Frozen Candle Series: (Prologue) Snowberry

(I painted the covers)

"Artisan-King Ixthi of Cycle 1 2E, the first wearer of the Headdress of Omen have died from his first Omen. His fingers froze in place, his lungs drowned themselves, and his heart, blasting out from his chest in volcanic beatings. The corpse of his eminence served as canvas for the visions... of the apocalypse..."

-Records of The Eternal Crowns

©

At the infancy of time, when mortals were but saplings and sprouts suckling on the morning dew of progress, Gods stood as mountains that holds the rain in the sky, blocking the sun and sinking the moons. Soon, mortals molded themselves in rapport with the Divines, shouting their names in different tongues- opening new interpretations for life, death, and the in-between.

And the bore of harmony made the earliest races honor the divinities by dividing them as well into Three distinct households:

The Holy Household are the Pragmatic Gods boasting a family of seven and claiming the fundamentals of the natural world, balancing its pillars as their whims and will shaped the rules of science itself. And they were worshipped like sun and rain to crops.

The Household of Prosperity or the Benevolent Gods cradled each civilization. These "Seven-mostly-Eight" were the gentle rain-shower to the sprouting races of mortals. Worshipped by those who wish to rise from the dirt as tall, fruiting trees.

And lastly, The Household of the Tempted. With ten Malevolent personalities who orchestrate heavy storms to the sprouting races to either test their strength, or mock their resolve. In their eyes these mortals can either only be improved or removed. Yet their worshippers are an intriguing spectrum of demographics wishing to thrive as undying weeds in harsh lands- some even time can't uproot.

But balance shifted when Akantanel, the Father of the Holy Household, woke up with quadrupled heads, limbs, and eyes. The Gods soon realized that some of them were increasing in strength more so than others, which factored down to the worship of mortals. And so, the Gods started to mingle more with mortal affairs; granting gifts, blessings, and godly favors to the point that some nations named themselves after their Divine Bias.

But it didn't take long before some Gods were left behind and had subconsciously ranked themselves with unspoken rules.

So, to even the scales, the Divine entities agreed to cease their blessings, affairs, and occasional visits to refrain from abusing the race of religion. Instead, they all agreed that each would provide a single artifact for the mortals to represent their entity and spread their influence. This way, each of them would be on equal footing.

So they forged Crowns jeweled with half their powers and sent them to their mortal champions...

And 24 of them were worn by mortal rulers:

The Midnight Diadem restarts the day, The Coral Crown calls the tide, the Molten Crown translates anger to nature, the Headdress of Omen translates future to nature, the Silk Circlet weaves reality, Cap of Coin promises riches, Diadem of Dawn promises prophecies, The Swamp Crown calls on hope in the darkest place, and the Red Crown... Calls for forgiveness.

And so on...

But there existed a Divine Being with no crown to give. He was deemed as the Orphan-God for no Household accepted him.

Adastrielle, whose beauty inspired the names of each flowers known, yet left to burn from the embers of his red hair. Deemed too unnatural for the Holy Household, too perfect for the Prosperities, and too tempting for the Tempters. In turn, he was left by the outskirts of the divine soil with the natural world itself bending on his beauty to sustain him.

Always seated at the edge of a cloudy, pale cliff each afternoon; feet dangling down the mortal cities, palms flat on divine soil, and his eyes, onwards the setting sun. There he stays too powerless for gods yet too divine for mortals.

Or maybe, from his stare, the gods felt powerless.

His smile formed and the sun was left to die, for above the retreating light forms a dark spot in the clouds. It was the friend he was waiting for in this routine; willing to surprise his solitude and dawn happiness from the eyes of the outcast.

But the sharer of his solitude is not just some other God, this 'friend' flies a ship towards him made from the bleeding bodies of all unwilling demi-gods, never to be corpses. With their heads studded on the ledges, their bones and backs as floorboards, teeth as nails, and their skin hair-sewn together as its sails, it birthed a brutal ship with no language could name yet with a face akin to the Gods.

Somehow, it resembles not a ship but a mobile prison.

Its snout sliced through wind like a part of midnight advancing over the afternoon, and Adastrielle could see its builder smiling as a dreadful admiral- happy to see him. But his friend is clean of crimes, a doctrine in black and white, a necessary purge to reset the influence of all the divine beings. "No Demigod must stir the influence of the Gods." for they have numerous mortal offspring which might tip the balance. So, the tears of the parents themselves washed away the blood on his hands.

And soon the shrieks from the ship bled through the clouds, Adastrielle stood up, fingers resting on the basket he was weaving all noon.

From the escaping clouds he faced Diarthe, He who knocks in homes so death could enter. Son of the Malevolent Father- Oserio. His red-stained robes torn down the cummerbund to reveal a finesse that made all its beholder craven.

Adastrielle remembered how the robes were still white as cotton earlier that morning, was when the Dread-Lord sneaked a goodbye kiss while his eyes were closed to pretend he lies asleep. He wanted to know what the brutal God does behind his back and stealing kisses wasn't on the list.

The bodies in the ship found silence as soon as it neared the cliff, for there stands the God of Beauty at its edge, with a face that could numb all suffering.

"Missed me?" He greeted as the other God descends from the deck, offering the towering man a humbling fruit from his pocket.

"How can I ever say no to you?" Diarthe's lips followed the smile from his eyes before taking an ample bite. Starting his first meal since he left.

"That's a nice ship you have there." Adastrielle stared back at the brutalized faces squeezed jointly on the ship's keel like thousands of barnacles. The Dread-Lord almost choked on the fruit he was chewing upon hearing his remark.

"Do... you like it?"

"What do you think?" The God of Beauty whispered, fingers dirtied from the cheek of a dying demigoddess as he wiped her tears away.

"No?"

"See, you can say no to me after all."

His blooded fingers reached for the fruit-filled cheek of the dreadful God before him, thumb circling as if painting a red sign of forgiveness.

"Don't feel sorry for them." Diarthe pulled him away from the ship and next to the beating in his chest, inserting his hand into Adastrielle's pocket to grab another fruit to eat. "They declined the bountiful mercy of the first purge. Too late regretting torment when they chose to fight back against Gods." he whispered from the other's nape.

Adastrielle severed from his arms, weighing in his heart each word that left Diarthe's lips moments ago.

"Say, Diarthe, would I deserve the same torment if I ever fight against our fellow gods?" he said with his back turned and eyes on his bare feet.

The chewing had stopped. Adastrielle could feel his friend's breaths land on his nape again though he was a good meter away. Shivers, cold anguish.

"How can you ever say no to me, right?" Adastrielle smiled at his friend jokingly yet daring an answer out of him. But the Brutal God just stood there, with the sun dying behind him and his wrist resting on the hilt of the same blade that had cut off and minced the bodies of the Demigods beside them. Diarthe stared back at him in a bottomless conflict, deeper than the Oceans of Fonclere herself. His mother.

"Stop playing games with me, Snowberry... I will never win..."

"Snowberry... I will never win..."

"Snowberry... never win..."

"Snowberry...."

"Snow..."

"Snowberry, wake up!"

Flayed back into another reality, his head cracked awake in cold sweat. The knocking on the door turning into a banging as the croaking of whiteravens called for the sun to be alive.

"Rise with the sun, Snowberry!" he was called again. As he rose with the songs of the morning birds outside, he thought to himself.

"That was just a dream..."

___________

Title: Frozen Candle Vol.1

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, LGBT, Psychological, Political.

Age Range: 16 and above

Author's Name: Zelenesenki

Why Your Project is Fit:

I've written and designed the concepts of this Story since I was 13, now that I'm 20, the World Building in the Frozen Candle universe is HEAVY with its own world map illustrated on a real map, its own cultures, religions, history, and civilization. The Story appeals to philosophical subjects, the nature of Divinity, the misuse of authority, spread of fakenews, Toxicity, the definition of a soul, and the questions of frail mortality and morality. This is also a Passion project to advocate political and gender fairness (LGBT).

Word Count: 50,000 (Vol. 1)

Hook Sypnosis:

The War-Country of Sovenia spreads a white landscape of snow ready to be inked by a tale of two: An Alchemist hooded and masked with an innocent secret- working free for the slums both day and night. And a sweet Sailor awash with a bitter murder spree all for his dreadful affection.

But what would happen when a Diplomat-Prince from an ancient rival country took a liking to the hooded lad on his peace-treaty visit? Would the Sailor's murder spree increase exponentially while tarnishing peace forever? or will he have to learn restraint for the sake of the world?

Little did they know that even their smallest decision may add blots to the sun, and the world would beg for the Frozen Candle.

Target Audience: LGBT youth and adults.

Bio: 20-year-old Web Development student undergoing completion next year. A portrait artist, music producer/composer, and now writer.

Platform: Wattpad, Webnovel.

Education: Senior Highschool Graduate, National Certificate Holder (Argri.), Web Development Student.

Experience: None that matters.

Personality: INXX-T, 4w5

Writing Style: Poetic, Descriptive.

Likes/Hobbies: Art Commissioning, Music Production, Writing, Gaming.

Hometown: Baguio City, Philippines

Age: 20