s o l v e i g // the distance between

[lysander]

 




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the distance between   |   kalon tryout by lysander

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[lysander]

 



E  N  D  L  E  S  S    D  I  V  I  D  E
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personality/history: 800 words


it's cold. frostbite sinking teeth into exposed flesh.
the winter beast. its roar is the howl of wind that twists through the trees and its branches and into the open air where snow catches on its wing and takes flight into the northern night. a scintilla, a flash. particles of color dance through the sky. northern nights beget northern lights, foretelling fortunes of the whisper of a shaman. he speaks tongues into the silence between each breath the beast draws. all is hush save for the storm.

listen carefully. a miracle is coming. a child borne from ice, whose eyes are flecked with auroral radiance.
listen carefully, for one might hear the air in their breath crystallize with skaði's power.
listen carefully. the wind foretells this prophecy.

this child is the winter beast incarnate.
this child's name is solveig.



✲



the beast is ravenous. the child feels its claws dig inside of him, hungry— starved —for warmth. it knows no end to its madness, driven only by the instinct to feed on every scrap of heat it finds. to think that such a monster could be buried within his bosom— this, too, is madness —yet the elders praise it. the chief welcomes it. the entire village regards him a miracle come to fruition, their salvation, their savior.

who will lead our tribe into battle?
who will stand by our warriors in victory and in death?
who will call the winds to our side, harness the blessing bestowed on us by the gods?

solveig, of course.

he has seen what those men do with their guns, their rifles. he watched as they cut with their axes, forest nymphs slain next to their trees. he has seen his way of life disappear as his people usher further and further into the valley, hidden between the mountains. he could feel the fear in every glance, every word— every gaze cast down from the mountain tops towards the valley's mouth.

the watchers keep watch and his people wait with baited breath.


solveig will be our savior.

he can read it in their eyes.

the beast has chosen him.

even in his youth its power permeates through his body. with a raise of the hand, the wind obeys his every whim, subservient to his will. liquid crystallizes at the mere touch of a finger. he walks on rivers, every step turning water to ice, solid and steady underneath his feet.

yet power exacts a price. the beast demands it. it drinks deep of his body heat, of warmth, saps it even from the very air around him— and others, too. his flesh is ice-cold to the touch, he knows— but no one else. and for good reason:

to make contact with solveig is to put one's hand in the maw of the beast.

he remembers the first time it happened. he was still so young then, and his power had yet to grow. he played in the snow with the other children of the commune, in the days of bliss before the awareness of his purpose settled into the back of his mind like a weight. all it took— one gesture. the glove sliding off his small hand. the desire to feel his hand in another's— the boy he liked —an innocent childhood crush made victim of circumstances unforeseen.

the boy's left hand went blue and stiff. a shriek of pain resounded.
the next time solveig saw him again, he had no left hand to speak of.

aaaand wip

 

[lysander]

 



T O   B U I L D   A   B R I D G E
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Are they in control of their powers and how do they use them? What are their feelings toward their abilities?:
(2000 words maximum)

heat sapper, ice bringer. heralded as a shaman and worshiped as a symbol of a nordic god, but the very same powers that afford them widespread admiration in their country prevents them from being close to anyone.

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