The promises king

After all that walking, fighting and pushing forward...Martin finally reached the summit.

The wind at the summit was dead still.

Martin stepped onto the final ridge, breathless—not from the climb, but the sight before him.

There, curled atop a bed of cracked ice and stone, lay a massive beast from the long told fairy tale.

A dragon.

Scales like moonlit marble shimmered faintly beneath frost. Its twin heads, crowned with jagged horns, rested against one another in slumber.

Loki—the twin-headed guardian of the peak. Its breath came slow, thunderous. Each exhale shook the snow, each inhale pulled clouds from the sky.

The wolf at Martin's side stopped, ears flat. It let out a low, uneasy whine.

Martin, "By the Gods, I never imagined seeing you in person. Loki, how many centuries has it been since you lost woke up? If only we knew the answer to that question." His eyes drifted past the slumbering titan and toward the throne.

Half-buried in snow, atop a platform of ancient stone, sat a blue seat of ice surrounded by countless swords.

The Frozen Throne.

But it wasn't empty.

A man sat there.

Dressed in official Ycracuse knight fur armor, a sword resting across his knees. His posture was straight, regal—but his face…

Martin's breath caught.

"...Father?"

Theodore Page.

Older than the photo Martin had carried for years, and gaunter. His once silver hair had thinned, streaked with black. But it was him. Alive. Awake.

Sitting where no one should be.

Martin broke into a run.

"Father!" he shouted, slipping on snow, his voice cracking. "You're alive?! Why didn't you come back? Why the letter? Why—why now?!"

The wolf barked furiously, growling as it kept its distance.

Theodore raised his head. And slowly get off the throne while still looking at the horizon.

The wolf barked become more louder and furious as he clawed the ground.

Martin turned to the wolf, "It's okay, its my–" but that moment cost him.

In a blink of an eye, Theodore was in front of Martin with a gentle smile on his face.

Martin didn't resigned what just happened before he felt the overwhelming pain flood his body.

He looked down. A steel sword pulled from his stomach, slick with blood.

Martin gasped, stumbling.

Theodore leaned in, whispering softly, "You've done well… watching over your mother. Thank you for that, son."

Martin's mouth opened, but no words came.

His blood painted the snow.

Theodore pulled back, holding a torn black ring in his free hand, "For the past four years, I thought about nothing but the two of yous." He wiped it on the sword that contained Martin's blood, the ring gleamed as it black form begun to turn a deep crimson.

"Everyday I spent looking for a solution with no answer. Repeating the endless circle." As he slid it onto his ring finger, a spider web of black marks stretched throughout his arm.

Martin fell to his knees holding his wound, still in shocked from what he was watching.

Theodore white hair slowly darkened, strand by strand, to a deep onyx black. His blue eyes burned blood red. And on his left eye, a black branded mark.

"Father…" Martin gasped.

The wolf lunged.

But Theodore flash step forward and his boot met the wolf ribs mid-air, sending the beast crashing against the ice.

Martin was still frozen in place, mentally processing everything that was happening.

Theodore knelt.

"This war cannot continue anymore," he said softly. "It's about time, someone ended."

He cupped Martin's cheek, "I love you, Martin. It's time for you to sleep. You've done your part."

Then, with one smooth motion—

He slit Martin's throat.

---

The wind howled again.

Loki stirred in the distance, both heads twitching.

The wolf whimpered, bloodied and broken.

And Martin Page, left to die on the Summit of Winter Peak.