The Winterlands were cold as hell.

  Damien flew over the dragon ocean, slowly approaching the distant shoreline of their destination—The Winterlands.

  The winds, as they slowly approached, turned from cool and soothing into bone chilling, so much so that not even Keilan could do anything about it.

  The calm waters turned frozen, slate white landmass with giant icebergs jutting out of the ocean as they flew in deeper, eventually crossing into the continent of eternal winter.

  Winterland was an aptly named continent—a land of eternal ice and snow, with freezing death winds a constant across the vast landmass. It was just like the Desolate continent, except where there was sand over there, it had been replaced with snow here.

  Unlike Greensend, which was predominantly occupied by humans, The Winterlands was an elf dominated land—ice elves, to be precise.

  As they flew deeper, Damien and Keilan crossed the air spaces of multiple Kingdoms, most of which were ruled by Monarch Realms wielders, which made their passage completely undetected. The others, which were ruled by Spirit lords, very much sensed them as they skimmed just below the clouds. Damien could have repelled the perception that swept over him and his brother, but he felt that as the intruder here, it was only right that they were allowed to know who was passing. Besides, it wasn't like they were capable of doing much if they wanted to be violent, which was shown a moment later when they all snapped back their perception the instant they detected who exactly was passing above them.

  Damien shook his head. There were actually forces here that could threaten him greatly, even strengthened as he was, but he reckoned none of them saw any valid reason to bar his path.

  He and Keilan directed their flight towards the western part of the land, unfortunately the coldest part of the continent. It was so cold that Damien, now a mid tier Spirit lord, felt the creeping cold seep into his bones. His teeth clenched and he didn't know when his hands moved to hug himself.

  He blinked all of a sudden as the temperature rose a considerable degree. The cold was still there, present, but it was like the vast majority of its influence was held back by something.

  He turned towards his brother, who nodded back at him. "That's the best I could do."

  Damien nodded in appreciation.

  Their journey into the western part of the continent did not take long, and eventually they slowly lowered themselves, reducing their altitudes until they came upon the walls of a castle.

  The architecture of the structure was similar to a majority of the ones found around the world—towering spires surrounded it from all sides, with statues—humanoid, this time, and not of gargoyles, thankfully—that hung above the battlements and even the high windowsills and balconies, all, like the castle itself, were made completely out of ice.

  The detailed creation itself was still one of the wonders of the world, a marvel that had never been recreated. Trust, many had tried.

  From the top, Damien could make out the dozens of other ice sculpted buildings, smaller, that dotted the estate, many of which had people coming in and out, moving like the intense cold did not bother them at all.

  His presence did not bat an eye aside from the sentries who stood on the walls, all of whom straightened themselves, weapons gripped tight as they turned towards the approaching forms of he and his brother.

  They slowed down their descent until they came to a stop before the walls, hovering just outside of them. Guards filled the battlements, many rushing up even seconds after he'd stopped.

  Damien had no eyes for them, however. He turned towards a woman who stood at the center of the battlement, just opposite where he hovered. She was putting on a blue white embellished robe, with sleeves that covered her hands, both of which were slotted into the widened sleeves of the other hand.

  Her hair was black, and her eyes were a chilling blue color. The Monarch waited a moment after he'd stopped before she spoke.

  "Greetings, lord Damien. Lord Keilan," she bowed, just enough to show respect, but not subservience. Damien respected that. "The High Priestess awaits your presence."

  Damien followed her gesturing hands and then slowly hovered over the high battlements, followed by his brother. Rather than step down on the surprisingly bright green grass on the ground, he elected to hover above it, levitating slowly to match the woman's pace.

  Countless soldiers and clergy were moving around, all going about their different duties. They all stopped and bowed as Damien and the priestess led them inside.

  Rather than take the floor entrance like all visitors were required to do, he was led over to an open balcony at the top floor, the priestess taking to the skies in front of them.

  This time, when he stepped inside, he touched down on the ice floor and then breathed out at the sheer level of cold that pervaded the castle.

  "How do you all live in such harsh environment?"

  "Everyone in these grounds is an Ice wielder to a considerable degree, Lord Damien," the priestess responded. "We are accustomed to such this environment. Contrarily, it is more comfortable than your sun scorched lands."

  Damien opened his mouth to argue, but then clamped it shut. That was a good point. He understood that many wielders felt the world's influence in different ways. What might be soothing for him was certainly a dreadful experience for others.

  He followed behind as the woman led them into the corridor that the balcony led into. A few more steps past ice walls and multiple ice doors, and they emerged into a large hall.

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  It was large, almost ten thousand feet across all edges. Pillars lined the room from the double door entrance to his left down to the raised platform to his right, each side of which Damien could spot an ice sculpted woman holding a torch of flickering ice to the heavens, while a large bowl of unfrozen water balanced comfortably on her other open palm.

  The Church of Winter, or the Winter Cult, as they were commonly called, was, well, a cult that worshipped the Celestial of Winter, which Damien had learned was also the Primal Celestial of Water.

  He didn't know much about the Celestials—his only source of knowledge coming from the woman who stood a short distance away from him, engaged in whispered discussion with a few other clergymen, as well as the many libraries he'd raided. And all that he'd gotten was that they were immensely powerful beings.

  The cult was one of the most powerful organisations on the planet, having more than half a dozen Spirit lords on its roster. They seldom acted, preferring peace and seclusion over power and conquest. This was the reason why they'd built their temple in the middle of nowhere in the coldest part of the world, surrounded by vast acres of forests that acted as a barrier between them and the rest of the continent.

  However, when they did act, they seldom stopped without a long lasting mark.

  "Menoe! Long time no see!" Keilan shouted like a kid who'd just seen his mother after many years as he rushed over to give the high priestess a hug that stepped brazenly over the line of propriety, never mind the group of clergymen that were watching.

  "Hello, Keilan. Indeed, long time no see. I am glad to see you are well," the woman returned the hug, a lot more reserved than the overly enthusiastic young man. "Last I heard, Damien here had an encounter with the Sun Emperor. I came to find you, but by the time I had arrived, you both had disappeared."

  Damien scratched the back of his head, a little bit embarrassed for no reason that he could find. "Well, um, we had to make ourselves scarce. I was kind of injured and couldn't fight half a dozen lords at the same time."

  Menoe was a tall woman, with long white hair—courtesy of her ice affinity, and matching white frosty eyes. She always spotted a motherly smile, calm and reassuring, an expression that heavily contrasted the element she wielded.

  He'd heard how ruthless she could be when faced with enemies, but he had yet to see it, and he hoped never to.

  He and his brother had encountered the High priestess a few years ago, during one of their travels. They'd been training in a monster populated land, a short distance from where she had also been doing the same.

  As always, when those at the top battled, their fight sent everything in that vicinity fleeing in fright, a foremost cause of monster hordes.

  Damien and Keilan had been Lord Realm wielders then, and had been unfortunate to encounter a fleeing peak-tier Monarch realm monster.

  She had come to their rescue right before things turned fatal, saving them from the monster. Unlike most Spirit lords who would have left them to their fate, Menoe had chosen to treat them, apologizing while she did, a very unusual trait for a Spirit lord. After that, she accompanied them until they got within a safe distance of the nearest settlement.

  It was during their journey that they got to know more about each other. She'd told them about herself, how she came to be the leader of one of the most prominent organisations on the planet. It had been strange at first having to witness a higher-level wielder talk to them without the usual haughtiness that came with the realm, but they'd eventually gotten used to it. Both he and his brother had gotten close to her, Keilan the most, since he was the most cheerful one of them both.

  She'd also given them good advice on their paths to Spirit lord, advising them on avoiding errors that she'd made. It was through her that Damien got to learn that pride towards those of lesser status made you no more than the system you fought against. One needed to treat everyone with equal respect, regardless of status.

  It had been one of Damien's saddest moments to wave her goodbye.

  Menoe studied them, an amused smile on her face. "It feels odd that the last time I saw both of you, you were just wee little peak lords struggling against a Peak tier Monarch. And now, look at you, you've come to me as powerful Spirit lords, making enemies of Empires and Serpentine Royalty."

  Damien froze like a kid caught with his hands in the cookie jar, and she laughed. "Word travels fast, much faster when it comes to you. Two encounters with Empire Pillars, and the death of an undersea royal, all in the span of two weeks. A little bit too much, no?"

  "To be honest, I tried for a peaceful resolution, but they didn't listen," Damien defended himself.

  "I'm not judging you," she said as if reading his mind. "Serpents are not known for their inclinations to peaceful resolutions, and their elders less so."

  "Prince," Keilan said, running his blabbermouth. "Damien and I fought a serpent prince!"

  Shock and surprise flashed through the high priestess's face, before she hid them behind a mask of neutrality. "You killed a prince?" She asked calmly. However, the expressions on the other priests and priestesses were anything but.

  Damien nodded. "Renogoth, second Prince of the Ren's nest." And then he launched into an explanation of all that had happened.

  When he was done, one of the priests shook his head. "Dead, all because of pride. I bet their king will care not if you explain that to him. He will come for your head."

  "It's not my fault the stupid snake fell for Samon's manipulation."

  Menoe shook her head. "He's right, nonetheless. Their serpent king does not believe his kind to be wrong. All blame will be placed on you, regardless of who began the altercation."

  Damien grimaced.

  "We'll find a solution," Keilan said.

  "If you need protection, I could offer you sanctuary in the temple. The serpents would be fools to attack us at the seat of our power."

  Damien shook his head. "No. Thanks for the offer, Menoe, but I'll be damned if I run again. We'll find a way out of this, even if it means fighting," he said with a tone that called for no argument.

  For years, he and Keilan had been on the run. Either from the Empire or the many other kingdoms who wanted him chained down. They'd thought that reaching Spirit lord would put an end to that, but it had only made it worse. Now they were seen as a threat, a threat that needed to be put down. Damien was strong enough to take on multiple lords by himself at full power, and he'd be damned if he started running at the slightest sight of an altercation.

  Menoe nodded in concession while the other priests looked at him as if he was stupid. It wasn't often they saw someone reject an offer of sanctuary from a powerful organisation such as theirs.

  "On to other matters, I came here for something."

  "I'm listening."

  Damien breathed in. "I need your help against the Empire."

  There were varying contrasting expressions amongst the gathered clergy, but none chose to interrupt.

  The High priestess took a while to respond. She remained calm, patiently watching him. A few awkward moments later, she spoke.

  "You need my help? I was under the impression that you could handle them, or did I presume wrong?"

  "It's not them exactly. I can handle the Empire, now more than ever. It's the allies that'll fight with them, one especially."

  "The Inferno Cult."

  He nodded, "Yes. The Empire is enough for me and my Emissaries to handle, but the fight would take a drastic shift against us if the inferno Cult decides to join forces with them."

  The Inferno cult was the counterpart to the Church of Winter— specialising in pyromancy. They were the opposite of the Winter Cult in almost every way, choosing the art of constant war over the reclusive nature of their counterparts. They never started wars or battles themselves, mostly, but they were always present in every large-scale war in the Greensend continent, and even beyond.

  They were basically chaos incarnate and he didn't want an unpredictable battle crazed group like that interrupting his war and throwing every plan into the waters. He'd rather have their counterparts handle them.

  "Oh, and I also want to make use of your library.”