Chapter Text
The world had been plunged back into Winter once more; thick layers of snow covering the ground with white. Perhaps some people would call white a joyous colour - the colour of purity and holiness. But here? Here, white was the colour of death. The promise of cold winds and dark nights.
Despite the biting cold, however, the world was in perfect balance.
Half the year would be filled with sunshine and kind rainfall. The Summer and Spring were times of kindness, warmth, prosperity and tranquility. It was the time of new growth, as flowers bloomed from amongst the freshly-sprouted grass.
Legend has it that during this half of the year, the Goddess of Rainfall was so overjoyed by the return of the sun, that she allowed the rain to cease from the harsh, unforgiving sleet, and instead allow for warmth to bless the lands once more.
But that was only half the year.
The God of Sunshine; younger brother to the Goddess of Rainfall, would depart for the Land of Eternal Winter once Summer was finished. His absence led the goddess of rainfall to grow hateful and mournful towards the world. Her soft, caring rains would turn cold and icy by the god of sunshine’s departure, plunging the world into a dark, cold Fall and Winter. Only when her brother was returned, did the goddess grow happy again.
Many have tried to theorise why the God of Sunshine would leave every six months. The Goddess of Rainfall refused to respond to her followers when asked, and kept to herself; secluded in her empire below the waves. If one truly wanted to know the story, the only viable option was to travel to the Land of Eternal Winter.
And that is what brought the Traveller here.
Unlike those who attempted this journey before him, Pixlriffs was no ordinary traveller. Blessed by the God of Death and a keeper of stories in his own right, Pix was determined to uncover the truth. So when the world was once again alight with warmth and light, he set out to the lands no one ever dared enter.
Although admittedly, Pix was definitely having second thoughts; standing at the gates to what seemed to be a cold version of Hell. The Land of Eternal Winter was enclosed by an invisible barrier; keeping the snow in like a snowglobe. It was almost unreal, seeing the green grass suddenly stop and instead fade into fluffy white.
Pix was just about to step into the white lands when a creature, somewhat akin to a fae of some kind, landed before him. They had soft, white feathers that stretched across their back, and strange, almost crystalline-like green eyes. The tips of their ears were pointed, and their teeth were sharp in a way that sent shivers down his spine.
An elf, Pix realised. He’d heard about them in old stories before. Servants of the God of Snow that rarely crossed into the mortal realm.
“Halt!” the elf called, their eyes glittering dangerously. A spear made of ice materialised from their hands; the tip pointed at Pix’s throat, “who dares enter the domain of the Snow God?”
Pix lowered himself to his knees, dipping his head respectfully.
“I am Pixlriffs, champion of the God of Death. I am here to seek attendance with the God of Snow,” he dared to look up briefly, “if I may be so bold as to demand such an honour,”
The elf looked genuinely impressed for a moment, but hesitated nonetheless.
“You are not the first mortal to come here,” they said with little emotion in their tone, “what truth are you here to seek?”
“I’m afraid that is between the Snow God and I,” Pix smiled apologetically.
The elf bit their lip, unsure how to continue for a moment. Before either of them could say anything, however, the sound of powerful wingbeats forced them both to look up. It was an elf with massive white-golden wings. Long cyan hair trailed down the back of the elf’s neck, tied in a loose braid with flowers woven into it. Magnificent golden antlers spiralled from his head, twisting like a bedazzled crown. His eyes were an icy blue that glinted with a power Pix couldn’t even comprehend, and an emotion he couldn’t decipher. This, Pix thought to himself, must be the God of Snow.
“Let him in, Silverweed,” the God of Snow commanded, landing beside the elf gracefully. His voice was steady and cold, with a distinct accent Pix wasn’t familiar with. The god’s eyes studied Pix carefully, his expression flickering between interest, curiosity, and boredom. The first elf nodded, stepping away with a bow before disappearing back into the snowscape, leaving just Pix and the god alone.
“Are you…?” Pix trailed off, lingering awkwardly at the border between the two lands.
“Walk with me,” the god huffed, gesturing for him to enter the Land of Eternal Winter. Pix stayed where he was, his feet seemingly glued to the ground beneath him. The god shrugged, starting to move away from him, “a champion of the Death God, huh?”
Screw it. Pix scrambled after the god, plunging into the white land. He let out a small gasp as everything hit him all at once. It was cold; a stark contrast to the warmth of Spring he’d just come from. But it wasn’t the biting, unforgiving cold he was used to. This cold was soft and gentle, lacking the harsh winds that Pix had come to associate with Winter. He simply stood there, dumbfounded for a long moment, until he realised the Snow God was still walking away from him.
“Wait up!” Pix yelped, jogging to catch up to the tall elf god. He almost ran him over as the other god paused, turning to face him abruptly.
“I won’t beat around the bush,” the god stared straight at him calmly, “what truth do you seek, Pixlriffs?”
“The elf from before asked the same thing earlier,” Pix wondered aloud, “but what does that mean?”
“Every mortal that has come here has come to demand some sort of story,” the Snow God sighed with a weariness Pix wasn’t anticipating, “an answer to some question they’re dying to have answered. But they never leave here happy with the answer they receive,"
“And where is ‘here’?” Pix narrowed his eyes, “who are you, really?” To his surprise, the Snow God cracked a small smile, his gaze growing distant for a moment.
“The mortals have many names for me,” the Snow God’s wings fluffed up, rustling loudly, “the God of Winter, the Ice King, the Snow God. Those are all titles, of course. Some wish to call me by my former names; Alinar and Sylvaera and Aeor,” he paused, a smirk splitting access his face for a fraction of a second, “but you may call me Scott,”
“So you are the Snow God,” Pix reaffirmed, his eyes wide, “and this is the Land of Eternal Winter,”
“Another name the mortals like to throw around,” Scott laughed, “perhaps it’s only fitting though,” any of the warmer light that Pix had seen a glimpse of vanished instantly, replaced by the cold, frosty tone from before, “this, champion of Death, is Rivendell,”
Rivendell. It had a nice ring to it. The name definitely fit the (city? Empire? Pix wasn’t entirely sure what it was exactly) better than ‘Land of Eternal Winter’.
“Well? You’re here for a reason,” Scott crossed his arms, interrupting Pix’s thoughts, “what question do you want to ask me?”
“Tell me about the seasons,” Pix blurted out immediately, “tell me why they exist. Tell me why the Goddess of Rainfall hates your lands, and why our Winters are cold and dark, whilst your Winter is…” he waved a hand wildly at the fluffy, glittering snow around them.
Scott fell silent for a long moment, his whole body growing still. Pix tensed. Did he say something wrong? Had he gone too far? Was this… not a question he should ask?
“Well I have to admit, you’re not the first to ask that,” the Snow God chuckled finally, although his voice was far from amused, “that, young champion, is a long story. One that’s quite personal to me,”
Pix bit his lip, unsure whether Scott was going to continue or not.
“Then… will you tell it?” he asked softly; slowly. For a moment, he was scared that Scott would stay silent forever, and he’d never know the answer to his question. Eventually, the god exhaled, releasing a breath that Pix could only guess had to be painful - if gods even felt pain, that is.
“If that is your wish, so be it,” Scott bowed his head, “it all began hundreds of years ago, the day I met him,”