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Zimbits Cult / Seasons AU
Two ancient societies have been tasked with seeking out and protecting the physical incarnations of the changing seasons, deities Man has long forgotten they rely on for survival.
Summer and Winter, per an ancient agreement with humanity, meet twice a year to transition the seasons.
Winter is dormant in Summer, and Summer is sealed away by Winter during their respective ruling seasons, but during Spring and Fall, Summer and Winter stand on equal footing, indulging in each other until their time passes and it’s time to hibernate once more.
The Seasons are reborn every few generations, and are supposed to be protected by their respective followers, but in truth the societies have long forgotten their true mission, and years of infighting have reduced their numbers to almost nothing.
Now, The Rite of Winter has devolved into an elite society for the wealthy, and, unsurprisingly, retired pro hockey players. On its face, it’s a social club. Dig a bit deeper and you’ll find an inner circle devoted to keeping Summer from taking over, men who have been hunting the human Scion of Summer for hundreds of years under the mistaken impression that the world will end if the two seasons are allowed to reunite.
Down South, what remains of the Order of Summer is desperately trying to protect the latest incarnation of their ruling season after a failed assassination attempt several years earlier. Problem is, they’ve never had a Scion reach maturity, at least not in recent memory. They have no idea what to do with their itty-bitty god, who doesn’t quite understand why there’s an entire town looking after him, and who just wants to go play hockey at a quiet New England university.
(Jack is Winter, Eric is Summer.)
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“Suzie,” Richard addresses, with a measure of urgency when Jack and Eric are safely down the drive on their way to the store. “Finish up and come down to the lake.”
“Oh? Are the geese back?”
“No, no, just,” Richard shakes his head before pulling off his cap and scraping a rough hand through his hair. “We’ve got a situation. Your mother was reading Jack the riot act this morning and looks like she shook loose some kind of protection.”
“All I did was put a little fear of Summer in that Northerner,” MooMaw scoffs, not looking up from her paper.
“Well, that may be, but that Northerner put a fear of Winter right back,” Richard counters, holding the door open for his wife. “C’mon. You need to see this so we can figure what we’re dealing with before Dickey’s fancy new beau ends up strapped to the Midsummer pyre.”
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“It wasn’t like this before,” MooMaw defends sheepishly, holding her hand to her face against the glare. “Still clear water when he crawled out.”
The lake is shining in the summer sun like a polished diamond and the Bittle’s aren’t the only ones rubbernecking. The neighbors are out in force, staring down the omen like the threat it is.
“It’s solid ice,” Richard says plainly, tapping a stick against a bobbing dog toy now half-trapped below the surface. “All the way to the bottom.”
“The poor turtles,” Candace mourns from a few feet away, clutching her toddler close like she’s just seen the the Devil. “Y’all know what did it?”
“This is your fault, Bittle,” Leo from down the road throws a rock, watches it bounce and slide clear out. “You let Him go to school up there. Things like this don’t happen when He’s kept close. Watched over like He’s supposed to be.”
“Eric is safe.” Suzanne defends. “He’s more safe now than he ever was here. How many years have we spent chasing off nonbelievers? Anonymity is the key to protecting him. That’s why he’s in Massachusetts!”
“Well ‘anonymity’ brought Winter into our hollow!” Leo snaps, gesturing to the frozen lake. “This ain’t normal! And don’t think we all haven’t seen that man Eric brought back. He could be one of them — coming to finish what they started in Macon!”
“Jack would never lay a finger on Eric,” MooMaw growls. “I saw as much just this morning. He’d sooner die than let anything happen to our boy, I know it!”
“You say he’d sooner die?” Leo wrenches half a fishing pole from the ice, brandishing it like a weapon. “Then let him prove it.”
