Chapter Text
The World Serpent's Awakening
Forty winters entombed the flames, and forty summers churned the seas. The Seven Sovereigns were vanquished, and the seven nations submitted to the heavens. Thousands of years thereafter, those born of Hyperborea used a Dragon's corpse to replace a long-vacant seat.
He, who was born to replace the light left at the world’s genesis, was the failed result of a blasphemous experiment. He, who ascended to one of heaven’s thrones, was the sole reason the cycle was broken. The Belyi Tsar, Monomakh Snezhnyi, was born of the Cryo Sovereign's corpse.
Yet ushering in a new dawn, that Nail of Retribution meant to suppress the Cryo Dragon's unchecked Authority has been broken. Thus, from the frozen rivers of the Primordial Sea, a new creature slowly starts to form. Holy Soil spreads through the land, the Light Realm taking back what rightfully belongs to dragonkind.
Awakening from slumber, a long-dormant Dragon finally reopens his eyes. Clawing out from the eggshell, fingers pushing away membrane and yolk, the Cryo Sovereign of yore pushes his way out of his egg.
He did not know where he was, nor why he was here. He only knew who he was: a ruler, a King, someone who was supposed to lead his kind... and yet, he found only himself in this barren and frozen wasteland. The birth of a Dragon, one who had inherited the primordial Authority over Cryo, was only met with silence over a frigid breeze.
If he is a King, where are his people? Where did his loyal subjects hide? Surely, they were all expecting him. Otherwise, what kind of ruler would he be if he had no followers waiting for him? What kind of King has no people to govern?
And so, the Dragon steps out of his carcass, his bare body completely exposed to the cold air of his nation. He moves, guided only by instinct, to where he hopes his kind is waiting for him. He may not know where he is going, but his heart shall guide him.
How strange, the Dragon thinks to himself, that his legs feel so weak. Faint memories, barely more than a fogged image in his mind, remind him that he should not be walking upon two legs. So then, why was he not born with more than two feet? Why did this body feel so unnatural if he was born with it?
Yet, the Dragon keeps walking forward. There was no sightseeing in his journey, for the land was nothing more than a snow-covered desert. Ice doesn’t seem to thaw at all. Rime continues to spread through the ground. Frost grows wherever he steps. Soon enough, night arrives, and the stars fill the sky. He looks up at the moon as a sudden feeling washes over his heart.
Was the moon always so... alone? Wasn’t the moon supposed to be surrounded by her sisters? Why does the Frost Moon, hanging in the sky, remain so solitary in this night?
Did Aria and Sonnet argue with Canon? Surely not; those three were always inseparable. Nothing would ever get between them. The dear daughters of Nibelung, despite everything, will always protect this world and its people. Without our King to guide us, it is our duty as Sovereigns to follow the Moon Sisters' will. Even if they don't agree on everything, even if they stay silent and refuse to answer our pleas... Still, it is not his place to judge the Moon Sisters' actions. They must have their own reasons for ignoring our children’s plight.
How strange that even the night sky feels so distant this time.
The Dragon continues his journey, passing by many curious creatures. The flora and fauna were... different beautiful. A few animals approached him, and he returned their touch. Some were soft, others were rigid, but they all were gentle with him. As expected of the non-intelligent species of this world, even they recognized when a Sovereign stood in front of them. But it is here that he finds something unexpected poking from the dirt. It isn't anything that he had seen before, although his mind projects faint images of similar things. So he begins to dig, trying to find exactly what is buried here. Who was to say that a King could not be curious?
After a few minutes of digging through the dirt, the Dragon finally finds the buried object. It is soft to the touch, warm, and seemingly made for covering things. Time keeps passing, and the Dragon has apparently found the utility for such an object. It is to be worn! How fitting it is that he found the piece of clothing, for a Sovereign should not wear rags. Now he wears the clothes that he had dug up from the ground, brushing off the dirt clinging to the fabric.
He ignores the cold, dead body that had been buried in the earth.
He keeps walking for a long time, until the sun is up. The Dragon finds a seaside village, the smell of spices, smoke, and grilled fish invading his nostrils. It is... certainly not what he had expected to find, as his mind provides faint images of a grand civilization from long ago. He was so sure that he would find something else. Still, it mattered not. Surely his subjects resided here. So he travelled around the village, his bright blue eyes gazing at every building and creature along the way. How curious it was that those bipedal animals looked so similar to him, and yet they were not his people.
They did not seem to be simple-minded animals, considering that somehow they managed to build an entire village, apparently by themselves. After exploring for a while, he had settled around an abandoned campfire. The Dragon didn't know how to start a fire, but the cold did not bother him. Yet none of those similar yet strange animals seemed to approach him, unlike the others he had seen before. He paid no attention to it, for a King shouldn't appear weary regardless of circumstance, for a King should inspire their people at all times.
Night approached once more, the solitary Moon illuminating the starry sky with her light. His eyelids grew heavy, his breath slowing down by the second. The frigid breeze of this winter night may be unbearable for others, but for the Dragon... it was comforting. As if the wind's whispers soothed his newborn mind, the Dragon of Frost eventually lowered his body to the ground, closing his eyes.
And so, ███████, after travelling for a long time, had let the night claim him at last.