The darkness continued, a constant assailment of cloaked daggers, clandestine travels, secretive and surreptitious decadence, shaped and maligned into sable mantles, Stygian swords and inky, wan, starless odysseys. It stuck to the boughs of glades, to the vast horizon, to empires rising from their dominating supremacy. She stared into the void and it stayed stagnant in response, a listless, unlit haze branching into haunted corridors, hallowed halls, anointed, christened quests and pursuits that seemed meaningless in the boundaries of the world. No answers to the riddles, no replies or retorts to the labyrinthine courtyard. An endless, eternal ghost drifting along the chords of glacial sea, writhing specters, withering paragons and aimless, meandering foes – and the nymph refused to leave more souls thrust into its savage berth, into its hedonistic fury, into its ferocious, undying storm. Sylph and fox roamed across the vast catacombs of immortal, enduring twilight, drenched it in hopes, dreams, lavished spectacles of grandeur and cordiality. Where the hollowed vessels blew their bestial savagery, their cross, vexed winds and relentless rancor, Lena and Imogen spun ambrosia, compassion, beneficence, fed the thirsty trenches with beloved sentiments, carved the kingdoms with their melodious song. A hum, a whisper, a croon, a hymn, an aria, blessed and sacred, sanctified and ordained, to drown out the noise, the screams, the yells, of the stretching, overlapping, deluge of nocturnal menace. Deep into the Threshold, listening to the laments, the dirges, the requiems of lost spirits, the companions moved in harmonious conjecture, filtered over the raw, untamable, wild ballads and wove birdsong through the winter’s cold, unfeeling grasp, undulating beauty, grace and elegance through the muster, the luster, of malice.

There, amongst the nefarious shadows and the rapier gloom, she caught a scent, felt it ensnare her senses, driving her onward into the languid nocturne. Imogen followed, blended into ice and rime, cherished the footpath her comrade created, and they melded and molded into one aspiring unit, bright beacons of radiant warmth, guidance for those lost and discarded. Her honeyed gaze pinpointed upon the stranger soon thereafter, a massive stag mottled in blue. The blended darkness didn’t allow her too much study, but as she grew closer she noted the telltale horn consecrated across his brow, the, perhaps, kind eyes, the rigid way the world encompassed his form. She slowed, drew across the flaked plain, the icy ridges, bowed and tucked her head against her chest. Mellifluous words brewed along her throat, trickled into the midnight air with a flourish of vapor and tenderness. “Welcome to Helovia.” She paused as Imogen danced along the snowdrifts, petalsoft and dulcet, and she accompanied the silly, fanciful creatures movements with more song, with more affection and devotion. Her head tipped, curious in nature, eyes focused in cordial, amiable splendor. “I’m Lena of the Aurora Basin. Who are you, traveler?” Then her mind set into its spiraling affects, its warm calculations and thoughts – from where had they wandered, what did they want from life, what caused them to flee, and what made them choose the world of Helovia, now only veiled in gloaming, dusk and iniquity. Did he need to be saved?

Her amicable eyes were tied to him instead of the pervading gloom, studying, ruminating, attempting to deconstruct odds and ends of a newfound character, where they’d been, what they’d discovered, what transpired to make them flesh and blood, real and corporeal, tarnished and damned, beloved and virtuous. But this stranger’s gaze was locked into doubt, mistrust, and she pondered, wondered, over how to appear more amiable, more cordial, more welcoming to a soul that perhaps wasn’t ready for the safety net of others, for the brandishing of tenderness, for the compassion, determination and perseverance of warm, guiding entities. Her stare settled to the juncture of low-hanging branches, burdened and beautiful by the cumbersome weight of snow, to the crisp, cool outlets of their canopies and the strange, altered birdsong coasting from the eaves, to Imogen dancing in the moonless arches, not wishing to grant him suspicion of her own creation – that she were too bold, too audacious, too eager and ready to malign the earth with her restless ease. She only turned and settled her vivid stare back upon his frame as he spoke, listening as he told an answer to her query. Leovan, of the Endless Ocean. Were they eternal currents, like their odd, everlasting darkness, ghosting and tainting, gnarling and crushing? Or were they soft, gentle dunes of sand and coast, beach and shore, lining the kingdom with its briny contentments? The nymph’s imagination prospered and prompted a world of blue, a shining, shimmering haze of rough waves and sea foam, gulls crying in the distance, the floating juncture of creatures basking in the glow of the sun. She smiled in response then, curiosity brewing and bubbling in the fanciful strokes of her whimsical nature, conjured a harp song, enchanting, alluring, curling like the mist of their breaths into fierce shadows. “A pleasure, Leovan. Your home sounds very grand.” Voice ceased for a few moments, Imogen chirping and chattering in the background, her devious fox mind rolling and reeling as she tried to catch falling snow from the drifts of laden branches. Lena, forever resolute, adamant and unwavering, undaunted by the spirit of discontent or the range of curiosity immersed in her throat, continued with her questions, in hope that perhaps she could find her best way to serve the stranger. “What do you hope to find here?” For this sovereignty must have been very different than his homeland, stretching into amble gloaming and enigmas. What was his purpose in traveling this way, instead of staying amongst his former comrades?

The unrelenting wind scattered over the copse, and she remained an undaunted, unflinching force in its presence. Kind, amiable and beneficent, her eyes drifted from laden boughs to Leovan, a near constant perusal and study of newfound creatures, surroundings and musings of the layers dancing amongst the snow. The untold myths, the unheard stories, the muted, hushed tones of secrets streaming and bending in the sinuous air, serpentine art molded and woven by mysteries, enigmas and labyrinths. The nymph rarely expressed her own riddles and puzzles, and it seemed the stag would follow suit, ushering only the briefest nuances of answers. It was to be expected, and she didn’t pry any further, well aware of the consequences intrusion could render, sully and dismay. Whether he wanted to unleash his stories, legends and legacies (though the quietude this would undoubtedly spark further curiosity and intrigue), would be of his own strong, mighty volition, and the slender smile sprouting across her lips acknowledged this understanding. The capacity for answers had been ambushed, so she allowed her words to amble in the leisurely, tranquil, serene safety of shelter, sanctuary and security, extending an invitation to their icy terrain. “You may find a place to rest within the Basin.” She could utter poetry, songs, sonnets and stanzas about her homeland, proudly demonstrate the harsh beauty, the remorseless haze, the mighty peaks and valleys thrust into a frozen scenery, a landscape fit for the stalwart, the staunch, of hearts and minds eager for challenges and paradoxes. The fey chose her words carefully, listening to the echoing hymns and hums uttered by Imogen. “The Basin is a kingdom of mountains, lakes, caverns and glacial fortitude. Majestic, beautiful, and sometimes dangerous.” She didn’t paint the empire in lies, proclaimed the truth of its potential ire, of its beguiling structures. Would he find the allure in something hazardous, in living amongst perils? Would he want to encompass the grace, the elegance and the finery of its hidden wonders?

She wasn’t sure what pleased her more, the acceptance of her invitation or that he didn’t balk at the mention of hazards, of perils, of pinnacles and uncertainties. Had she found a strong, unwavering soul, coated in knighthood qualities, suited for the arch of calamities, enmity and rancor? Had she discovered a creature worth his weight in gold, in valor, in protection and salvation? Could he carry a shield, could he fight their foes, could he alter his movements into gallant, intrepid enlightenment? Or was he someone long acquainted with menace, pitfalls and jeopardy, embraced time and time again by insecurity and jeopardy, greeting malice like an old friend, a constant companion? The notions coiled further into her curiosities and inquiries, but she refused to voice any of them, dipping her head in a collected bow in acquiescence of his confirmation and undertaking. Regal cranium raised, words followed suit, warbling and trilling, fine birdsong where it’d been absent for stretches of time, fluttering wings not knowing when to appear without the sun’s warm guidance. “I’m very glad.” She smiled again, expressed the truth of her phrase, corners of her mouth tugged into a grand grin that showered all of her delicacies, all of her candor, all of her compassion for this newfound creature embraced into their cold, arduous depths. Lena’s eyes caught the graceful sanctity of Imogen bounding towards the path from whence they’d come, arrival now dictating a return, only with another soul amidst their tender abyss. Her motions pursued the kitsune, ensnared by the swinging tails, the sinuous bending of playful, whimsical movement, syllables waltzing amongst the vapor to shower Leovan with the same gestures. “Follow me!” Here would start another chapter to his journey, and she could provide the genesis, the culmination of his long, weary crusade with the dance into the darkness, towards rising mountains and monoliths.