It was dark as the rain came, like swelling and folding curtains of wetness. They wrapped the land in their sinews, those curtains, and drenched it to the bone. No crevice or cave or nook was left untouched, the damp clinging to everything within its long reach. The fingers of cold worked their way through existence chilling all in their path; soon all would be freezing, dripping with melted ice and clung to by the sinews of this winter.

Amongst the cold there were small orbs of white light that hovered about, humming and glowing. Every few seconds one of the lights would fizz and speed around, crashing into things and blowing up in a small nova that sent tiny sparks flying in all directions. Slowly, the all began to be drawn to a common point.

They hummed around a man that stood upon a rock, and they slowed down over time. This man was a dark figure, and his eyes were calmly shut against the quiet about him. His wings hung loosely around him, shielding his body from the cold. His mind reeled, and water dripped down his brow. He shivered, unfurling his wings and letting them settle behind his back. The Demon slipped his hands into the leather loop at the back of the shield he had concealed with his wings, and lifted it up, inspecting the edge of the blade that trimmed the disk. It shone in the moonlight that was all but extinguished, gleaming in the dark.

He jumped from the rock and landed on a soft floor of frozen ice, trapped in the chill. It crunched beneath his bare feet, ripping into his toes like cords of metal that tore his flesh. The ice was stained red when he dragged his feet onwards.

His eyes shimmered in the ethereal light that emanated from the little stars, and he pushed them away when they ventured within his reach. They cast a glow that made all things look like metal, burnished and polished smooth and reflective. They were the lights of the night, and they would shine on what was ordinarily left untouched by light or seeing.

The thaws would not come for an age, and Timaeus knew this. This was a place that would be touched by the winter and left in a vice of cold for aeons. But there were certain happenings that would be shed upon this ice world, happenings that one would only have to glimpse into the sky and the ice to envisage.

And Timaeus could see such things, things that were meant for unwary eyes, not people who were aware of the danger.

“Knowledge is wasted on the knowing,” the quiet and strong voice spoke unto the world, and his steaming breath dispersed as quickly as it had existed, and it was only a brief moment of contemplation as Timaeus watched his breath freeze upon the wind. And he trudged onwards.

His promenade was long and fraught with chill and bloody feet. His soul was not permeated by the pain. Nor was it interrupted by the iniquity of the ice and the malice of the sky shrouded by the breath of the land, the clouds that strolled across the heavens, untroubled by anger or love or any earthly emotion that blinds the thoughts of mortals.

And all this Timaeus knew. All this Timaeus could see in the frozen land that was slowly losing its life, bit by bit, until it was a barren wasteland of grey and white, untouched by thought or sentience of beings that would soon cease to walk the domains that were once of plenty and bounty.

And all was quiet as the Half-blood trod across the icy ground. He looked about him, inspecting the icy walls on either side of him. It was a valley of ice, and he was stuck in it. A chill ran through his veins, and he shuddered grimly, as if such an act would fight off the cold. He raised Jeika above his chest, and prepared himself for what would come.

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