Chapter Text
The storm outside had already broken down the doors to Dividäliia Palatsi, the Sovereigns’ grand residence, once my home. A time ago, it had been adorned with glittering tiles and intricate murals, and now it was reduced to snow-like dust. The bodies of guards lay scattered across the floor—the poor souls whose lives had been taken by the strange blizzard. I gazed down at them, somewhat in awe. Amid the chaos, I could only wonder what force of nature had frozen these soldiers’ organs solid. At least, what they said happened. Never had so many died by this phenomenon’s hand; never had such a blizzard of such severity and oddity hit Rovanikka before.
In the doorway, the snow had begun to gather in a drift, spilling over inside. I had been ordered by Father to stay in the safety of the ruins of the Palatsi, and even though I was the only one around, I was too afraid to even get close to it slowly piling up. Had this snowstorm killed my courage, along with half of Rovanikka? It seemed to be the case. And with the snow came pouring in the unbearable cold. I pulled my scarf over my nose—my lungs burned from the air’s ferocity. Rovanikka was the coldest nation on Servus, on average, but this was unprecedented. If temperatures had dropped this low all year round, Rovanikka would never have been livable, to begin with.
Just as I turned around to the colossal stairways, seeking to find a room in which the fires still blazed, a lanky soldier, dressed in the icy-blue, thick winter uniform of Rovanikka’s armed forces, stumbled in past the shattered doors. His shoulder-length black hair hung in his face; even from a distance, his eyes were glazed over. Groaning in pain, he immediately collapsed into the deep, suffocating snowbanks collecting by the doors. I practically leaped over to him, cradling his head in my arms and yelling, “Can you hear me? Are you okay?” I knew well the answer to my last sentence.
At first, the soldier had no response besides his agonized cries. I stayed with him, realizing that I was probably going to be the last person to see him alive. After some time, it seemed he recognized me. Through his sobs, he managed to choke out, “...Lord Juusosl?” Then he closed his eyes again, wrapping his arms around himself and curling up in the fetal position.
“Yes, it is,” I softly said.
“My liege,” he whispered, his voice rapidly losing its vigor, “the Sovereign Lord…”
I tried to hide my impending disbelief. “What of my father?”
“And the Sovereign Lady… Fighting out there…”
“Fighting who? Fighting what?”
“The— those who started this… They call them… the Stellae’s ‘little angels—’”
The northern word he used for that moniker, louha, means something along the lines of that—a diminutive for a divine being of malevolent nature. The Pristini Stellae? I silently questioned. What could they possibly have anything to do with this?
“Where are they? The Sovereigns, I mean,” I asked. “Do you know?”
“Ekoskiti Snowfields,” he hissed. “My liege…”
“Shh. Be quiet, please. Do not waste any more of your strength.”
“Your brother…”
“I know Maliikisl is dead. I knew it from the minute Father was informed of his capture.”
“Your father… he needs you.” He put every last drop of life left in him in these words. “He needs your help…”
I pushed the soldier’s hair, stiff from frozen sweat, out of his face. “I will go help him, but only after you are gone.”
“My liege…”
“Shhh!”
The guard fell silent, the invisible wrath of the blizzard finally seeping through his skin. His eyes had no focus, staring aimlessly at the once tastefully decorated ceiling of the Palatsi. Behind me, one of its tiles crashed to the ground as the entrance hall trembled from the force of the thrashing wind outside. I held the dying soldier in my arms till his breaths came in slower and shallower. At last, his chest stopped rising and falling. I rustled through the insulated layers of his uniform, searching for some way to identify him—a driver’s license, perhaps. I soon came across his wallet and concealed within it was a small card, titled at the top Rovanikan Pyhä Maa. Sacred Land of Rovanikka—now torn asunder to naught but corpses. Below those words laid his name. Aapeli Jaakkob Jokela. Satisfied with now knowing the identity of this lamentable dead soldier, I slid the card back into its slot and put the wallet in his pocket once more.
It was a very real possibility that Mr. Jokela here had no living family. I had seen more people drop dead in the five days since this horrific torrent began than ever before in my whole life. Reports had crept to my father, the Sovereign Lord’s desk, speaking of entire villages being leveled, with no survivors. If Rovanikka made it out of this with even a single piece intact, the individual names of each fallen soldier, making a feeble attempt to keep order, would easily be forgotten, but if I could remember even just one, it was… it was at least something, right? I suddenly feared I was being childish, that I should rather focus on the living, but... I was not sure.
I dragged the soldier’s body out of the growing drift in the doorway he had fallen into, propping him up against the wall, as if he was just sitting down for a short break. I pushed his head back slightly so that I could look into his eyes, searching for any sign of life, but there was none to be found. They were so glossy, glazed over with foggy white, I could not even see his pupils anymore. There was nothing that I could do to save him or Rovanikka now.
I turned around and trudged upstairs, my boots sinking into the snow that had gathered on the steps, ready to pack the few belongings I would need for the trip to Ekoskiti Snowfields. This, I thought, would be the defining location that would determine Rovanikka’s future. There was no way I could find someone to drive me anywhere near Ekoskiti, and I would not endanger a mortal like that anyway. Thus, I had to go by foot—a daunting idea, even for a demigod such as myself. Not only was I eager to help my father, but several villages had formerly dotted the Ekoskiti region, and I was morbidly curious to see what had become of them.
My brother’s “kidnapping” (more likely, murder) by the Stellae had, as expected, not yet broken my father’s resolve. After all, he was the god of perseverance, though he was also the god of revenge. It only fueled his hatred of the Stellae. It was, of course, incredibly bold of them to do harm to a demigod, but I suppose it did not matter much. After all, my father and the other Jerihivan, plus I, Maliikisl, and the other children of the gods, were all less powerful than they, in terms of divinity. We were mere insects to them, and their creation of this blizzard only proved that.
While my journey to Ekoskiti was still incredibly arduous, I arrived in the province in one piece. For sure, I pondered as I waded through the snow, it was intended to be a punishment of sorts—the punishment being our people slaughtered and frozen before us. When I reached what had formerly been the city of Ekoskiti, there was nothing. I stood on the outskirts of what had once been the fifth largest city in all of Rovanikka, with twenty thousand residents. Quaint little houses were settled next to rugged dirt roads, barely peeking through an endless sheet of snow. The blizzard was slightly less ferocious out here, so my guess was that the centre of the storm had passed over.
Besides the relentless whipping of the wind, there were no other sounds. The victims’ cries had already died out. My boots, specially made for deep snow, allowed me to walk on top of the roiling sea of white without sinking, so I ambled along a street—what I thought may be one, as it was completely submerged—scanning the area for any sign of my father, the other Jerihivan fighting the Stellae, or any survivors, though I doubted there were any.
A couple of minutes into my walk, I spotted something sticking out in the snow, vaguely flesh-colored. Eager to help in case it is a living person, I sprinted toward it, immediately taking my gloves from my pockets, and slipping them on. I kneeled, brushing away and digging through the snow, but then I realized something. It was a slightly mangled hand, turned halfway blue. I flinched, disturbed at the thought. Death by hypothermia—specifically jerikanigi hypothermia, especially this far north—was not exactly uncommon in Rovanikka, in the upper half, Luli, which Ekoskiti was a part of, but… something about it yet made my skin crawl. I poked at the hand, then squeezed it, searching for a reaction, but there was nothing. I tried to yank it, yet still, there was nothing.
“Move or say something if you are alive,” I cried out, but all was silent and still. I contemplated digging this poor person out of the snow, regardless of whether they were alive or not but decided against it. I figured handling a corpse without the right equipment was likely not a responsible idea, and besides, there is a saying that Rovanikkans, especially Lulians, follow closely: Lumesta me synnymme ja lumeen me palaamme. We are born from the snow and will return to the snow.
I let go of the person’s hand, disfigured by jerikanigi radiation, and stood as it sunk back into the snow—from whence it came. The endless white earth beyond that blinded me. I could barely see the fragments of homes and other buildings that poked out from it. Though I hadn’t the slightest clue where to go now, I knew where the Jerihivan were likely combating to the death with the Stellae; the snowfields surrounding the remote city, an open space far from humanity. In the city of Ekoskiti itself, there was nothing left for me to do, and no one was left alive for me to help. Thus, I considered spending any longer here to be a waste of time, and quickly began to head in the direction my instinct pointed me to.
The howling of the wind had died down by this time. It seemed the storm was continuing to rampage west, away from the destruction in its wake. As I trudged through the snow to the Jerihivan’s battlefield, I watched for any sign of life—be it human or other—but there was none. The shock of it all had repressed any emotion I might have felt otherwise. On my trip to Ekoskiti Snowfields, I realized that is why I felt so strangely empty. I had dealt with everything I had seen so blankly… simply because it did not feel real. This was a hazy nightmare that I would forget immediately upon rousing, but I never seemed to wake up. Only now did I seem to be broken from my stupor.
Despite the despair that suddenly began to rush through me, I pressed forward. For now, my main concern was my father and Surina, as well as the other eight Jerihivan who had remained loyal. I had a horrible feeling that not all of the Jerihivan, many of whom I had grown up regarding as mentors, would survive their encounter with the more powerful Stellae, our astral forefathers. For what felt like kilometre after kilometre, I saw no sign of life; not even divine.
I began to have strange, anxious thoughts. Have they all already been wiped off the face of the earth…?
I soon began to feel the true effect of my solitude—I had not seen another alive person in many, many hours. I started to wonder if there was even a single human or god alive in Rovanikka, besides me and the other Ainamulema, the children of Rovanikka's gods, who had specifically been instructed to stay out of the combat by our parents. There had to be, but I must also consider the worst. If not… what would I do next?
I continued, regardless. As I lumbered through the snow, I realized that was all there was forever. No, forever is an exaggeration, but it certainly felt like it at the moment. My mind was consumed by ensuring the Sovereigns’—my father and Surina—safety. Besides them, I no longer had any other family, now that Maliikisl was surely dead—no. I had my mortal wife and young son, who I had not even thought of for several hours. How could I not have?
My hopelessness joined with my guilt at the idea that I was an inadequate father and husband for not thinking much of either during this time. Still, they should be safe—I ensured that they and as many others as I could had a secure place to hide out in. For now, my priorities lay in the lives of the Jerihivan, who were all in far more danger. Soon enough, I approached a figure, kneeling in the snow. I noticed the thick, intricately patterned black robes before I looked at anything else. Though snow had begun to collect in his thick chestnut hair, I could recognize it anywhere.
“Father!” I screamed, trying to run, but my feet only sank as I picked up speed. He did not turn around to face me like I expected him to, but sat there, still as ice. “Father?” I repeated, my voice broken and shrill. This time, as I tottered toward him, he turned his head, a strange expression cast across his face. I stopped, trying to figure out what I was seeing. After a few moments of analyzing his face, I understood what it was. It was sadness, the intensity of which I had never seen him show before. The sun tried to show its face through the clouds, and with that, I saw something. His cheeks glistened in the faint sunlight, and I realized what that was—tears, frozen at that.
Father? …Cry? My shock cut into me deeper. Father turned back around without saying anything, staring blankly at the ground. I carefully stepped toward him. He was holding something—someone, but most of her body lay in the snow. The tips of her platinum blonde hair were glazed, like powerlines during an ice storm. Her delicate periwinkle garments, similar in style to my father’s and unsuitable for battle, were torn in various places, as were her layers beneath, leaving random bits of skin exposed. Both she and my father were soaked in gold-colored blood—both their own and each other’s, I suspected—and it had already begun to stain the snow the same color.
“...Surina?” My voice was no higher than a whisper. I stared at her closed eyes, her eyelashes laced with ice. A childish corner of myself hoped that she would open them when I said her name, but as expected, she did not. I placed a gentle hand on Father’s shoulder, fighting back tears myself. He flinched slightly at first, but eventually tilted his head, laying it briefly on it. A formless black haze began to fill my vision, and I knew we had little time left here, so I had to ask my next most pressing question now.
“Father, where are the other Jerihivan?”
He did not answer again. Instead, he lifted his head and stared at something. I realized it was another person, half-buried and dead. Another Jerihiva. I scanned the vicinity. Besides him kneeling, I was the only one here standing, amid eight other scattered corpses, lying lifeless in the snow.
Lumesta me synnymme ja lumeen me palaamme