❝This barren, cursed world cannot amount to the coldness within.❞

ONCE upon a time, there was a King. And with this King, he carried a sword and rode a dragon towards the skies. The skies were turbulent; lightning descended everywhere whilst the rain willfully downed the earth in floods. The mournful cries from distant prairies and marshes could be heard as the unrelenting storm continued to descend. The king proceeded to soar up, his eyes set ablaze on the floating ball of mist that surrounded the centre of the world.

There was nothing but gasses and ashes above which deemed the murkiness of the skies irredeemable. The king wore his warrior suit, adorned with none but pieces of diamonds that appeared minuscule in the face of the calamity. He did not faze when a harsh whirlpool that threatened to swallow the world in one gulp advanced towards him. Beneath him is the dragon, Vritra — the most ferocious entity that flew around the sphere; worshipped alongside the King that captured continents and dynasties alike. Vritra breathed the earth and fire; the firmament and wind. He looked down upon all creations because he alone stood atop the mountain Urök for millenniums.

The king raised his sword and charged like a fulguration. He dodged lightnings, tornados and sharp prickles of acid rain that burn to the skin. This day was already set in stone. The course of cataclysm will befall and all beings will suffer but the King does not wish to see his subjects in disarray. He ruled the world for years. He stepped unto civilizations and civilizations of peril, of doom and chaos that never seemed to end until he took the throne. He was young, filled with vitality — but beneath his brilliant immortality is a void that always has existed.

He does not know where it came from but he never was able to trace its origins. The world he knew is bathed with a storm that covers the heavens almost every year. The seasons that long existed to colour the earth became myths and the sun that was said to grace the skies with mighty luminance in the legends was never seen for centuries. The King wanted to end this storm but to say that he is doing this for his people felt crude.

The King is actually perplexed. For years, he battled the odds of life to arise from the rubbish kingdom he woke up as a prince. He can only remember how he so wanted to usurp the throne and step unto the larger domain of space continuum. He knew he has something to do but he does not know what it is. The peace he deemed to be the only thing that can be achieved by ending the storm does not answer the search for the origins of this endless emptiness within.

The King does not know why he feels like a mere shell; motivated by a goal that he cannot recognize. There was once in his life when he dreamed of a sunny sky; where flowers bloomed and the birds fly. He was hoarding the grass underneath his feet and with open arms, fell into the ground which smelled like spice and mint.

The king grew up in a palace that has never opened its door for him outside. He walked the same corridors, hallways and attended a cycle of balls and ceremonies ever since he learned how to walk. In his wonder, he never knew how that dream felt so real. There was no sun in this world, neither flowers can bloom in the snow-filled soil, nor can birds fly to the sky that rained and rained and rained.

"Vritra, full speed!" he roared.

Whirlpools and whirlpools of wind and ice formed to stop his advance. The King did not resign, for him, this is now or never. He was lost for years, frustrated that his memories were always lacking. He had long wanted to know why he never felt that the "he" he is, is the "he" that he really is. The person he has known to be himself does not seem to be himself.

If the world can regain its peace... If the reign of the storm that clouded the firmament like a prison that locked the lives of the creations below finally ends, then maybe the King can understand. Maybe the King can finally recollect the pieces that have been buried beneath these dead patches of blood and earth.

"We must slay this monster today," the King whispered.

He retracted his grip on Vritra's spines and stood up. The howling winds rampaged upon his clothes but he was already used to the cold. With his years of experience in riding dragons, even this harsh atmosphere cannot force him into a tug of war.

"My King, you have come this far."

He heard Vritra's voice that sounded like a paragon awoken from his deep slumber from in front of him. The King's lips forced a smile; somewhat deluding himself that he must be happy this day to finally reach the domain that humanity cannot even touch.

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"We have come this far, Vritra..." The King took a deep breath and sharpened his senses.

The circling ball of storm is only ahead. If he can pass through these raging obstacles, he can penetrate the core of this disaster and destroy it once and for all. With that, his life's battle will finally be sealed and he can, hopefully, come to his senses.

"Something in there..." The King stares at the eye of the storm. "Keeps calling to me."

"I do not have an idea, my King," Vritra remarked.

"Then I will know once we reach that place," the King states firmly and lounged forward.

The King and his dragon continued to travel through the miles of horror, inching closer and closer before they stopped at a sheer distance from their destination. The duo crossed thorns and spears of ice, enormous waves that towered upon the clouds, falling rocks that have been frozen stiff in this desolate world and even hails that were too sharp and heavy for humans to defend themselves from.

The closer the King is to the core of this storm, the more peaceful it seemed to him.

"I will take it from here," the King said and jumps from Vritra's back.

"Be careful, my King," Vritra reminded him.

The King nodded and flew on his sword towards the floating ball of gas and mist. It was surrounded by ripples of water and floating glaciers that seemed to be at a rest. The air around him vibrates; a humming sound was heard all over the space.

The King does not recognize this seemingly mystical and other-worldy sound but something inside of him started resonating. He clutched his chest, surprised by the sudden emergence of pain. He had not experience this kind of sensation even when he was stabbed in his chest during the battles he fought. This was something that originates not from his physical body.

It was something that seemed like an injury beyond the touches of tangibility.

"What..." the King could not help but say.

He stopped midway, the fingers that ran through his chest tightening even more. The King closed his eyes when the humming sound continued to ransack his faltering system. In a moment, he could feel like he is sane but the next time, it felt like his soul was being pulled out of his body.

The King could faintly hear Vritra's call in a distance. He did his best to turn around and saw Vritra, flying in the same place but his dragon eyes are already locked on him with worry.

"I... will recreate this world for you..."

The King turns back to the direction of the storm. His pupils constricted when he sees the floating orb starts to shed in front of him. The glaciers and ripples of water that surrounded it began to spin around as if they are in commotion.

"WHO'S THERE?!" the King called.

He was sure that he heard a voice from that direction. The only thing he could not understand is the possibility that something exists within this storm. Is the unrelenting storm that plagued the world in deathly ice, perhaps, caused by this being?

"In this world, you and I will roam free..."

The King tried to fight the urge to surrender to the sudden bursts of sensation all over his body. He felt numb and in pain, even so, he knew that this will only slow him down. He had shed blood and massacre, waged wars against the selfish autonomy and finally earned his seat as the King that rules this barren land.

If he falls before he can even stop the storm, then his legacy will not be fulfilled.

"This world, I promise I will give you..."

The King advanced even further. The space around him rippled everything else in disarray. Even his sword that was forged by 18 grandmasters using the orb of the fire demon seems to not be able to bear the pressure that the proximity to the storm gives.

"But I made a promise. That boy doesn't have one yet."

The voice that came from the storm turned clearer and louder to the King's hearing. His eyes grew even more confused and conflicted. The void that existed within his heart suddenly started to tremble, making the King feel like he is in shambles right now.

"He'll blindly search... and walk the next paths full of peril. He will be confused, alone and frustrated."

"Haah..." the King breathed.

He clutched his chest tighter, his body almost bent to the ground as he continued to fly on his sword to close the gap between him and the eye of the storm.

"I hope you will be there for him, Vritra..."

The King immediately raises his head and fought the pressure that continued to weigh on him when he heard the name, Vritra. It suddenly occurred to him, but the voice that he keeps on hearing seemed to be alike with his.

It felt too familiar.

"W-What's going on?" he couldn't help but ask.

The King could only silently curse. His felt like he was carrying a city on his back from the growing pressure around the space. Even so, he doesn't want to give it up. He have come this far.

Vritra, his only companion in this world, is waiting for him. The kingdom he erected from the ruins waits for him along with millions and millions of beings he shared his shelter to. He wanted so much to see that sun. He dreamed to feel that heat, that breeze and gaze at the navy skies he heard from the legends.

This world was nothing but a place of suffering. The King was always tormented by the void that only grew bigger and bigger inside his system. As time passed by, the emptiness he felt was only fed. The more that emptiness stayed, the less he felt alive.

Living perhaps, does not equate to being alive. He never felt that he was, but those dreams he had back in the days were something that alleviated the continuous corrosion of his soul. He knew those dreams and lost memories could be something real and if they aren't, then he can make them true.

"I hope he doesn't feel this pain again."

As long as the storm ends.