lyrien frowned, a seed of doubt taking root in his young mind. He wanted to trust his father, to believe in his sister's strength, but the woman's words were insidious, a chilling counterpoint to everything he had known, was trying to believe.
He pushed himself up, gently freeing himself from her embrace. "I… I will trust my father's decision," he said, his voice small but firm. "And I will follow my sister. They know more of the world than I do."
A dark expression flickered across the woman's face, her beautiful features twisting into a mask of displeasure. Her lips split beyond normal and she bared her mismatched yellowed fangs, a low growl rumbling in her throat.
"Besides," Lyrien continued, turning to face her, "it was my own fault that things turned out this way. It was my punishment for disobeying."
The woman's face shifted instantly, the darkness vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. She flashed him a dazzling smile, her eyes sparkling with an unnatural light. "Oh, you are such a darling, mature boy, Lyrien." she cooed.
Lyrien's stomach growled. The woman giggled, a sound like the tinkling of ice chimes, and rose to her feet.
"It's time to eat, my precious. Come." She held out a slender hand, and Lyrien, drawn by her allure, took it.
As they walked towards the entrance of the icy chamber, Lyrien said, "Sometimes… sometimes, I wish you were a real person."
The woman's smile widened, becoming almost predatory. She giggled again, the sound sending a shiver down Lyrien's spine, though he couldn't say why.
"Oh, my sweet child." she said, her voice a soothing caress. "I may be your imaginaryfriend, but I will always be here. Closer than anyone else. Ever-present… in your darkestmoments."
For some reason, the last part of her statement sent a fresh wave of chills down Lyrien's spine, a primal unease that he couldn't explain. He shrugged the feeling off, dismissing it unconsciously, and walked out of the dark chamber alone and into the relative light of the city outside, oblivious to the silhouette that detached itself from the shadows within.
A Fiend
The tall and slender abomination, had elongated limbs and a disturbingly fluid gait, its arms were raised, long, skeletal fingers reaching out towards Lyrien's retreating form. Its head was a mass of writhing shadows, but within that darkness, a maw opened wide like the petals of a flower, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth, ready to devour him whole.