Lamentations of Winter

A Story by Adrakaris

76 New Era Laniakea This, like all my other stories, is set upon an established world I've made called Laniakea, at various time periods.

Luo Zhang was getting old. At nearly eighty years of age, the weary life of ruling a kingdom on the brink of collapse was taking its toll on him. He was born into a world of snow, ice, and red mountains, and for all his life it had never changed.

The ice and snow, still, stretching southwards.

The mountains of the Thirteen Hells, silent, grim sentinels, unyielding.

He wanted some green; some semblance of the old life, the old way of this planet, before the catastrophe hit. His father used to tell him always, of the time before the eruption; of soaring glass and concrete cities, surrounded by acres of farmland and forest, and in the summer, when one would venture beyond the confines of the cities, they would find everywhere to be lush and green and full of life. For his whole life, he had imagined such a world; a world where his people would not have to live under the shadows of volcanoes, always in their grey smoke. He wanted a life of colour, of green fields, blue skies, not this drab greyness, and this drab redness of the dragons’ domain. The dragons themselves, were the occasional flashes of colour, that brightened up the depressing landscape, yet however large and mighty they were, they were dwarfed in comparison to the world, and the gods above who have forsaken it. The iridescent sheen of a dragon’s scales were but a pinprick upon this world of white.

Sighing heavily, he looked down at the potted plant he had on his windowsill. Plant life was near-nonexistent, and seeds and sprouts were heavily controlled by the government. Even he, as father of the Emperor, rarely ever saw the green of new leaves. It was summer once again, year 76 of this new age, yet the frost still lingered, ever present. His plant had begun to bloom, and his world-weary eyes softened to see the delicate purple petals. It grew fully, a little bastion of life and summer within the hold winter had on this earth. Yet - he turned away from the windowsill - he wished for more. He wished to die peacefully in a tranquil garden, under a warm summer sun; not the cold, baleful glare this sun gave.

He touched the amulet he wore at his breast, the dragon of Zhang, made of the finest purple obsidian, that was once made for the great emperor, the Dragon of the East. Now though, it was his, and from it seemed to radiate a warmth, a soft, peaceful, summer warmth, that seemed to keep him going. He had examined that amulet before, closely, noticed it’s inhuman intricacy, and the celestial blue light that always danced within. He did not know, but he remembered his father, telling him of this legendary God-King’s last words: “Forget the God of Fire; for he is with you no more.”

His father had said, time and time again, that they were on their own now, and that humanity had been forsaken by the gods, and from his stories, they had. Luo knew that seven years after the Dragon’s death, upon the turn of the new century, the catastrophe struck.

And the world became winter.

He, though, believed differently, and this amulet, carrying a lasting aura of the summer sun, was proof that the gods, whoever they were, were still walking, invisible, at humanity’s side. He believed that this was a blessing, a gift of the last summer, forged not by mortal hand or claw, but within the fires of the sky.

His hand fell away, and he went to water his flower, like he did every single day of the year, nurtured it, and cared for it, like he would his children. But he knew, that every single day, the flower inched closer and closer to death, matched by his own remaining days. He hoped that his son would care for the flower, and see that this little piece of summer lived until true summer came.

But, he knew, that in the end, everything must die, to make way for new life. The plants, the animals, the humans of the earth and the dragons of the sky, even the stars, will die, and then, when nothing is left, they will truly be forsaken.