The courtyard is filled now. Whispers ripple through the crowd, causing even more to gather. People peer out from windows and around corners.
An old man steps forward, body trembling as his cane struggles to find purchase on the rough cobblestone. But his eyes are bright and curious, trained on me. “Erivor?”
The word catches flame, inciting gasps and murmurs.
“Erivor?”
“Erivor has returned to us.”
“The Great Prince has come to save us.”
I sweep my gaze from the ground and find the voice I thought long lost. “No, it is not Erivor. It is I, Keldarion.”
The gasps switch tone, and the whisper of my father’s name changes to mine.
“Men and women of Frostfang, of Winter, I know how fear seizes your heart. Our home has suffered so much already, and tonight, we stand on the edge of disaster. But now, more than ever, we must hold fast to our courage. Frostfang has been built on the resilience of its people. We rise and rise again.”
“We cannot hold fast against a volcano, my prince!” someone calls from the crowd. “It will swallow all of Frostfang and the tundra beyond.”
I take time to look in the eyes of each of my citizens. “The strength of a realm does not come from one person. It comes from all of us helping one another. Protecting one another. For years, you, the people, have been the true saviors of Winter. Inspite of war, corrupt leadership, and a missing high ruler, you have persevered. Now it is time for me to protect you.” I stare up. The night sky and stars are but a memory hidden beneath the black shroud. “I vow to you, my people, I will stop this volcano. And Winter will rise again, stronger in its wake.”
“Keldarion, High Prince of Winter,” a voice says.
I look to the corner to see one of the Deep Guard who was saved by Rosalina’s shifting spell. He thumps a fist over his heart.
“Keldarion, High Prince of Winter,” another calls. It’s Eirik Vargsaxa, leader of the Kryodian Riders, standing tall at the back of the crowd.
A woman, dressed in the thick furs of a Tundrafolk shouts, “Keldarion, High Prince of Winter!”
This time, my name doesn’t just ripple through the crowd. It soars, an avalanche of words as a chant begins.
My platform wobbles as three great weights leap upon it. Ez, Dayton, and Farron stand by my side. Ez crosses his arms. “Alright, High Prince of Winter, go save Winter.”
Dayton ruffles my hair. “But you’re not doing it alone.”
“We’re coming with you,” Farron adds.
I look from Ez’s reflective visor to the turquoise of Dayton’s eyes to the gold of Farron’s. Just like the people of Winter, I abandoned them for years.
And yet they still stand with me.
I could not ask for three better men at my side.
The words are a low growl. “Let’s show the world what the high rulers of the Vale are capable of.”
My brothersand I slow to a walk on the tundra outside Frostfang. My clothes are already stained with soot. The air sears my lungs. Standing sentinel on the horizon is Mount Rhuvenmark.
Lava surges down its banks, glowing a vibrant orange, like sunlight molten in a forge. It’s a color I can’t help but think we Vale fae are not meant to see.
And the rate it’s moving, how fast the lashes of lava run down the sides—this can’t be the natural way of the world. This is no mere eruption. And it will take no mere amount of power to stop it.
“How long do we have?” I ask.
Farron chews on his lips. “By the speed of that lava, it’ll reach Frostfang in two hours at the most.”
Two hours. I look up into the sky, so choked by smog. Will I be enough?
The volcano gives a mighty belch, and a massive ball of fire surges out of the top.
