The War of Aeternum Nivis

Thundering roars and cries of bloodshed echoed against the snow-covered mountains of Aeternum Nivis. For years, the frost dragons of Nix Alis and the humans of Nix Venae feuded through snow and storm. The Nix Alis were returning from their latest retaliation to a Nix Venae raid of the Northern mountainside. Their azure scales with streams of silver sparkled brightly as they flew under the moon’s glow. Their massive, opal wings ached, and their throats were scratchy. It would take some time for their frost breath to recover before the next ambush.

Hávarðr, lord of the dragon-clan, lead his kind proudly through the night sky. He forced himself to conceal his exhaustion and pain. He needed to be strong for his clan, even if it slowly killed him.

“Bergljót!” he shouted against the frigid high-winds. His sister flew up beside him. He could see the sorrow in her gleaming, silver eyes. She was perhaps the most tired from this war, not from the fighting but from the grief. One day, Bergljót would be able to fly in peace. But today, Hávarðr needed his war-scout.

Bergljót knew what needed to be done. Without any words, she dove down towards the bowels of the mountain as the rest of the clan carried onwards. The bitter winter air stung her scaly face as scouted the ground below. Scouting was rarely a dangerous endeavour, but it made even the frost dragons yearn for the warmth of a campfire. She flew with watchful eyes but kept gazing down at the Oscula Nivis flowers that bloomed along the frozen forest at the mountain base.

These pure white flowers lived up to their legacy as “kisses of the snow”. They were rather peculiar; delicate to the eye, but resilient through even the harshest Aeternum Nivis winters. Not a single human nor dragon from these lands knew why these undying flowers only grew in a line across the base of the mountain range. However, the clans decided to form a mutual reasoning to create order among their country. The Oscula Nivis flowers became symbols of cohesion among the frost dragons of the Nix Alis and the humans of the Nix Venae. Not a symbol of peace or friendship, but rather of tolerance. If the Nix Venae resided at the roots of the mountains, while the Nix Alis settled within the alpine caverns, then acquiescence would continue. The line of Oscula Nivis guarded the barrier between these two worlds. That is, until someone crossed the line, and the fighting began. The Nix Venae and Nix Alis blamed each other, but after years of bloodshed, it did not seem to matter how the war started. All that mattered was survival. But survival was barely living.

Bergljót’s frost heart began to race. A dark figure lay beside a tree that the Oscula Nivis grew around. Another Nix Venae tried to cross the line. They were getting bolder.

She deftly swooped down and landed beside the tree. As she suspected, the Nix Venae was dead, taken by winter’s grasp. Bergljót’s silver, reptilian eyes narrowed on the human. It was a woman, judging by her stature. Bergljót had no urge to turn the human over, as frost-death was not a sight one longed to see. Strangely, the woman’s arms were stretch around the trunk of the tree, as if she was once hugging it. Bergljót knew of the oddness of humans, but she had not seen them hug trees before. Instead, they tore them down and burned them.

Bergljót scanned the area, but no other Nix Venae seemed to be around. It was unusual for a woman in common-dress to venture to the Oscula Nivis boundary. Mostly soldiers dared to cross this line, especially at night. Bergljót would report on this case, but there was knowledge it would provide for their strategic team.

Creak.

Bergljót jumped, looking at the tree the Nix Venae was holding. She exhaled, embarrassed that a massive creature such as herself got startled by a branch creaking in the wind.

Suddenly, shrill, desperate crying emerged from the hollowed tree. This was a sound Bergljót heard many times before in the Nix Venae settlement. It was a sound that tug at her heart piece by piece. The Nix Venae woman was not simply hugging the tree, but protecting it.

Bergljót delicately extended her obsidian claw into the snow-crusted tree. She slowly closed it until she felt a bundle of blankets. She pulled it out cautiously as the distressed crying continued. In her shiny claw, hiding among a mound of blankets, was a Nix Venae youngling. This could only have been its second winter at most. It was petite, red-faced, and warm. Even in the winter’s chill, Bergljót could still feel its warmth. But it would not last. The innocent are always betrayed by the cruelty of war far more than the guilty are. Most of them were guilty, the humans and the frost dragons. Bergljót had given up on this war, but she would not let it take another innocent. Not after all the loss their clan faced tonight.

Bergljót gently placed the Nix Venae youngling in her mouth, carefully avoiding her sharp, jagged teeth. This was the only warm place for the child, so Bergljót would have to be extra cautious during her flight.

But where should she go? To the Nix Venae? No, they would attack her on first sight. She decided to take the child to her kind in the mountain caverns, where it could find protection from this icy forest. Hávarðr would know what to do. He fought against the Nix Venae as much as any Nix Alis, but he was a frost dragon of valor. He only fought to protect his clan and longed for the day the war would die in the bitter winds.

* * * * *

“Bergljót! Where have you been?” Eindriði hollered at his sister furiously. He was protective of her. He had to be after all the slaughtering the Nix Venae had done. In the past month, they had lost three more of their dragon-clan. But Eindriði’s care was often masked by anger. As Commander of the Nix Alis and Hávarðr’s right-hand dragon, he had to be stern. He had to make sure they survived.

Bergljót mumbled in response, racing through the enormous cavern on all fours. Her wings needed a break, but she had to reach the Citadel. Eindriði followed, his much larger, sapphire body lumbering after her.

Hávarðr sat in the Citadel, the most magnificent of all the mountain caverns. Torches lit the massive walls, illuminating the artwork of the Nix Alis that was carved with their very own claws. The Citadel provided enough space for all the Nix Alis to fly around, though their numbers were dwindling. All of the remaining Nix Alis were here as well, resting and planning.

“Eindriði! Bergljót! What’s wrong?” Hávarðr asked promptly as the duo hurried over.

“Bergljót’s lost it,” Eindriði grumbled.

Bergljót finally took her rest in front of all the dragon-clan. She held a shaky claw to her mouth and timidly opened it. She gently removed the Nix Venae child, who was covered in saliva, but warm and alive. Somehow, the youngling had fallen asleep, rather peacefully.

“It is one of the Nix Venae!” one of the dragon-clan gasped. Exclamations of shock reverberated throughout the cavern.

“Explain. Now.” Hávarðr demanded firmly.

Bergljót recounted her story, eliciting deep contemplation among the dragon-clan. They all understood the complexities of the situation. In the following moments of silence, all the Nix Alis prepared for the crucial debate to come.

Opinions roared throughout the Citadel.

“Get rid of it!”

“Return it!”

Bergljót guarded the child in its bundle of blankets as the voices rambled on. She trusted the other frost dragons, but she decided not to take a chance. Though it was now awake, it seemed to be content snuggling against Bergljót’s azure tail.

“The Nix Venae will kill us!”

“They cannot be trusted!”

“We must return the child! If we gain favor with the Nix Venae, we could come to an agreement. We could end this war!” Bergljót interjected eagerly. She always had an optimistic nature about her, one that many of the frost dragons interpreted as naivety.

“Where have you been during this war, Bergljót?” Eindriði barked, “the Nix Venae are far too dangerous. They have rows and rows of ballistae that will be loaded with flaming bolts the moment they spot us!”

“But if we make it through – “

“If we make it through? Their entire settlement is enclosed with towering walls with barbed lining. Even their houses are topped with spikes, for Aeternum’s sake! We will lose the advantage and be forced to land in their town center, where they will surround us!”

“Eindriði, we fight to protect our own and so do they. Amidst all this loss, every single one of us have been hurt by war. I am certain they are as just as exhausted with it as we are.”

Bergljót was right, it seemed as though every human and frost dragon in Aeternum Nivis had seen more days of war than of peace. Whether they had hands or claws, everyone was worn out by the continuing, fruitless battles. But war had become a part of life, so much that it distracted the clans from their motives. Even now, the war caused arguments and raised tensions within their own sanctuary. Hávarðr raised a large, obsidian claw, silencing the room. He refused to let his dragon-clan be torn apart over a Nix Venae youngling.

“Bergljót, even if we come to an agreement with the Nix Venae, sparing one child will not be enough to end this war,” Hávarðr confessed.

Hávarðr eyed his dragon-clan. Their once glistening scales of azure and silver were dulled by dirt, ash, and blood. These magnificent, formidable beasts looked defeated and afraid. That is, except for Eindriði, who was as resolute as ever. Snow-dust exhaled from his broad, flared nostrils as his slate eyes studied the cuddly child. Hávarðr feared for his brother, who could be as bitter as the Aeternum Nivis high-winds. All Eindriði wanted was to protect his family, but if the war went on, Hávarðr feared that it would corrupt Eindriði. The Nix Alis had survived for far too long. They needed to live again.

“What do we do, Hávarðr?” Eindriði asked impatiently.

The great dragon-lord straightened his posture as he sat confidently in front of his kind. His massive, opal wings reflected the blue and silver hues of his body’s scales. From the comfort of Bergljót’s tail, the child looked up at Hávarðr with awe-struck eyes. Hávarðr stared back at the child of his enemy.

“We keep the child. Use it as leverage. Make the Nix Venae come to us, where we have the advantage,” Hávarðr declared.

“Eindriði said we cannot make it close enough to return the child. How do you suppose we inform them of this…negotiation?” Bergljót questioned nervously.

“Take one of the blankets. Bergljót, you are the most adept scout here. Stay high above the towers, out of range from their projectiles. Drop the child’s blanket in the town center,” Hávarðr commanded.

“How do we know that they will think the child is still alive? What if they think we killed it and are taunting them? This could incite further violence,” Eindriði remarked.

“Yes…good point. We need to make the message clear.”

“An Oscula Nivis flower!” Bergljót exclaimed.

“Okay, use the stems to tie the blanket. If they misinterpret our message, then they must be prepared to fight. Perhaps we can come to an agreement. But if they choose violence, then they will be buried beneath the frigid depths of Aeternum Nivis.”

Both Eindriði and Bergljót gave their brother a nod of approval. Compromise was constant during war, and this was one they both understood. Though their opinions were as different as fire and snow, they were united.

* * * * *

Bergljót flew with the flower-tied blanket bundle in her claws. The child would be safe with her clan, but better for it to return to its own kind. Bergljót, however, may not be as lucky. If the Nix Venae caught her, they would shoot her down with metal and fire. She had to be swift and silent.

The settlement of the Nix Venae was menacing. Its stone walls stood tall with spikes at each corner and barbed wire across its lengths. It was hard to imagine how a baby could grow up in a place like that. Bergljót always thought of humans as warm creatures, especially compared to frost dragons. But this place…it was cold and intimidating.

Bergljót flew high above the city. She could hear shouts and bells in the distance, distorted by the racing high-winds. Suddenly, lines of bright orange flickered in the darkness below. The Nix Venae caught her, and they were firing up the ballistae.

Flaming bolts flared into the sky, cutting through the frigid air. Bergljót flew too high up for them to reach, so she knew she was safe. However, this filled her with a new dread. She was too far up for an assault, and yet these humans attacked on sight. They must have known they could not hit her at this height, but yet they still attacked. This was not a defence; this was a threat.

Bergljót hovered high above the town center. A part of her did not want to let the bundle go. A part of her wanted to keep the child, spare it from this violent civilization. If the dragon-clan took in the child, it would be one less Nix Venae soldier. Instead, the youngling could grow up as a friend to the frost dragons. It would be just as easy for her to return and tell Hávarðr that the humans were far too ruthless and hostile. But she let go…she had too. This war needed to end.

* * * * *

A man of the Nix Venae stood at the foot of the mountain range. Against its great height, he was an ant. His bulky fur robes stirred in the rising winds. In his arms, he held the blanket bundle, twined with the Oscula Nivis flowers.

“NIX ALIS!” he roared with courage and might, “SHOW YOURSELF!”

Hávarðr and Bergljót had been waiting at the lowest peak of the mountain, just a few feet over the Oscula Nivis and overlooking the forest. With their opal wings wrapped around themselves, they blended in with the snowy mountain side.

They revealed themselves to the man, sheathing their wings. He jumped back but stood his ground.

“I am Guðbrandr, Commander of the Nix Venae,” the man proclaimed, “I have come for the child. Be warned, dragons, I have my men and women hidden in the forest. They are prepared to attack on my call!”.

“We mean you no harm, human,” Hávarðr vowed sincerely. “We wish only to return your kin. This is our war, not the child’s.”

Bergljót meekly flew down towards Guðbrandr. He swiftly drew his sword. The Nix Alis usually fought from the sky with their frost breath. This was the first time Bergljót could really look at one of these humans. The skin of all the Nix Venae was pallid and slightly blue from years of frost adaptations. Their thick, greyish hair and brawny appearances made them all look wolfish. This man stood around seven feet tall, but Bergljót was easily twice his size. She lowered her head and body towards the man, as a sign of respect. Guðbrandr observed her every move, ready to fight.

Then, Bergljót opened her mouth. The child was nestled inside, cooing. Guðbrandr was clearly disgusted but seemed to understand the concept. He cringed as he reached for the child. Bergljót did not dare move an inch. For a human, the numerous large teeth of a frost dragon would be intimidating, but Bergljót never thought of herself in that light.

Guðbrandr wiped the dragon saliva off the little child, who snuggled up to the familiar man. He nodded to Bergljót. She gently flew back up to Hávarðr.

The Nix Venae man drew back into the cover of the forest, with the child bundled happily in his arms. Hávarðr scanned the forest. He could not see any of the other Nix Venae, but they were there. He could sense it. There could have been hundreds in there, all ready to battle.

But today...today the Nix Venae and the Nix Alis did not fight.