Winter's Crown

by Smaug the Golden

Writeoff Version

They say that killing a god is impossible. That to even dream of such a thing is hubris on a scale that defies mortal understanding. But that shouldn’t stop someone. I grimace as I sharpen my weapon. This is madness, it truly is. But that won’t stop us, will it?

I stare at the fire in silence, my hooves feeling the edge of my blade with a careful movement. There’s a knock at the door. I turn around, looking at my door. It creaks open to reveal a unicorn clad in a crimson cloak, a ruby necklace around her throat. I snort slightly and stand up, sheathing my blade. “You ready?”

She nods and the pair of us make our way out of the building, to where the great storm billows around us. Snow piles in drifts below us, clogging many of the paths that one would normally take. Icicles coat the makeshift tents, their inhabitants shivering in them or around fires. We’ll have to end this now. Too many have been already lost.

I glance at the storm surrounding us, then at the unicorn. I swallow nervously. “Clover?”

She pauses mid-step to look at me. “Hm?”

“If we fail?”

Clover nods towards the sepulchers on the ground below. Soldiers, mages, farmers, nobles, all of them tributes to the winter’s glory. Or so they would have us believe. The spirits. The servants of that indescribable thing. The storm. The winter. It has come to destroy us. And we’ll kill them today. Or die trying.

Cookie meets us partway up, his feathered cap shielding his face from the storm. He nods slightly and we continue on. Hundreds are frozen on this slope. Statues of crystal, eyes and mouths expressing their fear before they met their end.

As we approach the top, we begin to hear them. There’s three of them. Chanting. Perhaps that’s the wrong word. It is the storm, singing in its deadly voice to the beauty that the winter has wrought. Ancient tongues, formed from thunder and wind, speaking of eternity spent in an endless sleep, never to be woken. The north has long since become theirs. Now they’ve come to finish what they’ve started.

The cave greets us at the top of the cliff. The spirits, icy mockeries of what we call forms, dance around it, their singular pair of hooves striking the air and clouds as if it was solid. Well, for me, it would have been solid, no matter what Hurricane says. Clouds freeze and come to the ground as they dance, crystals forming along their surface as the creatures glide through the air.

I look to Clover and Cookie, who both nod. Clover’s horn lights with a pale glow, while Cookie merely advances, seemingly ready to beat the storm spirits into nothing more than wisps. We step into the cave. The statues of our leaders stand there, their expressions mixtures of both anger and horror, likely from each other and from the ice respectively.

The three of us stand there for a moment, waiting to see what they do. The leader of the creatures, who we have christened Gale, lands in front of us, her eyes of white fire burning brightly. Her voice comes out cacophonic, like the rolling of thunder across an echoing canyon. Surrender, the voice howls, making my eardrums want to bleed. Join us, so that we may rest.

Clover steps forward, her eyes hard. “And if we refuse?”

Then we will fight. The spirit tilts her head to one side, pointing towards the statues of our leaders. And you will join them. Her spectral sisters alight next to her, their eyes glowing almost as brightly, at this point nearly blinding us. Ice spreads across the cavern, with the three of them at the center.

I step forward, unsheathing my blade. “We’ll fight you.”

Gale’s burning eyes seem to be surprised for a moment. Then an eerily icy smile crosses her all-to equine face. So be it. Then the ice comes for us.

Author's Note:

This is the original that showed up in the writeoff and finished eighth overall. While I prefer the edited version, I am rather pleased how this one turned out, given the world limit.