A/N: Sorry for the long update! This one was a bit difficult because I'm not used to writing in this style. Please comment!
As the icy winds surrounding him whips around, the man groans, forcing his strained body to take one more step. It was nothing new, the cold loneliness of his heart weighing him down while the freezing gale wraps around his tired limbs like heavy chains.
General Winter– as that seemed to be his title for now– held the heavy burden of the frost. He was a nation, a nation of uninhabited chilly lands that scattered this Earth. Winter was not his power, it was a force that would come regardless of his presence. He can only hold it back, tie it to himself and allow his body to be locked in eternal battle with the beast. Tears, useless things, were freezing fast on the the short tips of his eyelashes He calls out for someone, anyone. He calls out for warmth, for love, for companionship. But he doesn't have a voice. He has no one.
And yet...Yet he does it for them. The ones who had people and love and hate. And war and peace and allies and enemies. The ones who are Of The Land and Of The People and For Their Rule. They, who are the barriers of their people and he is their barrier for the chill. He will cherish them and protect them and hurt them. He hopes, he wants, he needs...He has nothing.
And even when the ages of the world escaped him, they'd be occasionally reminding him with a day old spilled blood or bodies upon bodies strewn for thousands of years. Some days he could feel the weight of a million. And so the General allows the claws of the snow to rip with ferocity at his cheeks and scar his bare lips. He permits the jealous winds to snarl and wail when he tries to approach the others. He opens his mouth to yell, to beg for comfort. But he alienation wrenches his heart painfully when the screeching blizzard plucks and steals his howls. He was so cold, so alone, and forever fighting. Gunshots and spears, blood gurgling in his throat, needing, desperately...He is nowhere.
So he trudges one more step, the pressures on his shoulder and battle on his mind. The sour and permanently elusive, empty promise of emotion tickles his lips. Its sweet motivation brushes his tongue and the sticky taste of a life lived rolls against his teeth, right before the bitterness of harsh reality sets in. Even though his legs are tired and and his chest constricts in pain, he moves forward, lurching and stumbling. The frozen ground clutches at his legs when he stomps ahead, determined to stop him. But he had a purpose to fight this monster of winter, tearing with bloodied fangs in a whirl of wind and fists. But he still moves forward. It's all he wants.
He is General Winter, the embodiment of human survival. He fights the cold and is the cold. The wild gale shakes his bones when they roar, yet he causes the frost to falter when he storms. He will defend, he will hold, he will move onward.. The cries of war fill his ears and the scent of mayhem overwhelms his nostrils. A fog of death clouds his vision and blurs his path but he will move. He will move. It's everything he does.