Time had passed slowly since the surviving pup of his first litter with Athene had perished. Seasons shifted, the warmth of spring bringing greenness back into the rattling brown grasses of Uyaraut and replacing the grey winter sky with fresh blue. Late snow flurries eventually melted into drizzling rains that dappled the ocean’s surface. Flowers bloomed among the scrub, bright blossoms of pink and purple that mirrored the colors of the sunrise. Many of the shore birds had come back to their nests, and more often one could see the V-shape of geese or ducks soaring deeper into Blossom Forest’s mainland. The most recent Uyaraut litter - that menagerie of bizarre mutants with their bird talons and goat hooves beget of the Umiatsuak pair - opened their eyes to the splendor of their beachside territory.

Then summer. Gentle misting precipitation falling heavier along the pallid shoreline, slamming the sand with massive liquid shells as thunder boomed in a blue-black sky. The easy balminess of springtime burned away by summer’s relentless heat, pushing wolves to cool off in the sea while the brilliant golden sun beat on their backs. They were still somewhat early into the season when Kershov - or what was left of Kershov, or what had become Kershov after Gwyneira’s death - planned to pull his mate Athene aside to discuss the training of their hideous brood. Unlike their first litter, in which both Sergei and Gwyn had trained as warriors to eventually battle one another for the right to live, this group of children would all enjoy the opportunity to learn under multiple disciplines. They’d also all be permitted to live, avoiding the horrors of Athene’s Trial… if they managed to master a particular skill. Experts at one thing. Only one thing. And while the glacial gladiator’s cold, distant eyes observed how his children came into their own, he had started to notice the strengths - and weaknesses - of each strange pup.

“Hathor is fierce… but her limbs are a liability for movement. She lacks proper power behind her strikes.” He sat by himself on a jagged cliff overlooking the tumultuous ocean, wind fluttering through the steel-colored feathers of his cape. His obsidian windows, although fixated on the horizon, saw nothing but his own plans churning within his skull. His muttered words were the only other sound amidst the static shush of crashing waves and occasional gull-cry. Somewhere, Athene would be running one of her pups through their paces; the winter-born beast knew his glorious mate would soon join him to share observations of her own - and together they’d plan the future of this brood. “Odinn shows promise as a ranger if we can build up his endurance. Caerus could be deadly with those horns. Giazakisa… doesn’t know what she’s capable of.” A shadow of irritation tightened the handsome half of Kershov’s shredded muzzle. Of all the litter, his cadejo daughter Gia and his gryphon daughter Hathor were absolute polar opposites: the former quite obvious about her self-loathing, the latter overconfident to the point of recklessness. Taking his role as “father” seriously for the first time in his life wasn’t helping the ivory Alpha to cope with his conflicting emotions. He wanted to lead these cubs to greatness, wanted to reach inside of them and bring forth their talents will ripping out the flaws. Unlike previous pups he’d sired, Kershov wanted these to matter to him - wanted to look at them and think “mine” and “I helped them get strong,” desired a connection to their success when his other children had existed as mere satellites in his universe. Athene was the perfect match - a weapon crafted of the same metal - and Kershov craved the honor of leading this litter - this whole pack by her side.

But damn it all - sometimes he really wanted to clobber the miniature brats and give them something truly awful to cry about.

Was that the tundra warlord in him? The one who’d witnessed the slaughter of his family and grown up over night? Or was that the monster tangled in his consciousness, who’d been born in that single moment of violence? Or was this complicated emotion driving him to the point of snapping something close to love… an experience still so new and puzzling for the Emperor to grasp?

With a short exhale, Kershov attemted to release his frustrations to the salt-scented breeze… only to tense up immediately at the bugle of another male climbing the atmosphere, requesting his presence at the border. Not a challenge. Not even a joining recruit. This sounded purely social - which had Kershov’s feathered hackles stirring with suspicion, for he had no friends outside this kingdom. Siku of Graes hardly counted and the gentleman calling obviously wasn’t the antler-crowned king.

Kershov trailed carefully down the rocky path from the cliff toward the beach. Massive paws built for plunging over snow carried his incredible bulk effortlessly down the shoreline, toward one of the rivers that comprised one side of Uyaraut’s border. After smelling more than one scent - mostly from teens, mostly from females - the Ice King increased his pace, curious and wondering if perhaps someone meant to test the mettle of his pack with a scrimmage. At last he saw several wolves gathered near the surf: one adult male with several wolves not yet grown, all of them in mixed states of wandering around or staring at the waves or chatting. And… was that light coming from their eyes?

Hathor had beaten her sire to the meeting, firing off those harsh avian screeches of hers. The idiot didn’t hear Kershov until he stood directly behind her, and even then it took his gigantic paw on her head to shut her up. With a silent pitch-black glance he ensured the gryphon would remain where she was while he addressed the party of blue-eyed strangers at his gates… although one of those strangers, the eldest porcelain warrior, struck Kershov has familiar. “Are you vampires?” the frost-breathing Pharaoh inquired, lyrics just loud enough to catch the party’s attention. No emotion lingered behind his tone; it escaped him with clinical precision, the tone of a surgeon collecting information from his next patient. “Your eyes glow blue rather than red… but I know of no other species with such an extraordinary gaze. And why have you traveled to Uyaraut with this band of callow younglings?”

Still under his foot, Hathor started to squirm and peep out something about an “ambush,” but Kershov pressed down firmer until she settled down. “Please get to your point.”