As soon as the wind relented, Seton emerged from the dragon, rubbing snow over himself to clear the grime. Though it was still dark, he packed up his stakes and rope, removing a few of the dragon's scales and putting them in his sack as a sort of trophy. He ate a morsel of dried meat he'd packed, then continued toward the mountains, leaving the carcass of the dragon to be consumed by wolves and the like. He moved away quickly, not wanting to be in the vicinity when they inevitably came.

He pushed onward, and by the time the sun finally emerged to light his path, he had begun to ascend, moving back and forth along the steep cliffs. The higher he climbed, the more intense the winds became, though this time, he could see no storm coming. But the mountain winds alone were threatening enough, throwing him off his balance more than once. Each time, he found himself slipping, desperately gripping the rocky cliffside and trying not to look down at the hills and trees and stones below. But while he came close to falling numerous times, he never quite did, and made his way to the top of the first mountain by the time the sun was about halfway through the sky.

From there, he surveyed the mountain range, plotting a course from his position to the highest peak, where he noted the dragonoids to still be active. From there, he also had a better view of the spires that crowned the peak. Though the mountain in itself was a sight to behold, the spires seemed to form something of a palace entirely of ice, which glistened in the sunlight like a jewel. Scarcely did the dragons and wyverns stray from the surrounding peaks. Those, Seton realized, would be the most perilous stretch of the journey by far.

For a moment, he turned his attention from the lofty peaks to the village beneath him, where the colossal stalagmite of ice still stood. From so high up, it appeared even smaller than it did from below. He thought of the dragon he felled, and of the wyvern that threatened the destruction of the village. That dragon alone had been stronger and more vicious than most animals, and he'd only won by a hair's breadth. That dragon alone could have destroyed half the village, had it chosen to. If all of the dragons roosted in the peaks beyond descended, would the village even stand the slightest chance? And if the Frost King, who was undeniably stronger than any other beast ever known--wyvern, dragon, or otherwise--wanted the village gone, who could stop him? Which, in Seton's mind, begged another question: if the Frost King was so enraged as to harass the village, why leave warnings? It was obviously strong enough, and had an army at its side, so why not lay waste to them and be done with it? Why act so strangely merciful?

Finding no answer, Seton continued down the side of the mountain and toward the next, his course now clear in his mind. The road would be a dangerous, steep one, but it would keep him clear of the higher spots where the dragons would be, until the final push for the highest summit. From there, he did not know. But either the Frost King would fall, or he would meet his own, bloody end there. Perhaps both would happen.

By the time the sun was setting, he had made it past the second mountain, and was tucked between it and the third. This time, there was no storm, and he was able to shoot a fox that had strayed too far from the woods. He stripped branches from the nearest tree he could find, dug a hole in the snow, and lit a fire within it, where the winds would not threaten it so severely. He cut off a portion of the fox's meat, skewering it and holding it patiently over the fire until it was cooked enough to be edible. It was tough, and without much flavor, but it was hot, and it filled him. When he was done, he hurled the rest of the carcass over the edge and down below, so scavengers would not be led to his resting spot. Though the likelihood of a whole pack of dogs being so high up was low, it was a risk he preferred not to take. He let the fire burn for warmth, and sat beside it, dipping in and out of sleep. All the while, he clutched his ax, ready to swing should some curious predator get too close.

By the time the sun had just barely begun to creep past the horizon to dimly light the land, Seton had already resumed his journey. He passed between mountains, trudging through snow and creeping along narrow ledges. Though the winds were constant, they were not so fierce, and the skies were a fair bit clearer than they had been on the first day. Though the occasional dragon flew down and landed between the mountains, Seton took care to watch for them, and never allowed himself to come close, or be clearly seen. More often, they would pass overhead, the sun catching their white or silver scales as they flew toward the wooded hills in search of prey. If they did see him at all, they seemed to pay him little mind compared to the dragon that had attacked before. These, he noted, were a bit larger. Perhaps that one had been a juvenile too eager to bring back the wrong sort of prey, and to please the rest with its catch.

As he drew closer to the foot of the highest mountain, Seton began to notice a greater variety in the dragons that flew overhead. Some were large, with scars that spoke of battles fought and won. Some were small, with eyes bright and curious. A couple were long, thin, and bony, with aging bodies and wrinkling wings. And the farther he got, the more he began to notice the wyverns. They, unlike the dragons, perched on the rocks of the mountains like sentinels, silently watching over the dragons. Their frames were far more muscular, with two massive, powerful legs; thick, short tails; and large, blunt heads with horns pointing forward not unlike those of a ram. When they did occasionally fly, they did so slowly and clumsily compared to the dragons, who made it look effortless with their graceful movements. But when one of them opened its jaws to roar, all dragons came to attention, perching on the rocks and inclining their heads to the high peak, where the largest wyverns perched amidst the glistening spires of ice.

Seton kept moving, but watched as the dragons and wyverns all fixed their attention on the crown of the mountain. There was a moment of silence, then a familiar roar rang out from above--one more deafening and more intimidating than any other. The mere sound of it chilled the very air around them, causing Seton to tremble both from the heightened cold and his own fear. Upon hearing that roar, each dragon below lifted its head and roared in reply, forming a unified chorus. Then all dragons spread their wings and took flight, moving upward to revolve around the peak. The wyverns remained perched below, watching the dragons as they flew. As they did, the winds intensified, and Seton quickly realized that another storm was coming.

The clouds were only just beginning to form above, meaning that there was still time, so he decided to make one last push toward the peak. He moved with haste, hoping to be able to take shelter somewhere in the spires before the storm reached its climax. He scrambled up the side of the mountain, no longer concerned about being seen, as the dragons overhead were too occupied with their ritual to notice him. Though the freezing wind attempted to throw him off, and his own tiring muscles threatened to give way, he climbed upward, resting for moments when he reached a sturdy ledge before continuing once more. When the snowy slopes and icy ledges finally proved too formidable to be climbed by hand, he retrieved the knives from his sack and used them to dig into the snow and chip away the ice. Though the blades became blunted from the misuse, they were effective enough and allowed him to gain additional ground on the mountain. When the blades finally chipped and broke, he retrieved the wooden stakes he had packed and used them. By the time those too had all become worn down and frayed at the tips, he was near enough to the top that he could make the final push by hand. When he did, at last, reach the summit, his entire body was burning, and his fingers and palms were dripping with blood. The moment he reached flat ground, he collapsed, lying in the snow for many moments and staring up at the whirling clouds, and the multitude of dragons that flew overhead. The clouds were darkening, and the full force of the storm would begin soon.

Seton stood up, quickly taking in the surroundings on the summit. From there, he realized that the icy spires he'd seen from below were far larger up-close, emerging from the snow and stone like crystalline cathedrals. Cavities in the spires seemed to lead into structures inside, as well. Seton guessed those to be dens for the dragons, formed by the Frost King's ice. A bony tail would occasionally flick from one of the holes, presumably that of an elderly beast, and an infantile dragon would sometimes poke its head out to stare at the flying creatures above. Although stormy clouds swirled overhead, the wind at the peak was far more bearable than expected. If anything, it was rather peaceful, though the sound of the wind's howls told him that the same was not true farther down the mountain.

Even so, the wind was cold, leading Seton to seek shelter within one of the spires. Despite being made of ice, they were well-protected from the wind, and surprisingly insulated relative to the open air. On the inside, the spires were all the more impressive, with ledges and perches fashioned from the same ice for the dragons within. Not only that, but carvings lined each and every wall, crafting elaborate pictures of dragons, wyverns, and other creatures like Seton had never seen before. All seemed to point upward, guiding his eyes to the top of the spire where holes in the ice allowed light to peek through and illuminate the engraved figures. Amazed, Seton beheld the sight for a moment, but quickly realized the Frost King was not there. No, a king would require some sort of palace.

As soon as he stepped outside, he realized where that palace would be. Though there were several spires with varied height and girth, he quickly noticed that there was one that protruded higher than the rest, its tip reaching up toward the center of the clouds. This was the spire around which all the dragons flew, conjuring the storm that ravaged the hills below. As he looked closer, he noticed something else at the base of the spire. That something was the remains of a colossal skull so large that whatever it once belonged to would have been able to swallow one of the dragons above with ease. It, however, was shattered, as though this grand spire had come up through the monster's head and left it there to die. Only then did Seton begin to feel the true terror of what he was undertaking. If ever there was a palace for a king of dragons, that was it.

Despite the racing of his heart and the pit in his stomach, Seton entered that massive spire, ax gripped tightly in his hand for comfort. Once again, the interior was elaborate, but this time, it was different. Instead of perches and ledges, the spire was empty, save for the same elaborate engravings that he'd seen in the other. On those icy walls, dragons seemed to dance, and wyverns marched. Winged serpents twisted and writhed, and wingless dragons prowled below. And once again, all inclined their heads upward, leading to carvings of three massive beasts unlike the others. All three were surrounded by carved clouds, yet each was surrounded by a different element. One was surrounded by jagged marks that seemed to represent lightning. One was surrounded by droplets of rain. And the third was surrounded by intricate snowflakes.

The beast surrounded by lightning had the appearance of a serpent with wings so large that its body appeared miniscule by comparison. Its appearance was graceful, but the carved lightning spoke of power and majesty. The creature surrounded by rain was a sort of dragon, but its body was wider and flatter. It had four wings, all of which were similarly large. Its body seemed to curve gently, as though it floated effortlessly through the skies. The beast surrounded by snowflakes was the Frost King. The same muscular body and massive jaws loomed ominously overhead, and its carved eyes seemed far more dangerous than those of the other beasts. It was a conqueror--a feared and renowned warrior, even among dragons.

But even these three, for all their majesty, beauty, and might, still pointed upward still, to the very top of the spire. There, above all other dragons, was what could only be described as a god. Like the others, it was a kind of dragon. But this one was larger than the rest, with a large body that tapered seamlessly into a long, serpentine tail. Eight wings emerged from its back and tail, and three heads looked down at the three beasts below. A halo of clouds surrounded the dragon, and from those clouds fell lightning, rain, snow, and wind. That was the moment Seton realized this spire was no palace. It was a place of worship, where even a human out to hunt and kill the Frost King stood in complete awe. When he finally managed to pull his eyes away, he realized that, at the center of the chamber, was a cave leading down into the mountain. He eyed the cave with caution at first, but continued toward it until he could see down inside. Though he expected it to be pitch-black, the cave was dimly lit by some sort of illuminating stones that gave off a pale blue light. With no other clear leads, he clutched his ax and started down the rocky tunnel.

Even below the chapel-like spire, he was still met with elaborate carvings. Often, a wall of ice would cover the stone of the cave, and would bear markings that seemed to come together to tell a story. This one, however, appeared to be about the Frost King. It began with carvings of a colossal beast--a drake with four legs and no wings. It stood atop the mountain, conjuring storms that swept across the mountains, and calling all dragons to attention. Another detail Seton noted was a symbol that he did not recognize. It almost seemed to be a rune, or a word in another language, though no language he knew of used markings like it. In every carving of the giant drake, that symbol was carved just above its head.

Then, from among the dragons and wyverns, one emerged that was larger and stronger--a wyvern that seemed to command respect from those around it. From what Seton could tell, the wyvern challenged the drake, and the rest watched in what he could only imagine was great anticipation. The drake accepted the challenge, and after a presumed battle, the wyvern stood proudly over the corpse of the drake, its mouth wide in a victorious roar. At that moment, the same symbol that had marked the drake now marked the wyvern instead. The wyvern went on to form great chambers of ice atop the mountains, and stood proudly over all dragonoids as their new ruler.

Seton thought that was where it would end, but it wasn't. The carvings went on to show humans arriving in the valley below, weary and downtrodden. The Frost King came to greet them, and they knelt before it. They seemed to plead with it, leading to some sort of bargain that resulted in the humans establishing a settlement in the valley. But then, the markings stopped abruptly, with claw marks marring the ice and stone. From there, the walls were blank. Perhaps, Seton thought, the story would continue so long as the dragons remained here.

The tunnel continued for a while longer, sloping steadily downward until it finally opened up into a large chamber. Like the tunnel before, a pale blue light emanated from crystals embedded within the walls. The chamber they illuminated seemed to have formed around the ribcage of a huge skeleton, with ledges of bone, rock, and ice forming large steps that spiraled down toward the bottom. Seton followed these steps until, at last, he reached the bottom, where a circular tile of ice rested, bearing a large engraving in the shape of another rune--the very same rune that marked the Frost King, and the ruler before it. Though it was faint, looking at it again, the mark almost seemed to bear resemblance to the body and wings of a dragon. Seton stepped onto the icy tile, looking up at the spiraling steps, and all around at the colossal ribcage. He looked down at the intricate carvings underneath his feet, and thought back to the icy murals that had covered the walls of every spire and cave. These were no animals, he realized.

All that was left to see was one large tunnel that led from the bottom of the chamber. This tunnel was dark, and from its open mouth, a frigid wind blew. He took a step toward it, but was stopped in his tracks as the wind intensified, bringing with it a deep, guttural voice. 

"Who dares," groaned the voice from deep in the cave. Silence fell for a moment, then the voice repeated. 

"Who dares!"