The stars looked different tonight. Their usual shine and sparkle dimmed in the ever enveloping darkness. The presence of the full moon reveled in the night. It's brilliant glow, a true celestial of the heavens. With his father, it had looked so large in the night sky, a giant being of such iridescence. And now as he walked along with the King of the Stygians, it seemed unremarkable. A mere afterthought in his presence. Everything seemed to feel like a footnote in his presence. Cyrus looked ahead making sure he did not leave the king's side. Their journey towards the Weeping Chambers was coming along smoothly. The city had moved into a dull hush as many of her inhabitants slept. The road was scarce with travelers, many did not bother to even look their way. The shawls they wrapped around themselves concealed them, their faces hidden in darkness. The fabric was cold to his skin, but he liked the way it smelled. Scents of a cold winter's day filled his lungs, he allowed himself to dream of winter and what that would bring. A stillness rarely seen in the other months. Where the humans would complain of the cold, he welcomed it with all its glory. The coolness of it, wrapping him like he was now.

  "We are here," Antares said.

  Cyrus nearly ran into the king, while lost in thought. "That was quick." he looked at Antares and followed his gaze to the church.

  The Church of Multitude stood shimmering in the night air. A dominating appearance. Akkad was covered with many ancient buildings, many of them created during the early days of the city. Many people considered the church to be the oldest of those buildings. Here in the heart of Iliad. A realm where the Gods ceased to exist and the Stygians allowed the humans the right to build such a temple. The irony of it all was not lost on him. Antares looked across it, from the castle its beauty was splendid, scintillating in the day. But from right in front of it, it was captivating. The base of the church was covered in smooth stone, in it carved tales of the Gods and their lessons. The smooth stone was broken into large stone tablets, each corresponding to one of the seven Gods of the Many Faced God. Like this, the tablets wrapped around the building covering it in thick stone like armor. The church could be mistaken for a forte for not the seven golden pillars that shot out from the ground bathing it in a gold hue. Each pillar sculpted at the top a divine being, and carved into the pillars, the story of the builders of the church and the creation of Akkad. The mystery of the old days was often overlooked for the attention to detail done upon the many works that littered the nine realms. To those of the faith, this was the lynchpin that held it all together. In contrast to Castle Xerxes that stood above all, whose obsidian walls stood in the realm of the divine. The Church of Multitude was rooted into the ground, as though it was part of the very lands they walked. Even in death the Gods were still part of them.

  And yet such beauty paled in comparison to the masterwork that was the colossal glass painting of the Stygian God King, Gilgamesh Xerxes. A being more akin to fable than reality. He who rose above the very heavens itself and proclaimed all of the world as his kingdom. He lay atop radiant clouds. The God King draped in his clothes of luminous gold, twin porcelain serpents Phoebe and Hilaera wrapped around him, coming to rest on his arms. Upon their scales ruby jewels glistened. Their eyes a golden hue. Much like his mural within Castle Xerxes here too his face was covered with the sun. Not even the Gods themselves were worthy of laying eyes on his likeness. Around him treasures from distant lands too many to count, and below him multiple outstretched arms begging for deliverance, salvation. The glory of God King Gilgamesh Xerxes transcended everything and everyone. Antares detested it.

  He pushed open the massive stone doors, a low bellow rang under the weight of the doors moving. Candle lights covered much of the walls illuminating the room. Rows upon rows of benches carried up high in a circle. Tapestry decorated the walls, some of saints long passed, both human and Stygian. There was far more warmth within than without. Antares could not remember the last time he graced these hallowed grounds.

  They made their way to the first altar at the center of the room. A large marble block sat rooted to the ground, around it were flowers. Each of them as fresh as the last. Antares could smell the soft scents they each had. Carved into all sides of the block were various symbols, all relating to the Many Faced God and its teachings. Atop the marble block a crystalline basin. As they approached, it hummed gently. Antares looked around but was disappointed to find no one. From his knowledge he knew someone always tended to the night prayers, and they were soon to start.

  "I would not touch that," a soft voice spoke from behind him.

  He turned to follow the voice and there was the high priestess. Her attire was far less revealing than the one she wore to the castle. She chose soft lavender colored robes, they did well to hide her physique. Her face still remained covered by her veil, but her blonde hair was more visible. Antares then turned his attention to Cyrus and furrowed his brow at the boy's attempt to touch the basin.

  "Sorry," Cyrus said, pulling his finger back.

  Antares returned to the boy's side, and noted he would lecture him later about manners. "Forgive us High Priestess." Antares bowed softly, promptly lowering Cyrus's head too.

  She laughed, "It is quite alright." She too bowed in kind, "I am far more interested in knowing why the King of the Stygians and his little friend are in my church so late."

  Antares put his hand on Cyrus's shoulder. "We are here about the boy."

  The priestess turned her attention toward Cyrus, "And how can I help you little one?"

  Cyrus began to explain the past days events to her from the passing of his father to his meeting with the king, as he spoke the high priestess listened intently, Antares sat away lost in his own thoughts. From the moment he stepped in, old memories weighed heavy on his heart. Much of the time he spent alone he spent it in regret of what had come to pass. Here within the Church of Multitude, surrounded by piety his sins weighed heavy. Perhaps no sin greater than his betrayal of who he was once promised to, of his beloved.

  "You are a very brave boy," the priestess commended him.

  He wiped the tears from his eyes, "T-thank you."

  "I will grant you what was denied." The priestess began walking off towards the side, "Both of you, come."

  Cyrus eagerly marched after her and Antares rose slowly. He would not offer prayer, nor did he care to. No god was listening, his ancestors saw to that. He followed, burying his memories of her further within himself. He was king now, there was much to do.

  Cyrus stayed close to the high priestess, he enjoyed talking to her. She reminded him of the woman who taught him to write, they both soaked their words in kindness and concern. She did not judge nor take his plight as a trifling matter. She looked at him as a man, and for that he was thankful. They continued down the stone steps to the Weeping Chambers, with each step below the air grew colder. Muffled sounds began to echo across the wall, the path below became narrower.

  "Young Cyrus," the high priestess called out.

  Her words startled him and he took a moment to compose himself, "Yes high priestess."

  "Do you know of the church's creation?" her words echoed through the spiral steps as they descended. Her tone almost a whisper.

  Cyrus turned around to look for Antares' approval and the king nodded in acknowledgment, "Yes, high priestess. All who live in Akkad know of it."

  Silence passed without interruption and once more she spoke, "Do you know that there is another story? A true story." She let her words hang in the air, "Or so they say."

  Cyrus was not well read, his father seldom had enough to feed them both. Knowledge was reserved only for special occasions by his father and the woman that would visit him. He knew of things, of how the sun rose and set each day and of the seasons and what came of them. But there was still much he did not know, and the history of Akkad was one of it. As the day he had winded to a close, the young boy's appetite for knowledge grew. There was so much he had seen today, so much he still had yet to see and it was not enough. Hearing the words of the high priestess he could not help himself, he wanted to know more.

  "Really?" Cyrus said gleefully.

  She nodded her head, "It is the truth, ask the king."

  Cyrus turned to Antares who carried an expressionless face, "There are... stories." the king left it at that.

  "Quite right." She added, "Quite a lot of stories."

  "Like what?" Cyrus asked, his ears perked up.

  Antares did not approve of where she would be taking the story. He knew there were many ways to the Weeping Chambers from above, much more spacious paths. Instead the high priestess elected to go down an old spiral staircase, a path not used for centuries. He did not need to speak to her, her actions were more than enough of a message. For not only was the high priestess cunning enough to claim her new position, she too was also aware of the many secrets such a position held. Antares knew to be wary of her, and yet he was intrigued by the young humans, gal to threaten him so brazenly.

  And so the high priestess spoke of the many stories upon the creation of the Church of Multitude and how its builders came about. She spoke of the kindness of God King Gilgamesh in granting land for its construction or the tales of how the first humans and Stygians worked together to lay the foundation. Her tales entertained Cyrus, enthralling him completely. For sometime as he listened to her speak, he forgot the true purpose of their coming here. A necessary respite Antares thought. So down they went, deeper into the darkness as the voices went from muffled sounds to soft cries. They reached the Weeping Chambers.

  The Weeping Chambers stretched on for some time in the dark. Rows upon rows of stone slabs lay rooted to the ground. Upon them frozen corpses of the many denizens of Akkad. Fear gripped Cyrus as the scent of death filled his lungs. The boy had only been recently introduced to death and yet the chilling sensation he felt from his fathers corpse seemed to double in this room. The bodies on the slab all looked like they were in a deep sleep, the cool embrace of death nothing but a place for the weary. Upon the walls were murals of The Mother, one of the seven Gods. Each mural depicted her in a different form of penance. Below the murals, old words were carved with delicate hands. As he strained his eyes in the dark to make out the faces, each of them looked at peace. No pain or suffering befell them and for Cyrus it made him glad. To have seen his father suffer for so long, the memory etched forever into his mind, in the face of the dead all he could see was the agony of his father.

  Cyrus began to breathe heavily, his body recalled the weight of his dead father on his back. He stood frozen in place unable to calm himself down. His eyes darted through the dim darkness, looking at the dead. Some were naked, others covered in silk, but most importantly of all, none of them were his father. He took a step back and felt a warm hand on his shoulder, his breathing began to slow. Such intense emotions that washed over him began to disperse. A warm calmness covered him, it was as though he were in the presence of the sun. A feeling he did not think he would experience ever again. He turned to see Antares giving him a warm smile. The acknowledgement that he was not alone, spurred him slightly. He slowed his breathing and gathered himself.

  "As you can see, there are many who have yet to be permitted entry." The high priestess began, "Death is no excuse, all must wait their turn. Even you, King Antares." She turned to look at the young king.

  "These are not the Weeping Chambers?" Cyrus interjected before Antares could respond.

  "No little one, this is merely the waiting room." She responded.

  Cyrus turned back to look at the corpses, "There must be hundreds..."

  "Thousands." corrected Antares.

  The high priestess nodded her head, "Some believe even more than that."

  "But... How will we ever find him?" Cyrus looked on slightly defeated at the realization he may not find his father.

  The high priestess reassured him, "It is alright little one, like much of the lands of Iliad, no, perhaps all of Aurum itself; things may not always be as they seem."

  Cyrus turned to her confused and then towards Antares looking for an explanation. The young king lowered himself to one knee and turned Cyrus back towards the dead. He was proud of the boy, it had not been an easy day for him and to see him still stand resolute. He was glad Lady Alena had brought him. As Cyrus waited for the words of his king, Antares took the opportunity to look at him closer, dots drawn across his face as though the stars were etched onto him. His black sandy hair like wool covered much of his face. Like Antares he could see the night sky in his hair. Although not as pronounced. His bruises had begun to heal and more of his soft boyish features were becoming visible. And yet, the violet and golden glow of his eyes were brighter than ever.

  "Do you remember when you told me how you traversed the city, to reach the castle?" Antares asked.

  "About the old man?"

  Antares shook his head, "No, I mean about how you felt, the way you felt." He squeezed his shoulder tighter, "Remember that sensation."

  Cyrus recalled the day's events and a wave of exhaustion washed over him. His legs buckled slightly but he steadied himself, he pushed past the unpleasant memories and focused on earlier in the day. The bustling of the city, thousands of people moving across the stone roads of the city. He remembered the feeling of the sun on his skin, the heat in his nose. The words of the old man echoed around in his head, he searched for within him purpose, desire. Unlike then when he was governed by the Will of another, this was different. This sensation was more foreign to him, his own desire started to take root.

  Antares watched as Cyrus' Will, slowly birthed itself from deep within him. A cacophony of bright colors smashing into each other painted the inner workings of the boy. Seldom did Antares ever praise his Akashic Eyes, but tonight would be one of those nights. He watched as a boy learned to govern himself by his own essence. The small sparks he had seen when he first met him had now turned to smoldering embers. In time he would become wildfire.

  "Do you feel him?" Antares asked, just above a whisper.

  Cyrus nodded.

  "Now go find him."

  Cyrus walked into the darkness, no longer was he gripped by the cold embrace of death. He was not lost, even in the absence of the high priestess and the king by his side, he felt no fear. He marched on looking for his father.

  "The stories they tell of you, do you no justice, my king." The high priestess showered him with praise as she moved closer.

  Antares did not look away from the corpses, "The Church will no longer charge a fee for the dead."

  There was a moment of silence in the air as his words faded into the darkness.

  "Is this a decree, or a favor?" she asked softly.

  "Does it matter?"

  The coldness of his words pierced straight through her, her entire body shuddered at the sharpness of it. From the moment she saw him, she had held out belief that she could show her worth, that she was not like the others that had come before her. With no word of their arrival, she had little time to carry on their conversation from the castle. She had hoped Antares would see her value but most importantly; That she sought more, so much more than she had achieved. Choosing to carry them through some of the oldest halls of the church or regaling the young one and him of tales of old. Despite all of that, it mattered not. Three words. That was all that it took to remind her of her standing, of her worth in his eyes. In the shadows of the room and importantly behind her veil, a smile only known to her crossed her face.

  The high priestess bowed deeply, "By morning it will be done."

  From the darkness emerged Cyrus once more, "I found him." He wiped tears from his eyes.

  Antares offered him a warm smile and nodded in approval. The high priestess followed first and then Antares followed behind them both. It was only a short walk from the entrance, and yet still the sight of the corpses carefully placed on the stones numbered greatly.

  Long before men used stones to build monuments of worship, they first used to build tombs for the dead. The cracks on the stones were as deep as they were ancient. Death clung here strongly, in many ways, there was no greater offering than the constant intake of the dead awaiting the Weeping Chambers. Countless humans and Stygians had all found themselves here. The power that remained that congealed below here was heavy and intoxicating. As they walked along in silence, Antares ran his fingers across the stone slabs one by one. It had been long since he had been this close to death, a familiar taste sat on his tongue. His eyes gazing upon the corpses as they lay rested. Lives once full and lived, now dead and forgotten in the dark. The Stygians had prided themselves on their death rituals being far more sophisticated, but to the young king it did not matter. For it did not change the fact that the dead stayed dead. What was done to their body meant nothing to them.

  "Here." Cyrus pointed.

  They all stopped and looked over the body of Dijkstra Locke. He was frail, sickly. Mere skin barely holding itself to bone. His hair, a faded brown, eyes closed and yet still sunken. With just one look Antares could tell his death was a slow and painful one. And still he seemed at peace finally. The young king placed a hand on the man's arm.

  "I thought I told you to live a long and honor less life Dijkstra Locke." Cyrus was surprised by the softness of Antares' voice.

  "Shall we begin?" The high priestess asked.

  Antares turned to Cyrus, "May I...?"

  The question shocked both the priestess and Cyrus, for the very King of the Stygians to ask for permission so respectfully. Cyrus, still in awe, nodded.

  Antares reached over and ever so carefully and lifted Dijkstra. Had the king not been looking at him he would have thought he hadn't carried him. There was no life in the body, there was nothing. Regardless, Antares carried him with as much grace as he could muster.

  The chanting first came from the high priestess, not that long after Cyrus joined her and both began chanting in unison. Antares knew how to get to the Weeping Chambers and went on his way with them in tow. As he carried Cyrus' father, he allowed his thoughts to flow back to their last meeting, from there he went even further back to his meeting with the boy's mother. His life and theirs all entwined together, he wondered what his own people would say if they saw him as he were now; a Stygian king carrying the body of a lowly human peasant.

  The audible sounds of crying and the shortness of breath that came with the prolonged action broke the deafening silence. Words struggled to pass through the continued falling of tears, a sadness felt like no other. They had made it to the Weeping Chambers. A stone arch opened to an expansive room with nine doors carefully spread out between them. Each door was adorned with various ashen veils. Even as the light of the candles flickered, barely illuminating the area, the glow from them was not diminished in the slightest. Following the veils they reached up all the way to the ceiling, meeting in the middle. It was difficult to see, but above they converged to cover a mural of a being who was not meant to be seen. And yet looking at the ceiling, one's eyes could not help but be drawn to the very floor itself. Where here a mural of The Mother as large as it was detailed carefully sprawled on the floor.

  The sheer size of it intrigued Cyrus; he had never seen a mural of this size before so close and certainly not on the floor. It was a captivating enough sight that the boy nearly stopped chanting. He found himself and continued to follow the high priestess, who had not once stopped chanting. Although he did not speak, he studied the mural as they walked towards one of the veiled doors. Tens of thousands of years had passed since the building of this room, even Cyrus could tell that much. The faded mural of The Mother was enough proof. Much of it was gone, over time due to thousands upon thousands of weary souls carrying the dead across to the chambers. But Cyrus could still gleam enough of The Mothers visage to commit to memory. He took in her hair and how it blew in the winds, her hands and how she cared for the dead all around here. But most importantly, what he did not want to forget, was the indifference to death that was engraved in what was left of her face. It reminded him of Her.

  The veiled door was slightly open and Antares calmly pushed his way through. With only a few steps they all were within the room. Opposite them sat a marbled statue of The Mother. Her face hidden behind a shawl, in her hands she held a pitcher that continuously poured sparkling water into a basin below her feet. On the walls were a language that had long since been lost to time, the first language of men. The words of the First. He could not read them, but through some way that he was not sure of , he felt the power that arose from the words. Cyrus could feel the magic, and as he continued to chant with the high priestess he grew more confident.

  Antares laid the body down on the tile floor. Slowly he took the veil off of him. Cyrus looked away, but with all his might, he willed himself to look back. This was for him. This is what he desired and so he looked at the barren lifeless body of his father, Dijkstra Locke, and spoke the words with even more assuredness. Antares rolled up his sleeves and took a cloth by the basin. He moved closer to the statue on his knees. Unsure of whether her gaze was on him or on the body that lay before her, Antares studied the statue with but a glance. He recalled a time he had thought he buried deep within himself, a time when the winds were softer and carried with them the scent of thunderstorms. He remembered as storm filled eyes read to him of the practices of the last rites. He plunged the cloth into the basin, soaking it completely in water, then he rubbed it across the marble feet of The Mother. He brought the cloth across Dijkstra's body, he hesitated for a moment. More memories wormed their way into his mind; memories filled with blood and tears. But in that moment, he felt her hand over his, like she had shown him many times before. For a moment he could see her golden hair flowing next to him. But he forced himself not to look, for he knew if he did she would be gone. She moved his hand towards the body and he began to wash him. The softness of her touch gave him confidence. The smell of the sea and cloudburst filled his nostrils. He could almost taste the past. Almost taste her again. As the high priestess and Cyrus continued to chant, Antares washed Dijkstra, softly and with a kind of compassion the young king was unaware he possessed. And so they continued like that for a time, each one of them consumed by their part in the ritual.

  "It is done." The high priestess clasped her hands together and bowed once more to the statue. Cyrus followed suit and she smiled. "You did well, little one."

  "T-thank you." Cyrus was embarrassed by her words.

  "She is right, Cyrus." Antares covered Dijkstra once more, "You have done very well."

  The boy held back tears, "So... So what now?" he turned to the priestess who had already gotten to her feet.

  "Now." she began, "The king and I will leave, and you will remain here with your father."

  Before Cyrus could ask, she had already made her way out of the chamber. He turned to Antares for an explanation.

  "This will be the last time you will ever see your father." The king placed a hand on his shoulder, "So talk to him. About everything, anything, things you wished to tell him, things he should know. Tell him of your dreams, of what you have done today. But most importantly, tell him what you will remember."

  Antares did not let Cyrus respond. The young king followed the high priestesses' example, and left the chamber. Closing the door behind him. For some time they both stood there in silence, both of them waiting keenly. No words yet were exchanged between them. And as the silence grew longer, it was broken by the audible crying of a boy who lost his father. Those wails carried with it so much sadness and yet Antares could not help but smile, for despite all of that, the love that flowed in those tears was far stronger. The boy cried on and on, with no end in sight.

  The king and high priestess soon turned to each other both finally ready to address the events of the night. When in the distance the rhythmic clanking of metal wrung out. They both turned to see a soldier stumbling out of the darkness. The man had been running for some time as he collapsed on the floor within the presence of the king. His infantry armor awkwardly held him together. He looked up to see his king staring at him unamused.

  "A thousand apologies my lord king." The soldier rose to his feet and bowed deeply.

  "What is the meaning of this? I thought I was not to be disturbed." Antares demanded.

  The soldier flinched, quickly taking out the letter from his pocket. "My lord king, Lord Regent Casspien commanded me to bring this to your attention immediately."

  The mention of Casspien drew Antares attention to the letter. For him to do this, meant it was of great importance. But his absence raised more questions than answers. Antares looked at the letter before taking it from the soldier. It was a black envelope with a red wax seal. He could not immediately tell where it was from, but he knew it was not from anywhere within Iliad. He reached over and took it from the soldier.

  "You may return," Antares waved off the guard.

  Without hesitation the guard left promptly. The high priestess, curious by the events, turned her attention back towards the king. His expression startled her, all night he had remained stoic as his people were known to be. So to see his face so unsettled, her curiosity only grew.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "What is it, my king?" she asked softly.

  Antares first looked at the letter with shock but then with intrigue , "It is a letter from the Queen of the Nephilim, Enrieta Zxyphor."

  Duties as a monarch did not leave her with opportunity for past times, yet still in her youth she studied the arts and history was her first love. She had read the accounts, visited the location and even listened to the songs the bards had spun in their taverns. But admittedly no matter how many times she came here, nothing could prepare her for the sheer scale and size of the canvas before her. Each stroke of the brush, carried with it a thousand details. A work for many, done by a single hand. The fiery lifeblood of the canvas came alive as her eyes scanned across it. Harsh red, washed over the canvas threatening to spill out, bathing her in red hot magma. Such a destructive presence captured so carefully with incredible detail. The brilliant green forest scarred black and burning. Across the bottom armored clad men scream in agony as they too are consumed by the flames. Pillars of hellfire stretch up each one painted with a deep red, and bloody saffron. At their peak spewing liquid fire back down to the ground. Such chaos accurately captured on the canvas, the gravity of it all, pulling her in closer. But her eyes move towards the top, to the cause of so much death. And there he stood, scarred and bloody, his blonde hair shining, crowning him champion of all men. Even in a drawing his presence nearly suffocates, the sheer sight of him enough to cause her discomfort.

  But he is but a small fraction of what truly ales her. She had avoided looking at what caused the man to unleash such devastating power. Many times had she walked these halls, each time she struggled to look at him. The air was always different here, colder. A thin smile crawled its way across her lips, she enjoyed the sensation and so she lowered her eyes towards him in anticipation of what she was about to feel. The darkness that enveloped the lower half of the painting became more pronounced as all seemed to center towards him. The magma bent and twisted as though avoiding him. The flames would dare not touch him. His presence alone was enough to withstand all. He was a wild creature in her eyes, untamable by none. She so desperately wished to see his face, but it was obscured, only his back visible through the flames. And on his back covered in scars, a great serpent consuming itself in a perfect circle through the skull of a terrible beast.

  "What are you doing here?" Her voice cut through Enrieta's thoughts.

  The Queen of the Nephilim turned her head ever so slightly, "Roderika, It has been some time." Enrieta managed a thin smile.

  Her sister in return, bared a look of hostility, "We are not on amicable terms." She approached and around her the air hummed. "Do not be so casual with me."

  Of all her siblings, Enrieta found herself most at odds with Roderika. The two of them once had been inseparable in their youth but as heirs to their respective thrones other matters took precedent. The realms of Aurum were not easily tamed, especially for women who held such power. As Enrieta looked down at her eldest sister, she could not help but amuse at their tepid alliance. Such a fragile thing held together by something so tangible as blood.

  The Vanaheimr Queen placed one hand on her hip, "You cannot still be mad about that incident?"

  Roderika brushed aside her auburn hair showing fiery emerald green eyes, "You asked for help to win a war, and I obliged." Her olive skin glistened under the scorching sun through the massive windows opposite them.

  Roderika was much shorter than Enrieta, standing barely at her waist. Her royal attire was dawned with the colors of her kingdom, Black and deep maroon. Had she not chosen to carry a permanent scowl, she would be considered beautiful by many. Her hair was braided neatly in an array of style's and resting upon her head was a bronze crown.

  Enrieta waved her hand dismissively, walking past her, "And I am forever thankful, queen sister." She spoke the words with little emotion, having repeated them multiple times.

  "That is all you have to say?" Demanded the Queen of Lunaelia, "I gave you thirty thousand men, thirty thousand good men and you returned to me only corpses."

  The blood queen shrugged, "I had high hopes for your elite troops, but in the face of that Stygian bitch, how was I to know they would amount to only fodder?"

  The hallway they occupied groaned underneath the weight of Roderika's building rage. A face usually in a perpetual scowl now twisted with scorn. The Queen of Lunaelia had a day to forget, meeting her sister here in the royal palace did nothing but further dampen that day. She had long since given up on her sister's bloody crusade against the Stygians. Even now as the cost of lives had steadily increased, uneasiness washed over her at the casual reaction her sister had to throwing away so many lives, in the pursuit of what she saw as childish revenge. This madness was only exacerbated by the emperor. Roderika calmed herself, she would not allow Enrieta the satisfaction of seeing her anger. Right now she had to focus on only one person, too much had already unsettled her.

  Upon realizing that she would not get a rise out of her sister, Enrieta dropped her shoulders in dissatisfaction, "You are no fun. You used to be fun" She leaned against the painting, picking at it "Speaking of fun, where is Saturn? I managed to make it all the way here without a lecture."

  Roderika walked over and stopped her from damaging the painting further, "He went south. Along with Galahad and Helax." She rubbed her sister's finger clean. "Even Mars went along this time."

  Enrieta perked up at the news, she knew of her elder brother's regular conquests beyond the southern sea. But for him to bring a Dragon Lord and his dragon along and not just that but their younger sibling too. It was a show of overwhelming force. Something her brother was not known for. This news only emboldened her reason for being here, and she looked to pry even further.

  "What could be so pressing down south, that he would even take Mars?" Enrieta hid the intrigue in her voice.

  Roderika brushed aside her hair, dark freckles across her eyes and forehead glittered slightly. She shrugged and from that alone, Enrieta was able to tell her fellow queen had asked the same of the emperor to no answer.

  "You know how father is, better yet, you know how Saturn is." She leaned back against the wall. "Their focus has always been beyond our home."

  Enrieta silently agreed. She was all too familiar with the aspirations of their father and how he used Saturn as his vessel. The death of her eldest brother and his family still tasted bitter in her mouth and all these years later, nothing had been done. For her fathers focus looked beyond finding the killers, instead on the expanse of Aurum's power. But she did not care, while her father continued to look without, she would look within. She would show them once again who their true enemy was.

  "No matter, I have more pressing concerns." Enrieta dusted off her ruby nails and straightened her royal attire. "I take it you are done speaking with him?"

  Roderika gestured for the golden doors in the distance, "He is all yours perhaps you will have a more pleasant conversation."

  Enrieta had begun to make her way but curiosity would not let her leave without asking a question that had plagued her since reuniting with her sister after so long. The thought scratched at the back of her head like a warm spot. Although she knew how she was perceived by many, if not all. Some part of her which she did well to ignore, could not help but show itself.

  "Roderika?"

  Roderika turned to look at her sister, "yes?"

  "How is Reza?"

  A sudden chill went down the auburn queen's spine. She flexed her fists and the entire hall cracked underneath her Will. Once pristine marble walls and ceilings now lay battered and broken. Several mirrors shattered, spraying glass in every direction. The large paintings on the wall shook and wobbled in fear. The ground between them divided itself leaving a small crevice in its wake.

  Through gritted teeth, "Why are you mentioning her name." Roderika did not take her eyes off her sister's silhouette, her porcelain skin glowing in contrast with her red dress.

  Enrieta did not respond for some time, the uneasiness disturbing Roderika even more. She hated Enrieta's fixations, for the consequences of those fixations led to the deaths of many. She had warned her on many occasions that Reza should never be one of them. But for her to mention her so close to her naming day ceremony. Roderika was alert.

  "Truly, it was good to see you dearest sister." Enrieta began, "My regards to the others when you return."

  Enrieta did not give her sister time to respond and began on her way. Just as Roderika's anger appeared, it vanished. She turned to her left to see people cowering in the corner at the sight of her outburst and immediately she was overcome with embarrassment. She wanted to turn her fury back towards Enrieta but she was already out of reach. She bemoaned at the erratic nature of her sister, and further still she disliked how distant they had become. But she knew that would not change. She simply wished the unsettling feeling she had when Enrieta spoke of Reza did not fill her with so much dread.

  As Enrieta reached the massive golden doors. She could make out the various engravings that were etched into it. None more prominent than the golden stags with black roses on their antlers, on either door standing proudly. They were the proud symbols of house Blackrose and subsequently of the emperors, her fathers. But they were not her symbols nor was this truly her house. Her birth was one of necessity, not of love, something she was constantly reminded of. As she could see her Nephilim features within the golden doors. Around the golden stags were stories of ancient members of house Blackrose and their tales throughout Aurum. Many of them she knew, through her own studies, and yet she would always find some that she had never heard of. Stories lost to time, either too short to remember or far too long ago to recall, perhaps both. She wondered how many of them would recoil at a Nephilim opening these great doors.

  She opened them with little effort. The doors recognizing the emperor's blood that flowed within her veins and granted her entry into her fathers study. What greeted her was a breathtaking sight, rows upon rows of books were neatly placed against the walls, in the center a massive wooden desk matching the same style as the wooden floors. On either side of the desk golden stag statues stood wisely guarding it. To the side a large fireplace raged on with intensity, above its mantle a painting of the emperor, the light and heat of the fire doing well to illuminate the room. Stairs led up to a series of floors all with more shelves filled with books. From where she stood she could see one floor housing a balcony with two tea cups. She moved further inside and opposite the fireplace hung an assortment of legendary weapons that belonged to house Blackrose, some she had recognized from her lessons others she did not know. But she could feel the energy coming from them, ancient tools of war long dormant waiting for the call of battle once more. Even from this distance she could feel the draw of the Stygian Steel and she did well to steer clear of it. There were doors to other rooms, and hallways to other areas of the study. She knew this was merely a small fraction of how large the emperor's study was. It was his own personal library.

  Enrieta moved closer to the desk and above it on the wall there hung a portrait of the Crown King Saturn Blackrose in his younger years. His blonde hair and blue eyes identical to the man in the painting she examined before. But the indifference in Saturn's eyes was far more pronounced, the look of a true born monarch. Enrieta detested it. She turned her gaze to the other portraits hung around the room and each of them was of the emperor's various children, she saw Roderika's, Mars, Reza's and even her own. Her portrait painted of her during her younger years, back when she still felt something. Seeing herself, it was the first time in a long time, Enrieta felt old.

  "When I was your age, it was near unthinkable to approach this room. And here you stroll in." A voice croaked behind one of the bookshelves.

  Enrieta turned to scan the room looking for the source of the voice, only for the man to appear behind her.

  "Father!" she bent over and kissed the old man on the cheek. "As I recall, in our youth you were adamant we treat this room like any other."

  He furrowed his brow as he walked past her, "Hm, your sister said the same thing."

  "It seems we can agree on things."

  "Then what was all of that noise earlier?" he asked, mimicking an explosion while he organized his desk.

  Enrieta slumped into one of the chairs by the fire, "Oh just a friendly chat between siblings."

  Her father elected to groan as a response and continued his task. Enrieta twirled her finger through her hair.

  "Will you tell me what brings you here, or will I have to pry it from you?" the old man asked.

  Enrieta made herself comfortable and thought about her father's answer much to his own dismay at her playfulness in his presence. Of all his children, she was the only one who would dare attempt this and as such was given the luxury to do so.

  "I would like to speak to the emperor." She cocked her to the side, studying her fathers expression.

  Emperor Nero was a man of small stature. But his name reached every corner of Aurum and beyond. There was nothing particularly exceptional about him, nothing save his ascent to the throne, something Enrieta had studied in great detail. The tales from his youth were sung throughout Talterra and how he, along with a legendary Stygian, and a powerful witch, slayed the mad emperor before him. At the end of the Third Great War, as the ashen skies darkened and the bodies of a thousand warriors lay dismembered and scorched black. It was Nero who stood atop all, emperor of Aurum and all her realms, save one.

  Nero rubbed his back, he had been alive for well over two hundred years and each day his body would remind him of his waning mortality, he moved over his chair and sat down at his desk. The various gold rings sparkled on his old fingers, even now the size of them looked to weigh him down. The responsibility of royalty and all that came with it, the power and adoration. It gave him much thought. But even with such a weak frame, his eyes could not betray the ambition within. The monster that lurked just behind the surface, even now she could see it as he looked at her. His mind still as sharp as the day the throne became his. Enrieta smiled.

  Emperor Nero sat back in his chair, "An audience has been granted. Speak."

  Enrieta had much time to think about what she would tell him when they spoke, her journey from Vanaheimr was a long one and it gave her much to think about. She knew she would need the emperor's blessing and that was not something so easily obtained, with Nero choosing to abdicate much of the power of the throne giving it to Saturn. Still, her swaying her father was paramount. The games had already begun, now she had to prove herself worthy in his eyes.

  She looked into the fire finding comfort, "Of all the books in your study, how many have you read?"

  The emperor was amused by the question but did not show it, "During the early days of my reign very few. But now I seem to be finishing them with regularity. I have read most of it."

  Enrieta smiled.

  She rose to her feet and began to walk around the room looking for something. The emperor did not interrupt, instead choosing to watch his daughter effortlessly glide across the floor. Each time he saw her she managed to grow even taller and her Nephilim features further enhanced. She looked very much like her mother but that was as far as the comparisons went. Enrieta was a true born noble, and everything she did was an extension of that. Something her mother lacked in copious amounts.

  The young empress waved her slender finger in the air and rested upon an old book, barely bound together. She raised it to her father for him to see, "How does this one end?"

  The emperor rubbed his gray beard and thought for a moment, "'The Battle of Blacklight', an interesting tale. Three hundred years of lords fighting over who gets to be king of the realm, each century more bloody than the last. Eventually the Stygians grew bored of the fighting and killed everyone involved."

  Enrieta carefully put the book back and moved on, "And this one?"

  "'Persephone's Lament', The first Nephilim rebellion, led by Persephone... Zxyphor." She waited for him to continue, "It ends with the rebellion being put out by the arrival of the Lords of War... Who proceeded to slaughter Persephone's daughters as penance for such hubris."

  Enrieta nodded her head pleased with his response. And on she went, book after book, tale after tale. Each abruptly ended by the involvement of the Stygians. Nero let her continue, he indulged in her games. But soon grew bored. Many things about him had improved with his age, such as his wisdom and temperance. But patience seemed to always elude him in his youth and even now.

  The old emperor yawned, "Are you going to get to the point or will I have to teach you about Aurum's entire history? Again."

  Enrieta rolled her eyes and sat back down, "I see where Saturn gets it from." the fire rumbled next to her as she leaned forward, interlocking her fingers, "It is always them. They are always the ones responsible."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The Stygians." She began, "Every story you have told me, it always ends with them intervening and killing everyone. It has been that way for thousands of years."

  The emperor rubbed his brow, "Not this again."

  Enrieta rose, moving closer to the desk, "Just listen." she drew her face in closer, her dead ruby eyes never leaving her fathers, "Listen to what I have to say."

  Nero was a cautious man, his youth forced him to be so. Born without legendary abilities nor the power to wield magic. Caution had been a tool he learned to sharpen well, with but a glance his discernment of danger was enough to give him the advantage. Here in this very moment as he studied his daughter, he felt the same sensation that had plagued him throughout his life. He knew if he allowed her to speak, what she would say next would change everything. Aurum would never be the same and because of it, an endless amount of blood would flow. And it would be because of him.

  "Proceed."

  Enrieta smiled.

  "Ever since the first men happened upon this land a hundred thousand years ago. Along with their wives and children, the Stygians have been here. They rejected us at first, killed us in droves because we resembled their greatest shame. It was only when they saw reason through the bloodshed did they stop, and as an apology they sent those of us who remained to fend against the monsters of the night." Her eyes came alive, her words rang true in the ears of the emperor. She continued, "My people were once human too, driven to the brink of extinction, we turned to an ancient God of Aurum and thus the Nephilim were born. And what did the Stygians do when they saw us again, reborn as our own saviors? They enslaved us for our hubris to make ourselves in their image."

  "Focus Enrieta, I do not need a lesson on our history."

  The Queen of the Nephilim took her opportunity, "As long as the Stygians remain, there is no future for humanity."

  Her words reverberated throughout the room. They were not special words, long have they been spoken by thousands, from nobility to the peasantry who rarely knew how to read. It had been spoken by kings and queens, and lords and lady's alike. Whispered by knights and Dragon Lords. Even the ancient dragons on the Isle of Madness in their caves whisper it. The Stygians are to blame. Nero would not allow himself to foolishly react; he needed to be careful, for his sake and his daughters.

  "I taught you better than this." he remarked, "Such speak is reserved for the drunken soldiers and farmers to stupid to know any better. Not a queen. Especially one of your stature. Your obsession with the Stygians is clouding you."

  Enrieta rolled her eyes, "I am obsessed?" she was unamused with her childish treatment, "Enlighten me father, what would you call bedding the Black Witch of the West who was enamored with Barranagan Xerxes. Or marrying off your son to princess Freyja of house Stormborne. The former betrothed of crown Prince Antares Xerxes. Or should I say King Antares Xerxes now. If that is not obsession then, please enlighten me."

  "Careful."

  Enrieta bowed her head in reverence. A sense of foreboding washed over her. She allowed herself to toy with her emperor and the consequences for that would be severe. She knew the emperor to neither be a kind man nor forgiving. And yet a wide smile crossed her face. The anticipation of what would happen next excited her.

  "I do not know who has filled your head with such tales, but you would be wise to not so simply believe everything those around you say. Many seek to only gain favor for their own means, dear daughter. Do not forget that." There was heaviness to his words, and she strained underneath them. The words of her emperor, flat and resolute.

  Emperor Nero rose and Enrieta flinched, she prepared herself for punishment. But it never came. Instead her emperor walked past his desk towards the stairs behind him. He need not talk, she knew better and followed him in silence. They arrived on the second floor with a balcony overlooking the kingdom below. The archway was gilded with white stone and gold accents. Across it were words spoken in the first language. On either side of the opening stood pillars of Ivory, upon them carved symbols and objects of power belonging to house Blackrose. In the middle of the arch the golden visage of a stag hung with great pride. Thorns wrapped around its gleaming antlers and in between each antler, a black rose.

  Nero waved his daughter towards the chair, "Sit, your sister was here earlier. Do not tell her I brought out the good tea for you."

  Enrieta had always found the sun outside of Vanaheimr to be softer than her own. Its softness was a reminder of how life was like for the rest of the realms. Many of them did not know the thralls of war or what was done to keep them safe. She looked over towards the sprawling city and bustling with life. Even from Castle Blackrose people could be seen below. Between the stone buildings, pockets of trees were scattered throughout. Unlike her own castle, this one was situated in the center of the city equally commanding over every inch of it. She glanced to her right, also unlike her own castle, Castle Blackrose was constructed as two separate castles, later joined together, a massive sky bridge connecting the two fortresses. Even from this angle it was magnificent. The glass ceiling of the bridge was carefully crafted to withstand the heavy winds generated this high. Rarely did she ever admire the beauty of the world around her, but when she came here it seemed like it was all she ever did.

  "Tea is served."

  Nero placed a small silver tray with warm tea down on the table. He moved his hand over the drink, playing with the steam rising from the cups. Enrieta could tell this was a ritual of his, and she smiled warmly. She moved closer and sat opposite her father.

  "So what makes this tea so special?" she reached over to take a cup from him.

  "I am sharing it with my daughter." Nero mused.

  Enrieta was rarely flustered, she could recount how many times she had been so, a majority of it was in the presence of her father. She scowled at him and he laughed in return. As she sipped the warm liquid an array of aroma's filled her nostrils. It had an earthy flavor to it and was still sweet enough to gently swallow. Her fathers fascination with books and tea were odd choices for an emperor, but she did not mind. She would not admit it, but moments like these reminded her of better times, painful times. Times she could never revisit.

  Nero was the first to break the silence, "Do you want to hear a story?" he sipped on his tea.

  Enrieta swished her drink around, "Is this going to be one of your stories disguised as a lesson, or an actual story?" she looked at him unpleasantly.

  The old man narrowed his brow, "All my stories are lessons in one way or another. Now do you want to hear it or not?"

  She took a long sip of her tea, "Please continue."

  Nero grew comfortable in his chair, the tea had already begun to tire him. "There was once a serpent, beautiful as it was deadly. It roamed the forest, keeping to itself . Seldom did it have friends to call its own. But it did not care. One day it journeyed towards the edge of its home, a river created by other bigger animals some time ago. Their foolhardiness caused the snake great anger, for now with a river running through its territory it had grown smaller. Coming out from the bush behind him was a rabbit, black as night with ruby eyes. The rabbit and snake exchanged pleasantries. For the Rabbit was one of, perhaps the serpent's only friend." Nero poured himself another cup, and for Enrieta too.

  "The rabbit could see the snake was in some kind of discomfort, so it enquired as to what the problem was. The serpent went on to talk about the river and how it had affected it and its home. The rabbit consoled the serpent, telling it that other animals as well shared in its frustration. The river had become a problem for all. Well, for all except one that is. The serpent turned to the rabbit, towering over it and asked who could possibly benefit from this. And the rabbit in turn, turned further downstream towards the great turtle. The rabbit spoke of how the river had been a pleasant surprise for the great turtle, its home grew far larger than most and being as good of a swimmer as he was he regularly carried animals across, for a fee that is." Nero placed his cup back on the table and yawned. Enrieta could tell, soon her father would need to rest. There were many things the emperor could fight, but his body was not one of them. He took a moment to gather himself making sure not to forget where he stopped.

  Nero was lost in his thoughts, staring off into the distance, a lost memory grabbing his attention. And still he continued his story. "A cold anger consumed the serpent, it had watched over many seasons as the great turtle enjoyed the river. It tolerated it, because the serpent understood things had an order to them. But to exploit the other animals was not part of the order of things. The serpent asked the rabbit to accompany him down stream, and the rabbit obliged none the wiser. As they reached the home of the great turtle, the serpent called out for it. And out of the water arose the great turtle, upon seeing the serpent it recoiled back demanding it to leave. The rabbit intervened, calming the great turtle, that the serpent meant it no harm. The serpent spoke, saying it wished to cross the river and it had heard that the great turtle could do so for a fee. The great turtle laughed, and refused the offer of the great creature, for it believed the serpent would bite him, drowning them both. The rabbit spoke up once again, assuring the great turtle that the serpent would not harm it, to no avail. And so the rabbit suggested the great turtle carry both of them across. The rabbit was the closest friend of the serpent and it would not allow any harm to come to it. The great turtle thought about it for some time, the rabbit was a regular customer who always paid on time. After much thought, the great turtle accepted. They were halfway across the river when the great turtle felt a sharp bite across its neck. It cried out in pain and thrashed about, gasping for air. It began to cry out along with the rabbit on its back, both struggling to stay afloat. As both began to drown the great turtle cried out towards the serpent, cursing and asking it why it doomed all three of them and most importantly why it would kill its only friend. The great serpent slithered off the turtle and began to swim away. It turned back once more, looking at the thrashing turtle and rabbit. In response to the final words from the great turtle, it simply said, 'Because it is my nature.'"

  Enrieta placed her cup back on the table, "It is one of your better stories. I will give you that."

  Nero smiled, stroking his beard. As he laughed a couple gold teeth reflected the sun's light off them. "Your sister was not as appreciative."

  "Roderika is not one for stories," bemused Enrieta. "She is not one for much quite frankly."

  The father and daughter shared a laugh.

  "I assume in this story, King Antares is the serpent." She began, "I am aware of-"

  Nero raised his hand, stopping her, "The serpent is you."

  Enrieta was taken aback by her fathers comment. It did not take her long to realize the implication of his words if she were to be the serpent in the story. Long had she been forced to fend for herself, fighting against her people's former slave masters. The reigniting of conflict over Hightower had done nothing but spurn her on, her controlled victories over the Red Wolf of the north raised her acclaim throughout Aurum. Her painstaking attempts at consolidating all power in Vanaheimr through her, even the acquisition of Salok Yn. All of it was to prove herself worthy, worthy of the violent retribution she so desperately sought. And here before her father she felt it close at hand.

  "The question is," Nero looked at her with ancient frozen eyes "Who is your rabbit?"

  "Reza." She did not allow his words to linger in the air. She knew her answer would pain him, but she needed to act quickly, she needed to push him past the pain as she had done to herself, to show him reason. "It has to be her, she is one of the daughters of the emperor and the Black Witch of the West. She is invaluable, even the Stygians and their nobility would not be able to ignore such a prize."

  "Why would Antares accept?" the emperor asked.

  "He does not need to." The Nephilim Queen began, "It is his court and council members that need to accept. And they are far more easily influenced."

  "How do you propose to separate him from his court without arousing suspicion?"

  Enrieta smiled, "It has already begun." She drank the last of her tea and set it down, "I have thought over this for some time father, this is not a plan I make hastily."

  "I see that," Nero looked out to the city below. "So what is it that you require from me. That you had to wait until your brother was not home to return?"

  Enrieta hesitated slightly, "In the coming days you will propose a marriage between Reza and Antares. A showing that even after a century there is still peace between the north and the south."

  Nero laughed loudly, his voice echoing through the sky. Such brazen demands from his daughter, a part of him cursed the Gods for Enrieta not being his first born. "You want me to create your river in your story? Is that it?"

  All the Nephilim Queen could do was slowly nod, unsure of how to take her father's reaction. "I understand how great of a risk this is to you, and I also understand lady Tereza and Roderika both pose a consider-"

  "Very well. If that is what you want of me, very well."

  Enrieta was unsettled by her fathers, agreeableness. She pressed him further, "What of Reza, I heard she was promised to another?"

  Nero shook his head, "It means nothing, just some young lord she thinks she loves."

  "And what of Tereza and Roderika?"

  "Leave them to me. Roderika will understand, in time. And as for Tereza, she has no say in the matter, she is only a consort after all."

  Nero rose to his feet, the weight of his body heavy on his knees. He staggered up right and leaned against the balcony, taking in the masses who carried on about their day. Never would he tire of the sight laid out before him. For a hundred years he watched as his city and by extension his empire continued to grow. He knew he was not long for this world. With the death of the Stygian king in the north, it signaled that Nero's would soon follow. What a story they had lived and still, there was much regret.

  "And what of... Antares?" Enrieta chose her words carefully, "I know not how much he means to you. But I know his father did."

  Nero smiled.

  "My dear, my one and only friend is dead. I took the crown from him and for a century I turned most of Aurum against him, calling him a demon to the public and far worse to those in private. Because of my own vanity, I was unable to go see him in his final moments. If that is what I did to the man I love. What makes you think I feel anything for his son?"

  Enrieta smiled. It was just as he predicted, everything went just as Salok Yn said it would. She doubted him, doubted his intentions and his true desire for the destruction of the Stygians. But here she sat with the emperor agreeing to her plans. Years of toiling around in her own wicked hatred, for the first time in a long while. Her hatred felt justified. Slowly but surely the pieces would continue to fall into place, She would use them all, Salok Yn, her father, her people, Reza. She would use them all to enact her revenge, for once a long time ago her heart was stolen by a Stygian god. And in return, she would take his, and all that he held dear. For that was her nature.