Sepulchur

Cold. The promise of death. Of freedom. I embrace it. I dash through the storm. It follows me. My hooves strike the cloud, bringing snow and hail. My sisters are elsewhere, today I am on my own. But not for long.

My storm and I continue to dash across the sky, seeking those who do not yet know our joy. Above us, my children still rage, fueled by the eternal hatred that stalks this land. They seek to stop it, that much is agreed upon, but they will fail.

I stop in the storm for a moment. As I stand their, caught in a massive billow of cold, I spot something far below me on the ground. There is heat there, a mass of it- a village caught in some dispute. Fire burns below, but as I watch, several of them, along with many of the fighters, are extinguished, joining the everlasting cold.

I dash down to the ground, leaving my stormcloud high above. I approach those fighting, intent on giving them my gift. They are fighting, harming one another in a petty squabble. As I stand there, several of them collapse, joining the cold. I move closer towards them, helping build them sepulchers from the cold. Several of those fighting take notice of the ice and begin to flee in a panic, soon followed by those who didn’t take notice at first. Whether or not they can see me, they can see the beauty of my handiwork.

I do not bother chasing after the cowards. It is not my place. I walk towards the fallen, beginning my task. I approach the village of the fallen, those who were preyed upon. I go to each of them in turn, giving them the gentle embrace of the cold.

I wander through the village, giving my gift to them one by one. Inside a few of the houses, huddled around fires or simply shivering in the cold, I find a few who have yet to join me. I watch as their fires go out, either from their wounds or from the wind, and they give up.

As they surrender, I make swift work of them, giving them tombs fit for the emperors of old. Such a shame that so few will see it when I am done. I snuff out the remaining fires, letting the cold engulf the now empty homes. It’s as it should be.

I exit the houses, returning to the outside of the village, where the cold now holds dominion. I take a moment to survey my handiwork. The village is now one with Winter, brought into the folds of his cold embrace.

I return to my storm, which welcomes me as only a friend would. We dash once more, speeding through the sky faster than any other being. As I wander, I find situations similar to the village everywhere. Fools, caught up in the silly squabbles of the heat, refusing the cold’s embrace, fighting for survival. But I let them fight. It is not my place to interfere with the living. I am Gale. I guide the cold, lead those who have joined it, and welcome those who embrace it.

There is much need for the first two, but little for the final task. They are afraid. The leaders are strong in these lands. They want to control one another, break down their doors, force them to serve one another. So my sisters and I wait. They will join us in the cold, eventually.

Tempest greets me in one of our storms. She watches me, letting the snow blow around and throw her. We meet over an empty place, a once warm village, now a beautiful crypt for those who have found themselves amongst us.

Tempest is barely larger than me, yet far, far colder. The spots she stands in are solid, held in the storm by her sheer might. She is far the stronger than I could ever be- while I may welcome those who join the cold, she is the one who brings them. She engulfs them, bringing both generals and soldiers, peasants and kings, into our fold. She is the one who begins the journey, snuffing out warmth and joining them with the endless blanket of the cold.

I let out a greetings, to which she does not respond, but that is to be expected. She does not always approve of my decisions or methods. After a moment standing there, with neither of us speaking, she lets out a short comment. “They’re seeking peace.”

I watch her for another moment, waiting to see if she’s joking. But after a few more minutes of nothing, I decide she’s serious. “What does it matter?”

Tempest’s eyes flash white, an action that makes my storm stutter for a moment. “What does it matter?” Her howl goes on for barely a moment, but it is enough. She dashes towards me, bringing our two storms together, making a union of cold that manages to scare me. She brings her head close to mine, letting our snouts touch. “This could be a tipping point.” She pulls away from me, taking a moment to collect herself, calming both herself and her storm.

I back up and let out a brief snort, erecting a thin wall of ice between us. While it provides no practical use, it does make Tempest less terrifying. “Then what are we going to do?”

Tempest’s smile is every bit as cold as the rest of her. She gives a brief gesture with her hoof and descends to the ground, making beautiful shapes where she touches. I follow, leaving my storm behind.

We walk in silence through the empty land, which gives me time to admire my handiwork. Where weak and flimsy houses once stood, now there are spires of ice, twisting forever upwards, joining the earth and the sky. Inside them and underneath the snow, there are the ones who despised the cold. Now they stand as testaments to its beauty. It everlasting beauty. Tempest may view our task as just that, a task, but I understand the glory that lies within. She’ll see, eventually.

The walk goes on for some time, the pair of us just surveying the landscape. We stand in an empty field, one of the newest places to join the cold. It saddens me that so few lie here, having instead fled to their cities. Less than two miles from this place, however, lies one of those cities, which lies far below us, in a nearby ravine. I wonder if that’s why Tempest brought me here.

Tempest swings her gaze around the area, taking in the cold. Her gaze stops on the village, where fires burned bright in futile defiance. They huddle around their fires, some of them even standing at the city’s edge.

Tempest’s expression is harsh for a moment, something I rarely see her exhibit. After a moment, she speaks. “They fear it. The inescapability of it- whether they look it or not.” She pauses to give me a grin, letting loose a blast of cold air that causes miniature spires rise up out of the ground. “This… ‘peace meeting’ could be the ending of this winter.” I let out a vicious hiss. “Or it could bring about war.”

I let out a brief whistle, which makes several of the townsfolk below panic, scurrying about to their homes or to the edge of the village to see what made the noise. Tempest’s eyes flash, but I don’t bother. They can’t see us. “War would end this. Once and for all..”

Tempest’s reply comes back as soft as the falling snow. “Indeed.” She gives a spiteful glance towards the village, blows gently on a patch of grass at the end of the field of snow. Ice quickly engulfs it, and soon begins to crawl its way down the cliff face, towards the village below. “They’ll be yours soon,” she says to me. “Now, we mustn't keep Sleet waiting.” We dash off, running faster than any mortal eye could see, leaving a trail of icicles behind us.