11. Legacy of Frost
Old Man Winter's Mountain
Russia
After another hour of searching, Jack and Pitch had finally found the entrance to Old Man Winter's home. Walking through the ice coated hallways, Jack found it increasingly difficult to remember why they were here. Everything about this place felt so amazing, he dreaded having to leave. Pitch wasn't so impressed, cursing every time his feet slipped and burrowing as far into his robe as humanly possible. Finally, the duo reached the doors, large intricately carved double doors made from the mountain's pure white stone.
Seconds ticked by, and Jack felt himself getting annoyed by Pitch's pointed stare. "What?" Sighing in annoyance, the dark spirit pinched the bridge of his nose. "The door is infused with winter magic, Frost. I'd freeze solid if I touched it." Oh. Stepping up, Jack examined the door. There was no knob or handle. "Just touch it." Reaching forward, icy skin met subzero rock. The doors opened with a deafening groan and the two entered the cavern within.
Old Man Winter sat on a glittering white throne. His hair and beard were a light silver, his skin fair. The large figure was dressed in elaborate ice blue robes, decorated with silver snowflakes that swirled around in a way reminiscent of a blizzard. He was strong, regal, and imposing. He was also dead, with a spear shoved through his chest hard enough to pierce the stone behind him.
Frozen corpses littered the room, and Jack recognized them as winter sprites. He'd seen a few but they were almost extinct in this day and age. From the look of things, they'd died trying to protect their lord. Jack fell to his knees, shoulders heaving. He couldn't breathe. He'd seen death before, hell, he'd been alive for every major American war, but something about this scene made him lose all restraint. The only thing keeping the tears at bay was Pitch's presence. Jack wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
Jack kept still as the Nightmare King searched for the mirror, trying to recollect himself. It wasn't until Pitch had returned without the mirror that Jack realized why he felt this way. The room was completely devoid of the winter chill and that wasn't something that could happen naturally in a place like this. Whoever had killed Old Man Winter had ripped the magic from his cold, dead corpse.