|...present day… |

The gentle breezes of spring blazed into the lively heat of summer, the sky above nearly always a blue so pure it hurt Kershov’s eyes to gaze at it. The ocean swelled, healthy from violent summer torrents that slashed its waters with rain and backlit its heaving waves with white lightning. Just north of the glimmering beaches, Uyaraut was mostly scrubland - bushes and weeds and swaying grass - and now that the seasons had matured this sweeping area was a riot of color. When the Ice King patrolled, his ghostly pelt stood out starkly against the vibrant greens and rainbows of wildflowers. His coat lost the last of its winter weight, laying sleek against his muscular frame; the sea-eagle feathers he wore also shone in their full glory, a smooth cape of iron and ash. Things in the pack were going very well. Peace made Kershov’s kingdom quiet. For anyone on the outside looking in, the Diamond by the Sea was the perfect place for a wolf to make their home.

Except the frost-born Pharaoh still heard the ghosts lingering by the border. He could still smell the blood that haunted the wind. An atrocity had been committed against his pack - against his family - and until it had finally been avenged, Ker saw no beauty in the wonderful landscape around him. How could he? For the Alpha was not even really himself, but his Beast, and that horrendous creature appreciated little that was not killing or destruction.

If it hadn’t been for Athene, havoc would have already torn Uyaraut apart. The Beast wanted desperately to wrench pain out of everything it touched, driven by the grief still fresh and frigid and buried deep in its breast. This was the same merciless creature that had once endangered Abendrot, forcing Kershov to abandon his pack in order to save its citizens from the indiscriminate wrath of himself. So why did the white warrior not turn on his own soldiers to sate his angry bloodlust? Why did he not return to his den every night covered in gore, carrying a grisly trophy? If Kershov had been himself, if he could break from the nightmare he’d been buried in, he’d point to his incredible mate. The fearsome she-wolf had somehow kept the Beast in check, taming it daily, redirecting its feverish energy so that the Ice King could still function without shattering into pieces. She had helped form a bridge between savage madness and cold control. Those that knew Kershov recognized that he was… different, and yet the dragga retained some semblance of his personality. It was as if a new version of himself had been born: a chimera of rage and reason.

It was this… thing, this walking poltergeist in Kershov’s shell, that smelled his ally nearby and changed course to meet him. Kershov had arranged an alliance with Siku of Graes Waegholm more than a year ago, when he’d first learned of the existence of his litter with Kahlan. Not wanting to fail those pups as he’d failed their daughter - though at the time, Ker had not known who this daughter was - he took it upon himself to set up at least one of the boys with a guaranteed future. Young Kaukab had been betrothed to two of Siku’s adopted daughters. Whether or not Kab grew to love these girls was not a concern of Kershov; Kaukab merely had to have a tie to Graes, a reason for being there, and the union would serve as an example of the positive relationship between Graes and Uyaraut. Or, at least that’s what Kershov had explained to Siku those many seasons ago. He’d keep his story the same when he met with the antler-crowned alpha again.

Siku called for an audience in the same way he’d called before. Kershov answered amiably, picking up his pace so that Siku would not need to wait too long. Eventually, both massive males faced each other across the invisible wall, silently sizing each other up. Ker bowed his head in greeting, choosing to stand as he addressed the other Czar. “Siku - you look well. What brings you back to Uyaraut? Is Kaukab pulling his weight as a member of your pack?”