• White Blanket • [SYNCING]

• Prologue •

The air was filled with the strong smell of petrichor, for the rain had just begin to settle. There was a gloomy and sober atmosphere lingering over the lands. On the brink of winter, all chances of survival after a war remained mingling between the lowest of percentages. Bacteria would quickly take on your weak-ish immune system after swords have penetrated your skin and flayed off the top layers of fat, leaving you defenceless and doomed to either succumb to frostbite or be forced to become a docile slave to your enemy's army.

It is times like these that higher-ups choose to mingle with their power. Sheepish laughs are to be heard in the Kingdom's halls as mighty figures send their troops into wars, watching with winning smiles as they fall to the ground like mere pawns in a game of chess.

Starvation rules the lands during this harsh time of the year. Church bells ring loudly whenever icy breezes of wind blow aggressively over the plains.
Hope is just a distant memory of the past. One is yet to be convinced otherwise.

War is not glorious. It's not something you should be obligated to train for, it's miserable and exhausts an unnecessary amount of soldiers. There are moments during reign of the white blanket in which residents are fatigued to the point of fainting. Oh, to be lucky enough to be condemned to eternal sleep.

I sometimes reminisce about memories of the distant past. Folklore tells of tales set long before tyranny and power hungry sociopaths were even a thing. Perhaps, a time where all humanoids and similarly unique creatures lived in peace.
I often dreamed of riding on top of magnificent dragons, enchanted by their magical properties and flying in between the silver linings of the sun and the moon.
I dreamed of having wonderful tea parties with pixies and fairies in lands that hold moderate climates, laughter filling the air as we treat ourselves to delicate meals.
I dreamed of constructing my own cabin in the forests, living a simple life with not a care in the world.

But those were just dreams.

He awoke to his name being called from the kitchen. "Ivelan! Get up before I beat the shit out of you!", and of course it was his annoying little sister calling out to him.

He slowly sat up on his hard bed. It looked very uncomfortable to lay on, but hey, you have to know how to keep your soldiers tough.

Ivelan slowly slummed towards the general direction of the eating hall, passing many corridors and taking his sweet time. He loved nothing more than to annoy his little sister.

Many of the halls he passed were filled with paintings of famous historical figures of royal blood, brave noblemen who fought in order to protect their Kingdom.
Marble statues were put on display on stone pedestals, standing just in front of the walls that were decked in thick red carpet containing their own colourful custom embroidery.
Large windows were covered up by blinds and long curtains with a blood red hue to them.
The floor was made of marble, with red carpets leading the way to other sections of the palace.

Now, Ivelan was anything but not humble, he found the place to be overly extravagant. That didn't mean he didn't like it, it was just a bit too much for his poor little heart to handle.

He ruffled his messy brown hair as an attempt to look at least somewhat presentable to his peers, almost hitting his head into a low hanging chandelier as he did so.

Just as he was about to enter the grand dining hall, he was met with two fully suited knights guarding the door. It appeared to be made out of wood, acacia specifically. Through all the years of wear and tear that door had to endure, it's once bright and cheerful colour faded looking almost indifferent to a piece of rotten wood.

Despite this, the door was beaming of handcrafted carvings and many religious references to folklore. One which was especially noticeable was the large four-pointed star carved in at the tippy top of the bizarre wooden structure.