Pain woke him. He groaned as his mind became reacquainted with the current state of himself. The early morning light showed through cracks in the wood. Violet-golden rays pierced his eyes reflecting back the same color. He gingerly raised his hands attempting to grab the light through gritted missing teeth. The boy gently grasped at the light, which exposed swollen knuckles, covered in cuts. For a moment he forgot how he acquired such marks. For a moment. The past evening's events had proven forgettable except for a run in with a specific group of boys his age, who happen to have had some choice comments about the boy's recently dead father. They hurt him, but he hurt them worse. A sly grin painfully crossed a bruised and battered face.

  Head pounding, he reached to touch the back of his skull. Blinding pain ran throughout his body, the shock forcing him to sit up. He now recalled the very big hammer that introduced itself so feverishly to the back of his skull. Before he blacked out for the second time, he thanked the boy who struck him by eagerly reciprocating the formal introductions that had begun with the hammer, but this time it was an informal amount of continuous blows to the other boy's head by his fists. Fortunately the boy with the hammer was able to create an ice barrier before he was struck, protecting himself. The last thing he remembered as his vision darkened, was the hard crunching sound that both his fists and the barrier made and the look of a boy completely enthralled in the jaws of death.

  He struggled to his feet, using the bed as support. It creaked and bemoaned under his weight, the sound carrying through his small room. He looked at himself and he was impressed with the work done to him. He had been bandaged well. Someone with careful hands who knew what they were doing, moved swiftly across his body. He stopped himself from touching such wonderful patch work even as he still bled in some areas. He looked around his room, the morning sun still had not risen high enough to illuminate the poorly constructed space. Wooden panels rotted and splintered. What passed as a desk was a large box used for the carrying of goods. Strewn across it, his various drawings; some were of people, others of his home, most were of his dead father.

  He opened a crooked door and it took everything not to collapse where he stood. He breathed heavily, he hoped that would ease the strain on him. He supported himself in the frame of the door. His attention was drawn to the small kitchen. Where he lived was far too small to be called a home, and still that is what he had called it for as long as he could remember. Not including his room, his home offered only two other rooms, one belonging to his father and the other the bathroom. An old table sat in the middle of the kitchen, two chairs on opposite sides. On the table lay crescent cakes. His inability to smell from his room was a very good indication that he had broken his nose, he thought. Not wanting to touch his nose and further inflict greater pain on him, he instead chose to sit down. As he wolfed down the crescent cakes, the sweet nectar hidden in the center of the soft bread slid down his throat. A warm sensation emanated from his stomach. The rest of the cakes lay in a basket next to a letter the boy had refused to open since the death of his father. Instead he continued to indulge himself in the cakes. As he belched the last of the cakes, a note fell off one of them. This he did not know, and picked it up. It was Her writing. He could spot it anywhere, other than his father, she was the only other person who taught him to read and write. He opened the note, half expecting a long message about why he should deliver that letter. The contents of the letter were not long nor was anything written of note, yet he found himself reading the words in her voice, and a profound sense of longing grew within him after every word.

  His swollen eyes filled with tears again, he had struggled to stop crying everyday since his father was taken from him. The pain washed over him in waves, each one eroded a piece of him even more. He wished she had at least stayed so he could talk to her. But he knew better, and she did too. Even if he tried he would never find her again. By now she would have left the city walls, putting enough distance between them. Or she would hide somewhere within the city, a labyrinth itself to even some of its own inhabitants Akkad was not easily tamed but she was one of the few who could do it.

  He sat there for hours, as the morning turned into midday. Half asleep, the other half lost in thought. The sounds around him did not bother him. The ringing in his left ear dampened much of his hearing. Children played and dogs barked, and those still engaged in the sensual activities that had taken place after the coronation made their voices and movements known. Akkad was awake, alive and a new day had begun.

  As his father lay dying, there was no mention of this letter he held in his hand. Their chance to talk was sparse as his father drifted in and out of consciousness many times. The moments they did speak, it was through tear filled eyes. The boy expressed how much he loved his father, every opportunity he felt he had no other choice but to let him know. As though through the action, through enough repetition perhaps the boy's father would get better on his own. But the father only managed labored words of love in return. The act of talking caused him great pain, but he would not stop. This is how they went for weeks, the boy watched as the life drained from his father, bit by bit, until there was nothing left but the husk of a memory of the man who raised him. He read the name on the letter to himself again, King Antares Xerxes II.

  It had been ten years since he last saw the now-king. Back then he was a young prince not that much older than himself. Those days still clear to him, he remembered as Antares had come along with three others whose names he did not know but all of them of the same age. The one standing out to him the most was the largest one with fiery red hair. Antares spoke with the boy's father, the contents of their conversation alluded him. What he could recall was that, just as quickly as they arrived, they left. The only thing of note that happened was that the prince approached him and squatted in front of him. His violet storm filled eyes overlooking golden beaches raged on violently. The presence of the prince made the hairs on his arms stand, he did not yet learn the word but he felt reverence. Antares told him that his mother was dead and that he was responsible.

  Ordinarily a child finding out the death of their parents would be consumed with hundreds of emotions, rage nearing the largest reaction. But the boy felt nothing. He did not care that his mother was dead, she had abandoned them both and the outcome of her life meant nothing to him. His only concern was for his father's safety, he summoned up the courage to ask. The dismay apparent on everyone's face, but Antares. The prince rose, patting himself down and running a hand through his short braided hair, he waved his hand dismissively stating that his father was under no arrest or danger. Their arrival was merely a personal courtesy extended by the prince alone. With that, they left.

  Below the name a snake's eye insignia was stamped. The golden glow illuminated his face slightly. He knew the insignia belonged to the king because he felt the same reverence as he did all those years ago. The intensity even more so apparent as the eye seared with golden luminosity while skeletal snakes tightly coiled around the crown around it. The boy had seldom seen magic in his life, neither he nor his father were adept at it. His mother shunned many of her duties, her own desires outweighed all else. And the woman who taught him to write, also taught him many things, but magic was something she could never bring herself to do. So as he stared at the letter, his first ever piece of magical item in his possession, he was enamored by it.

  He fidgeted with the seal but shame prevented him from breaking it. Curiosity had soundly beaten him many times in attempts to open the letter, but each time he steeled himself he could not bring himself to follow through with his endeavors. He frowned, which hurt him, but nevertheless he frowned. He followed that with a large exhale and got to his feet. He paced in the tiny apartment and argued with himself, lost in conversation as though he alone existed in the world. Upon the conclusion of a debate he had lost, he grumbled and stormed into his father's room.

  Like his own, his father's room was smaller than his. As many times as the boy complained to his father, he had always asked him to take his room but he denied the request every time. With a single step the boy was already halfway into the room. Nothing had been touched since he carried his corpse to be blessed for burial. Only there was no opportunity for his father to be given his last rites because the day he had died was the same day as the crowning ceremony for the new king. He begged and pleaded at the gates of the church but his words were drowned out by the cheers of ascension. Unsure of what else to do the boy carried his father to the Weeping Chambers below the church. The cold soulless chambers housed many of Akkad who could not afford the absolution the church of the Multitude offered to those whose souls had departed this realm in search of the next.

  He rummaged through his father's clothing, found what he considered his father's best clothes and wore them. The boy did not fit the clothes, his lean frame exposed. He was still only thirteen years old but he stood at a worthy height. His sandy hair was a wild mess; tried as he might to fix it. He headed for the door, as he stood at the frame he looked back into the only place he knew, the only place that made sense. All his life lived in this small room with his father, holding powerful memories that etched themselves into his soul. Tears welled in his eyes and he gripped the hinges tighter. He sighed once more and left through the narrow corridor. He pushed his way into the loud sounds of the day calling out to him, Akkad calling out to him. Like all others, he answered her call.

  The city streets were far more crowded than usual. The events of the coronation days past, many still lingered enjoying some festivities and all the city had to offer. The boy had rarely ventured further than the small area where he lived with his father, for he was forbidden to do so. This sensation of seeing so many people, the pulsating nature of those who looked like him and those who did not laughing, fighting, and kissing, it filled him with excitement. Such a lively place he found himself lost in the sheer scale of it all. This otherworldly place so foreign to him. All this to exist a mere stones throw from the only place he had ever known.

  "You do not belong here."

  The boy turned around, atop several barrels an elderly man sat. The man's eyes never left the book he read. A worn out hat covered much of his face, but dark purple eyes with a golden center focused intently.

  "Huh." was all the boy could manage at that moment.

  The old man took his time, intent on enjoying his book. The boy stood there awkwardly, looking around but was not the subject of interest. People carried on about their day unaware of what was happening. He had grown impatient waiting for the old man, he turned around to leave.

  "I would not do that." The man called out.

  The boy rolled his eyes and turned back to face the old man. "What do you want?" He approached the man.

  "You do not belong here." he turned the page on his book.

  "I heard you the first time." the boy said with an annoyed expression crossing his face. "What do you want?"

  Once again the old man became lost in his book forgetting the boy stood there impatiently. The boy's patience had run out and he turned to leave heading back into the crowd, he felt the time he had wasted here would slow his reach to the castle. He looked out across what he believed was a market and looked for an opening to pass through, behind him the old man called.

  "I am trying to help you!" He waved his hand.

  The boy did not stop, "Thank you I'm fine!" he yelled back as he went into the crowd.

  He walked for some time unsure of how long it had been; the crowd never seemed to diminish. People were trading amongst themselves while others enjoyed the daily activities that were on display. But the boy did not allow himself to get distracted, the letter felt heavy in his pocket. He swore he could feel the heat coming from the insignia. He would deliver it to the king. He looked up at the obsidian castle as it stood proudly in the midday sun, a black monolith of power with a purple glow to it. Even in his small world with his father, he knew of the Royal Family and the Stygian demi-gods who lived within its walls. He pressed on quickly.

  He was sure he did not deviate from his path even once, even when the old ladies offered him fresh bread or the lavender women pleaded with him to come to their pleasure rooms. He refused all and stayed true, but as he stood there looking up at the castle he could not comprehend why he was still in the same location he had been hours ago. He heard chuckling from behind him and there sat the old man still reading his book atop the barrels. His old attire was loose and free, despite being shorter than him the old man felt bigger. His presence gave him more of an air to him than his visage.

  "What's happening?" The boy demanded.

  "She does not like your conviction." The old man retorted.

  "Who is she?" asked the boy.

  The old man regarded his question with a curious raise of the eyebrow, eyes still locked to his book. "Why the city, of course. She is not too happy with you."

  The boy returned the look with a curious one of his own. He did not like riddles and he especially did not like them from people he did not know. He turned to leave and carried back into the crowd. He stopped all manner of people, kind people, angry people, and everyone else found in between and yet all said the same thing when he asked them how to reach the castle; he simply had to follow the way.

  He sat on the floor with his back against the barrels, exhausted with the constant walking he did. Frustration clouded his thoughts, the letter growing heavier in his pocket. Visions of home crossed his mind and part of him wanted to return. It was a foolish mission, he thought. He was not the only one to lose a parent nor would he be the last. But still sitting there the boy thought maybe just this once he could make his father proud.

  "Giving up already?" the old man croaked behind him.

  The boy wiped tears from his eyes, not wanting the old man to see his face. "I'm just taking a break." he looked ahead determined.

  "A break huh? Yeah she will do that to you." the old man chuckled, "She likes to humble people who need humbling."

  "Yeah, well tell her she's a lousy teacher." he snapped back.

  "Easy their kiddo, I am not your enemy." The boy could feel the old man's eyes on him. "I said I would help yea would I not?"

  "All day I've asked for 'help'" the boy scoffed. "And it's been just about as helpful as a headless chicken. These people are mad, all of them. Just mad."

  "They are not mad, you just are not listening to what they are saying." he scratched his beard. "You gotta follow the way."

  "Yes, yes, follow the way." he said mockingly, "I don't understand what that means!" he exclaimed.

  He had looked for any markers, any signs that would point the way as they suggested and nothing stood out to him. Instead he continued to follow the path before him and still it lead him around in circles. And now he sat tired as the day waned closer to evening.

  "From your clothes I can tell you are from the slums, dirty rags like that only come from one place." he grunted. "I also know growing up with your little slum pals you guys would venture way beyond where you are not supposed to go."

  "I didn't have 'little slum pals.'" The boy interjected.

  "When it was time to come back home, how did you do it?" the man continued ignoring the boy's remark. "How did you find your way back to your father?"

  His mind drifted back to days long past when his father could still move with his own strength. To days where they would wander through streets at night as all slept. Their travels took them across Akkad, a city to him at the time the largest in the whole world. Its lantern covered streets glowed brightly illuminating the path ahead. The starry night sky acted as a theater of sorts for the boy, with his father narrating tales conjured to explain why they looked as they did. His father took him to different parts of the city, showing him the wonders of what their people had built. A city vibrant and living filled with millions of souls, all as important as the last. His father did well to remind him the importance of all life. And as their excursions through the city came to a close, it was now time to return home. It had never occurred to him but in this moment it now did, their journey home was never difficult. No matter how far they ventured into the city or for however long, when they wished to return home they did. The boy held on to this memory and battled to remember the sensation he felt as they walked. The assuredness he marched on with, knowing he would return home with his father without any delay. The city guided them in the right direction, leading them back to safety, back home.

  "I think I understand." said the boy.

  The old man laughed, "Now you have only conquered half the battle."

  "There's more?" The boy turned to look up at the man, still seeing him buried in his book.

  "It is well and good being able to follow the way." he began, "But it does one no good if they do not actually want to reach the end of their path."

  The boy turned his head away in shame.

  "I can't see the end of my path." the boy confessed.

  "Rarely does anyone." the old man chuckled. "Only way to see how it all ends is to walk it my boy. No one can do that for you."

  "But I'm alone." it was more of a whisper than a response.

  "Aye that you are." the old man stroked his beard. " But I still do not see how that is any excuse to forsake your fathers dying wish."

  The words of the old man struck the boy like lightning. His legs moved before he could command them. He stood up dusting himself off, for a moment he lost himself in doubt but now his mind was clear. He recalled the last moments with his father and how he sat there and watched over him. Tears ran down his face as he prayed to the Many Faced God and to each one of its godly faces; The Father, the Mother, he even prayed to the Laughing Man. None heeded his words. He failed him then, he failed him when he took him to the church, he would not make it thrice.

  He walked ready to leave, the bustling crowd ahead of him. He focused on the sensation from a time long past. He thought of the castle, he thought of the letter and he thought of his fears. Yet as these thoughts came, none of them weighed him down, for the presence that stood next to him would not allow it. He could feel his father's hand in his, he desperately wished to open his eyes but shut them even tighter. He held tightly and just like days of old they marched on. With eyes wide shut, he counted as they took three steps. The boy felt the rush of air and a thousand voices around him, people spoke of his father and others spoke of him. They spoke of things he knew and things he did not. Of things to come and things long forgotten by all. He ignored it all and as they grew louder and as he took his third step, the torrent of voices were gone.

  He felt the hand let go and instinctively opened his eyes as if someone was calling out to him. But there was no one there. He stood alone. He looked at his hand trying to recall the sensation. Try as he might he no longer could feel his presence, nor could he recall the words he spoke to him as they walked. He looked around and he found himself at the base of castle Xerxes. The height of the castle fully became visible to him now at the foot of it. A long winding path lead up to the onyx castle standing so proudly. He looked behind him to see how far he had traveled, he couldn't believe his eyes. Mere moments ago he stood nearly on the other side of the city, and in three steps he crossed such a large distance. Magic, he thought to himself. Just as the tiny letter in his pocket was magical, so was the very city he called home. He would have liked to have thanked the old man for his assistance, but he knew not how to get back to wherever it was he met him. But far more importantly, what else crossed his mind as he thought of thanking the old man, was asking him how he knew his father was dead; for the boy made no mention of it.

  He turned to march onwards towards the castle, the day had tired him, his wounds still throbbing greatly. He would handle one task at a time, for he was far more interested in reaching the famed castle. His walk up there was marked with scenery he had only ever seen in books. Each side of the massive marble path was covered with foreign trees, each one large with lightly coloured rosy leaves. The pathway was large enough for several people to stand across and still have room for a horse drawn carriage. The marble was smooth, even after much use, signs of weakness were not visible. The higher he rose, the greater the view of the whole city grew. The boy had never seen the city from this high before. From where he stood the troubles of the city looked inconsequential. The millions who lived below all seemed to fade into the background, their lives merely a footnote unworthy of comment. Those below had always complained of the lack of interest the royal family showed towards the people of Akkad. Unlike other realms whose royal family regularly had celebrations. Those of house Xerxes kept to themselves, content with their own privacy. The boy never understood such talk back in the slums, but now atop this point here looking down at them all; he did. He wondered if Antares ever felt the sensation coursing through him right now.

  As he made his way to the top, the path opened up to a massive courtyard. Its grand scale took him by surprise. From down below Akkad, such an area was not possible but from up above, here it was. More magic he thought to himself, a painful grin crossed his face. He had known of its existence but he never truly noticed, but today something within him awoke. A desire to see the world for what it was, for the turmoil that followed the days of his father's death. The boy had grown so much in mere hours of leaving his home. His curiosity burned brightly, he too wanted to use magic.

  He walked off the marble stairs along the gravel path leading to the huge obsidian staircase. Before him a large crowd gathered, but what caught his attention was the woman and two children playing in the courtyard. He could tell from their clothing and presence they were royalty, the glow they emitted was visible to his eyes who knew nothing but the dull colours of the common folk.

  It was a sizable crowd that had gathered at the steps of the castle. People pushed each other jostling for position, he stood at the back unsure of what to do.

  "Your first time?" said the man next to him.

  The boy turned, facing a towering man. "What makes you say that?" he turned his attention back to the crowd.

  The man chuckled, "Because you're not joining them." he said pointing at the crowd.

  "Neither are you." he retorted.

  The tall man raised his hands defensively. "I mean no disrespect friend, simply wish to advise that you are perhaps too late."

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  The tall man turned to face the staircase and the boy followed his gaze. "Ah here they come."

  Two soldiers adorned in Stygian colours briskly exited the castle. They reached the top of the stairs and the crowd calmed, quieting quickly.

  "Apologies people, his majesty is far too busy to see anyone today." a short stoutly man barked.

  The crowd caused a ruckus and the man slammed the butt of his spear into the ground and everyone fell silent.

  "As you all know it has been a difficult time for his majesty, the death of his father still weighs heavy. There is much to address." His words left no room for rebuttal. "Come back tomorrow."

  The crowd shuffled and began to disperse making their way down the path.

  "The king's been really busy lately, he barely has time to see anyone." The tall man sighed looking annoyed. "Unless you come very early in the morning there is not much hope of seeing him."

  The boy looked to see the sun was setting. The events of the day took much longer than he had anticipated and now evening had arrived. He did not know if he would be able to return to the castle tomorrow. He would not leave it to chance once again, he was so close to completing his father's wishes. He felt the letter in his pocket and steeled himself. He moved past the crowd and walked up the steps towards the short guard.

  "Hey kid, did you not hear me? The king is not seeing anyone." the guard waved his hand dismissing the boy.

  He stood defiantly. " I-I need to see the king, it's important."

  The guard rolled his eyes. "Yeah? You and every other citizen in this city, kid."

  "But it's important!" the boy demanded.

  "And what about other people? Their desires do not matter?" barked back the old guard.

  The boy hesitated where he stood. He had come so far already, he was so close he had no intentions of going home now. He would honor his father, he would do it one last time.

  "Please, I am begging you, it's for my father." He pulled out the letter from his pocket showing him.

  The guard pushed the letter to the ground, uninterested in looking at it.

  "Listen here child, I have had a long day, come back tomorrow with your stupid letter." the guard said, stepping on it.

  The boy's body reacted before he was aware. This time his swollen right hand buried itself squarely into the jaw of the guard as his foot stepped on the letter. The force of the boy's fists were strong enough to move the guard from where he stood. A Follow up blow was blocked with the spear the guard held. In a single sweeping motion he swiped at the boy's feet and slammed him into the ground with authority. In intense pain, the boy scrambled to his feet but was repeatedly beaten back down. Each blow sent searing pain across his body.

  "You would dare hit an imperial guard!" bellowed the guard, his anger palpable. "I have killed for far less transgressions!"

  The boy swiped at the guard's feet with his own and the unaware man fell to the ground. The boy scuttled towards the letter but was immediately jumped upon by the second guard. Squirm as he might, he could not escape as repeated blows to the head nearly knocked him out.

  "You insolent brat!" barked the old guard as he got to his feet. He went over to pick up the letter.

  "Damn you and your letter."

  The boy realized too late that the guard was going to tear the letter. Try as he might, with all the energy he could muster, he cried and wailed trying to break free. He would not let anything happen to the letter, it was all he had left of his father, the last thing he was entrusted to do. The boy begged and pleaded, he prayed to every God he could. They failed him with his father. He prayed that they would not fail him now.

  "By Strigga what is going on here?" A woman emerged from the steps with two children following behind her.

  All immediately got on one knee. The air in the area was different, the boy had never felt pressure like this before. She looked at him and shivers ran through his back, her piercing gaze inflicting dominance over him. He did not know who she was, but even him as young as he was, as inexperienced as he was, could tell he was in the presence of someone great.

  "Lady Alena!" The short round guard lowered his head greatly. "A thousand apologies." The boy was surprised to see the man capable of displaying such submission.

  "What could be of such great importance?" her eyes darted across the area looking at everyone. "To interrupt my time with my grandchildren?"

  The boy looked at the children who clung to the lady's dress. They locked eyes with him and he gave a soft smile and they hid.

  The guard cleared his throat, drawing on whatever confidence he could muster. "I am sorry my lady, it is just some common boy causing problems." He slowly rose to his feet, hoping he was allowed to. "I will remove him from the castle right away."

  "Give me my letter!" demanded the boy.

  "Why you!" The guard readied to hit the boy again.

  "Enough." Her words precise and sharp.

  She snapped her fingers and the guard brought the letter to her. Lady Alena had hoped for a quiet day out away from the castle for her grandchildren given the events of the last few days. The actions of their parents had a great reaching effect throughout the castle and some of the realm, of course the children were none the wiser. She had hoped to have a day planned with laughter and activities to busy them. It had worked for most of the day but was now interrupted. She looked at the letter and the royal seal shone brightly.

  "Sir Carsha, have you seen the letter?" Her eyes did not leave the seal.

  Carsha swallowed softly. "N-no my lady."

  "I would not like to assume why you did not." she began " Because if you did. You would see this is a royal seal, and not just any royal seal, this one belongs to my son, your king."

  Carsha turned pale. His words stuck in his throat. He stood there squirming underneath the gaze of his lady. He looked at the ground, accepting any punishment that would be handed to him.

  "I will deal with both of you later." Lady Alena looked at Carsha and the second guard with disdain. She turned to look at the boy, holding the letter between her fingers. "You boy, what is your name? And how did you get this letter?"

  He gingerly returned to his feet, dusting himself off. He wiped the tears from his eyes and stood proud.

  "It belonged to my father... but he's dead now." The words hurt him to say out loud. "It was his last wish for me to deliver that letter to Antares."

  "King Antares, to you." she chastised him, "I see your father did not teach you respect. And your name?"

  The boy hesitated, embarrassed by her words, found strength within himself.

  "M-My name is Cyrus, son of Dijkstra." Cyrus looked Lady Alena in the eyes.

  She studied him for a moment, taking the measure of the young child. Besides his obvious wounds, he looked malnourished and tired. His eyes filled with pain, much of his appearance reminded her of Antares. The weight of all suffering on their shoulders. A burden they carried whether by choice or fate. She handed him back the letter. And walked past him with Loukas and Samara in tow.

  "That is not your name, you have the blood of Stygians flowing through your veins." her words rang loud in his ears "From this day forward you will be recognized as such."

  Cyrus clung to her words stumbling after them, within perhaps a new path arose. Where he thought his was ending now seemed to lead him even further than he imagined. To meet the queen consort of the previous king was something many dreamed off and very few would ever experience, and yet here he was. Standing on sacred ground. This morning he was but one of millions who didn't matter, who simply existed to occupy space, now as evening started to turn to night, he was someone who mattered, and by extension so did his father.

  "What are you waiting for Cyrus Xerxes?" Lady Alena called out to him. A small smile escaping the edges of her lips. Her violet eyes glowed with life. "Do you not have a letter to deliver to the king?"

  Rows of light made their way through the large windows on the wall. Each light carried with it the intensity of the afternoon. Given the sun's current location, light crept to every corner and illuminated multiple shelves covered with various books. In between the windows there remained a large desk, older than the very walls of the room. Age had made itself known across the desk as various wooden pieces had splintered off. Despite the decay it still remained strong and proud. Kings and queens all once sat where he did. Here they studied the matters of the state, decided the fate of the realm, ordered the executions of many. When he was younger he often watched him from afar in the corner, seeing him consumed with the papers at his desk, wondering what could invoke such boredom in his eyes. Years later now as he sat where his father did, Antares was filled with the same boredom that gripped his father all those years ago.

  The young king yawned loudly and wiped sleep away from his eyes. He had been made king now for a week and most of his time was spent looking over matters pertaining to the realm. His left hand ached from signing so many forms and still hundreds more remained stacked on his desk. The current state of the realm was a complete shock to him, the century spent in seclusion and the extreme efforts by his brother and his group had put immense strain on the villages at the border to provide grain for the entire kingdom. The results of that overlapped with an increase in lawlessness and violence. His realm was suffering and he questioned how to save it.

  It had been days since his coronation and the castle had returned to its quiet atmosphere. The hallowed halls no longer carried the voices of thousands, now only the royal family and members of the court remained. He had said goodbye to his cousins as they departed, even now, although he would never admit it, he missed Xenon and his reckless behavior. Much of his youth was spent training, any interactions with his cousins were far too few and scarce. Now as king, he feared it would be worse. There would be too much to do, there would always be too much to do.

  Light knocking drew his attention. "You may enter."

  Casspien walked in with the same expressionless face he always carried. As he approached, Antares examined his attire. Unlike the ones he wore when they first met weeks ago. This was darker, more fitting for a Lord Regent. The purple accents of his clothes mirrored the violet earrings he wore. His dreadlocks neatly tied behind his head, exposing a handsome face with lilac colored eyes housing a golden center.

  "I half thought you would have been back to Kish by now." Casspien remarked. He bowed softly.

  Antares sighed again. "Do not tempt me, every day I fight the urge to run away." He grabbed a bunch of papers and threw them. "How can one kingdom go to ruin so quickly in five years!" he scratched his head, unsure if he asked a question or simply wanted to shout.

  Casspien leaned on the table, "This is barely a third of all our problems." He scanned the papers quickly looking at new things of interest.

  "And all of this is just from this morning." he sprawled his hands across his desk, showing Casspien the scattered papers covering every inch. "There has to be another way to get through this."

  Casspien placed the paper back down on the table and rubbed his head gently. "There is a way." Antares looked at him eagerly, "We do it slowly, like the old ways, we do it together."

  Antares got up in frustration. His anger apparent by his words being in the old tongue, "We do not have the time!" he moaned.

  "Then what do you suppose we do?" Casspien responded in kind, the old words familiar to him. "We do not have the luxury of being reckless. Who knows what threats have taken root in the five years since your absence." He did not hide his annoyed tone.

  Antares turned to look out the window, his attention towards the city below. The goings of the afternoon brought about a calming buzz that could be felt from even as far up as he was. It had been days since the coronation and most things looked different to him, the water he drank tasted different, so did the air and the food he ate. Time was no exception either. He was unsure if he was running out of time or it wasn't moving fast enough. The weight of responsibility, the promises he offered during his speech. If all was to be ready for his eventual return, he would have to undo the damage done to their home. These thoughts made him desperate, anxious and ultimately indecisive.

  "I know you think... you believe that one day Hyperion will return." Casspien chose his words very carefully, he could see Antares ever so slightly tense at the mention of his older brother. "But he has been gone a long time. Too Long. When he returns we will welcome him with open arms and I know you will relinquish the throne. But until then, I need you to focus on Iliad , on our home."

  The words stung Antares, the pain waking him up. Casspien was right to say what he did, there was no time to be reckless. His brother's return was something he had awaited for years and as painful as it had been, he would have to continue without him for some time further. Their home needed his full attention now more than ever. Antares needed to be the ruler his father believed he could be. His attention to the past and the regrets that followed were something he would have to ignore for the time being.

  Antares, the weight of the realm heavy on his shoulders, "What needs my immediate attention?"

  Casspien rose from his desk calmly and motioned towards the door. Antares acknowledged and followed suit. They exited the king's study and made their way down the hallway towards the council chambers.

  "First we need to meet with the new council members and assure them you are not going to one day wake up and execute them." Casspien sighed, thinking back to his first meeting with the new members and their apprehension at their new position.

  "If they do not plan on being traitors we will get along well." Antares said matter of fact. "And the second thing?"

  "You need to speak with Guinevere." Casspien began.

  "Is this about Hightower?" Antares stopped him.

  Casspien began to make his case, he knew his new king's opposition for all things to do with the difficult town that had eluded many Stygian kings before him. A troublesome town to tame, for its location caused many headaches for most.

  Antares raised his hand. "Alright." He responded in the common tongue. "Alright, I'll hear what she has to say."

  "Thank you." Casspien responded in kind.

  The day was a long one, the meeting with the new members of the council was a tense affair. Antares spent much of the meeting assuring them that he would never be as bold as to do something like that again. His attempts to ease their concerns struggled to work, it did not help he looked very much like his father and the new members could not shake the feeling of fear they felt. But as matters turned to the state, the troubles across the lands eased tensions in the room. Talks of the current state of the realm and what had happened during his absence quickly dominated the topic of discussion.

  They huddled together in deep discussion for some time. In the three new vacant seats sat lords Quellem Robin, Vashva Nuthatch, and Gash Bunting. The three birds rightly returned to their place on the council. Antares was quick to have them return, old houses that had served his family for centuries. Their aid invaluable for their ranks were always counted upon during rare times of strife in Iliad. He had hoped to have the three men who advised his father, for their combined knowledge far exceeded the years he had been alive. They would've been a welcomed source of knowledge on how his father ruled in his earlier years, when he first ascended to the throne. But each man refused, their reasoning a new king needed new advisors. So in their place they offered their sons.

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  "The issue still remains, we have no money." barked the new Lord of Gold.

  "Is that not your responsibility, lord Quellem?" Gash Bunting took a drink, red wine staining his lips.

  "Now, now gentlemen, please not in front of the king." Vashva, the new Lord of Grain pleaded.

  His weary smile trying to hide an annoyed demeanor, such a rare meeting with the king and the young birds struggled to make the right one. Lords' Quellem and Gash lowered their voice in recognition of their king's presence.

  "King Antares, please forgive them. This discussion has been going on for much of the day." Vashva bowed softly. "We are...divided on how best to counsel you."

  Vashva Nuthatch was a man who always wore a warm smile on his face. He was as thin as the perpetual expression he had. The gray hairs in his beard and hair did nothing to hide the spry man. Even at a mere a hundred and fifty years old, he was in his prime and he looked it. He sported robes of Ilian royalty, the striking silver and purple complimented him well. Long flowing hair completed his appearance. Lord Vashva nodded acceptingly and gestured for Antares to continue.

  "Perhaps I can decide for you." The king took a seat and everyone followed. "Lord Quellem please continue." Antares extended his hand inviting him to speak.

  They continued like that for sometime, deep in conversation amongst themselves. Each lord proposed an issue and Antares, gave possible solutions that would be beneficial. Before long Antares had taken full control of the room leading discussion and debates amongst the three birds. Casspien looked on with admiration as he saw his closest friend enthralled in his duties. Much of his thoughts recently were centered on the uncertainty he felt Antares had in his new role, although he never said anything, he could see a change in his friend. The weight of an entire kingdom on his shoulders, he looked to share in that burden as well.

  Kingly duties were different from that of a Lord of War, it took him many years to adjust to the change when they had him stationed at the castle. Casspien believed the same feelings of restlessness coursed through the veins of his young king. But here now, seeing him enthralled in conversation with his advisors, some of his worries were put to rest. Before long much of the day was done. Laughs were shared, jeers were had, and drink was split amongst them, but that day an understanding was born between those men. Much of what was said in that room would never be heard by anyone else. Antares would share with the three birds further detail of his desire to recover the grimoires. When that was done, they shared another cup together and Antares and Casspien began to make their way.

  Antares reached for the door, "One more thing lord Vashva." The lord nodded, "Allow me to tell lords Grygor and Aias what we have discussed here today... It would be better if they heard it from me."

  Lord Vashva bowed deeply, that alone was enough confirmation for Antares, he exited without another word with Casspien in tow. The castle had grown quieter as now only a few nobles and servants scuttled across the hallways. Approaching winter made for less people in the castle, the coming months would be cold and quiet, much to Antares' satisfaction. True winter was still some time away, he yawned sheepishly; he had yet to eat today, but there was still much to do. The two of them carried on in pleasant conversation, their next destination; the Pit.

  The hallowed halls of castle Xerxes had stood for thousands of years, and would further stand for thousands more, many would believe. Woven into those walls was deep ancient magic not seen anywhere else in Aurum. This power allowed for all the fantastical things seen throughout the castle. From a courtyard far larger than it should be, to an interior with more rooms and space than the structure would command. But most impressively, below the castle depths passed the dungeons where no light reached, passed the White Rooms where no darkness reached, and carefully passed The Room of Retrospection. What awaited them, the Pit, the royal family's own private training grounds. Carved deep within the interior of the castle. Its cavernous ceiling enveloping the area in a rocky dome that stretched on almost forever. The ground was flat and decorated with boulders and rocks displaced all over. Rich white sand softened an otherwise hard floor. They glittered like diamonds. Near where they descended stood a large building, even as far up as they were, they could see the lights from within, smoke climbed out of the small chimney too. Their once smooth ride was interrupted by the repeated aftershocks felt. Both men turned their attention to the battle below.

  "She seems in a better mood today." Antares quipped.

  "No thanks to you." Casspien shot him an angry look. "Sending her to deal with Bracca? What were you thinking?"

  Antares rolled his eyes, "How many times do I have to tell you?" He grew annoyed at Casspiens insistence of coddling Guinevere. "I needed to know if she was ready."

  Casspien spoke Antares words in unison with him having heard them countless times before. "Yes I know, but there are other ways." He folded his arms. "That was reckless, had Bracca taken the fight seriously-"

  "It would have ended the same." Antares cut him off.

  The platform landed gently and they both walked off. It had been five years since Antares last stepped foot inside this area. He bent down and ran his hand through the sands, each grain a memory claimed by this place. Many of them were painful, taking something from him. To him this place was more akin to a prison, wounds longed healed ached all over. The soft smell of blood in the air was familiar, even now he could still see all four of them, locked in a never ending battle, sharpened to the absolute apex. Weapons forged in the defense of Iliad against her enemies, warriors raised for conquest, butcher's taught to slaughter. He shuddered with glee. Antares dusted himself off and rose once more to his feet, breathing in the hot hair, already he began to sweat. Approaching them Guinevere, Ursula and Melina.

  "My king." Guinevere bowed, flustered, the other two followed suit.

  Antares raised his hand, "Gwen, please." he puffed up his cheeks. "Girls I'm very pleased to see you all again, it's been far too long." He bowed.

  Ursula and Melina blushed and begged the king to raise his head. Both of them lowered themselves to one knee.

  "My king please, your words are too kind." Ursula spoke softly.

  "She is right my liege, we are undeserving of such kindness." Melina added, her shaking visible.

  They both looked at the ground unable to meet the eyes of their king. Although they had known Antares throughout the entirety of their lives, they still were always in awe. He who stood atop the pinnacle of their people as both a Lord of War and now their king. Even in the old, rich and fractured history of the Stygian people there were only a handful of such beings. And before them stood another.

  "Now now, we are all family, let us talk as such." He waved his hands, ushering them to rise. " Is that not right Casspien?"

  Casspien carried the same blank expression he always had, he turned his attention to Melina. "Sister." He bowed softly.

  "Brother dearest." The black haired knight responded in kind. "It is good to see you."

  All five of them spoke amongst themselves for a moment exchanging pleasantries. The small time they spent here together was the first time in years such a gathering had happened between them. Antares was quick to reminisce the last time he saw Melina and Ursula; they were but young girls on the road to knighthood alongside his sister. Even now seeing her next to Casspien he still struggled to see how they were related, they indeed had all the hallmarks of siblings, a mixture of features of their parents. Casspien resembled their father and Melina their mother. Yet still their temperament differentiated them. One as stoic and unmoving as a mountain, another as vibrant and alive as a raging river. But just as both those things were amazing separately, together, they painted a breathtaking picture, and before him he could not help but smile.

  "I am never one to be ungrateful for your presence." began Guinevere, "But what brings you here brother?"

  "Hightower." Casspien answered.

  The girls stiffened at the name of their greatest failure.

  "I believe the matter is urgent." He continued, " The king needs to be made aware of what the Nephilim are up to on the border."

  "More importantly I need to know why we have devoted so much to this fruitless endeavor again." an annoyed expression crossed the young king's face.

  Guinevere was aware of her brother's disdain for the town, a place he had no love for. He would sooner annex it than claim it as a domain of his kingdom. Hightower stood at the border between Iliad and Vanaheimr; it acted as a waypoint between the Stygians and the Nephilim. Its location so sought after for it granted whoever dominated it, a clear path of conquest into either kingdom. Centuries of warfare between both realms had left the town now independent. Choosing to be governed by its own rules, where humans, Stygians and Nephilim could live alike. Still, this coalescing of minds for peace did not stop either realm from coveting the prized town. It was also not lost on her that the town's inhabitants were wealthy, evidently so. Bribes were a common practice, and even she was forced to make some herself, the cost of victory growing more expensive than bloody. A knight sent to bring order to the area, acted more as a merchant than a valiant warrior. It sickened her.

  A solemn expression across her face, "What do you want to know?"

  "Everything-" Antares began.

  Casspien raised his hand in the air, "Just a moment." He turned to his king, "Go change."

  Antares raised an eyebrow at his lord regent, "Change?"

  Casspien explained to Antares and the girls their second reason for being here. It had been years since Antares had seen any combat and he thought some light sparring would be beneficial to the young king. Most of his days since he ascended to the throne were spent locked away in his chambers signing papers, it was time his hands were used for more practical matters.

  "I have not worn one of these in ages." remarked Antares returning from the building. "This takes me back to our training days Casspien!"

  He approached dawning royal training attire. The simple pure white attire glowed softly in the light of the cavern. It wrapped tightly around his ankles, otherwise they were loose robes. The top of his attire was a sleeveless garb, his defined arms exposed. His bare feet crossed the ground, the soft texture of sand underneath him.

  "Alright let us get started." Casspien motioned for Antares to come over.

  They gathered near. Casspien stepped forth and planted a heavy foot on the ground. In return the sand began to rumble and shake, their vibrations grew more violent with every shake, a large sand swirl began to form, its size increasing with every second. It continued to expand covering a sizable area. The sand underneath began to give way, white stone becoming more visible. Beneath the sand a large white stone platform began to rise out of the ground. It stood at about three feet tall and glistened brightly in detail.

  "You will spar with Guinevere, the first one to fall off the platform three times loses." He carefully raised three fingers making sure Antares was paying attention. "No powers, I would rather not get another dressing down from Lady Alena because someone accidently throws a spear through the floor."

  "If you had not moved out the way, I would not have missed." Antares grumbled.

  "If I had not moved out of the way, I would have died." Casspien retorted.

  "Oh only a little bit." Antares whispered under his breath.

  Even Casspien was not immune to Antares' smile, a small one escaped his lips at the remark of his dearest friend. He too was flooded with memories of their youth in this place. He rarely returned here even though he was confined to the castle the last five years. The memories too painful for him to bear alone. Instead he chose the open space of the outside to hone his mind and his sword. But back down here in the Pit with him again, he felt assured in himself.

  "Alright both of you get on." He motioned them onto the stage. "Melina, Ursula and I will watch from up there." He pointed to an audience section carved into the wall.

  Both Antares and Guinevere nodded and did as he said. The stone was hard underneath his feet, but the smoothness of it was of no doubt. Casspien had crafted a beautiful arena for them, his control over the old powers evident. The three of them left and Antares turned to face Guinevere. Her red hair, wild. She towered over him, her form now more apparent in the training attire she wore. Unlike his own, hers were closer to rags than training attire. Guinevere had always opted for the simpler things, what she wore to train was no different.

  "Wait a minute." Antares lit up, "I believe this will be the first time we have ever sparred!"

  Guinevere let out a small laugh and nodded in acknowledgement. "That it is big brother."

  Antares stretched his arms, loosening himself, "Try not to disappoint me." He took a readied stance.

  She answered in kind, taking a stance of her own. "I would never dare."

  The first blow was struck by Guinevere, Antares barely blocked it. Her punch enough to lift him off the ground. She did not let him register the pain coming from his forearms before she followed up with several swift kicks to his head. Using his burning forearms he carefully dodged each strike, still they pushed him near the edge. Guinevere closed the distance, her relentlessness overwhelming her brother. As she stepped within reach, a cold chill ran down her spine stopping her in her tracks. She pulled back instinctually creating space between her and Antares.

  Antares rubbed his aching forearms, "You hit a lot harder than you look." he chuckled.

  His casual tone unsettled her. She focused, looking for the slightest reaction from him. Even though it had been five years since Antares last faced any meaningful combat, she knew her brother was still far stronger than her. Faster too. His speed and agility were incomparable and was renowned across Aurum. But this was not a contest of speed, nor was the stage large enough to utilize such speed effectively. She moved in ready to continue her barrage.

  Still Antares matched every blow she gave. Easily studying her moves and countering with the necessary response. Her frustration grew not with his resolute defense, but his desire not to hit her back. The young king chose a defensive approach. Just like the others he underestimated her, he didn't see her as a threat. She would show him. Her attacks became wilder, heavier, and a smile escaped Antares' face. A wild left was thrown by Guinevere that Antares quickly side stepped, he anticipated that the force of the attack would move her forward and his assessment was correct. Before she could react, Antares extended his right leg, swiping at Guinevere's feet. This threw her in the air , she looked to steady herself, realizing too late that in her wild attacks, Antares had defended her into a corner. She had little room to maneuver but still she found room to land, and Antares was waiting for her. He masked three kicks in a feint that she reacted to, opening herself for a firm hit to the gut, knocking her off the stage.

  "You need to stop getting so worked up when you fight." Antares extended his hand. "I am surprised you still struggle with that."

  An embarrassed Guinevere ignored his hand and stood up by herself. "Let us go again."

  A confused Antares, nodded along and returned to the center with her.

  Guinevere slowed her breathing and steadied herself. She once more took on her fighting stance. She cleared her head, focused on the task, and removed all unnecessary thoughts; of Bracca, of the families of lord Aldios and Omiros. She focused on the man in front of her, her brother, her king. Five years had passed since their last meeting, she would show him how much she had improved.

  "Tell me about Hightower." Antares asked.

  The question caught Guinevere off guard. It was just the opening Antares needed, throwing sand in her face. It stung her eyes and as she tried to protest she felt his presence right up next to her. She guarded her organs and her head, but still the king found a way to strike her where it hurt the most. The continuous strikes carried with it searing pain, this was the first time Guinevere experienced punches from Antares. She remarked at the strength of his blows and still even she knew this was not the full strength of his fists, let alone had they been coated in mana.

  "That is an honor less attack brother!" she roared out, doing her best to block.

  "Expecting honor from your enemy is a foolish way to die." Antares kicked her in the stomach, before landing another devastating kick on her rib sending her flying towards the edge sprawled on the floor. "Again, tell me about Hightower."

  Guinevere gasped for air, clutching her side. Since the duel started she had been strung along by Antares, even when she led with an initial flurry, it was all under his control. She gritted her teeth, embarrassment turning to shame. Blood dripped from her mouth and stained the white stone floor. Just like Hightower, she thought. The sensation of helplessness, of misdirection, vicious power, she felt it before, when she was there, when she faced her.

  Guinevere wiped the blood from her mouth and got to her knees. "Hightower..." she began, "Hightower is irrelevant. Her, it is about her, it has always been about her."

  Antares lowered his arms, satisfied with his sister's renewed focus, "Who?"

  She stood up, prepared to continue the fight, this time taking an even more aggressive stance. Antares could tell there was a calmness to her now. Guinevere had always been dominated by her brashness, the same as Typhon he thought. Perhaps it was something to do with the giant's blood that flowed through their veins. Nevertheless Antares had always kept an eye on Guinevere's training and he knew her temperament held her back amongst other things. He hoped this sparring session would double as a learning opportunity for her too.

  "Her name is Enrieta Zxyphor. The current queen of the Nephilim." she began to chuckle, "In many ways she reminds me of you."

  Antares carried an expressionless face. But just for a moment, a mere second, he reacted to the name and that was enough for Guinevere to have an opening; and she took it. She slammed her fist into the stone below, sending debris everywhere. This unbalanced Antares slightly, but it was enough for her. As the debris fell she grabbed pieces of stone and threw them at him. They reached him quickly, but she reached him even faster. She threw precise blows, moving him into the paths of the incoming debris. Guinevere forced him to decide between blocking her heavy punches or the debris she moved him into the path of. Antares did both. To the disbelief of Guinevere, Antares both caught the debris and parried her attacks, using a combination of acrobatic dodges and backflips. His dexterity was on full display. He finished with a double feint mid air kick that knocked her off the platform with authority. Antares landed back on the ground carefully, juggling the debris in one hand.

  "Good, very good." He acknowledged her, "Using your environment. Now you're taking this seriously."

  The sand did nothing else but soften her landing. She had been knocked off twice now by him. Both times she believed victory was hers, both times she was left defeated. Much like her constant clashes with Enrieta over the last five years. Their battles always ended in stalemates, neither army ever able to truly outdo the other. But to Guinevere each clash felt as though it ended in her defeat, she would always lose some ground, never enough to notice outright. But over time.

  "Tell me more about this Enrieta." Antares sat on the stone platform. "Let us talk for a moment."

  Guinevere sat up, "She's cruel, vindictive, violent and a bitch." she brushed sand off her hair, "Ruthless too."

  "And this is who I remind you of?" Antares' shoulders dropped.

  Guinevere smiled, "You did not let me finish." She examined her hands, remembering the sensation of battle. "Outside of you, I don't know anyone who has a better aptitude for war. Her command of the battlefield is strong and overreaching. She has studied the ways of combat, you can see that, but it is the way she sees her army as an extension of herself. Willing and able to sacrifice where able for victory. Everyone has called the last five years a small conflict. But that couldn't be farther from the truth. At the rate we are going, things are teetering on all out war."

  "I see this Enrieta has left quite the impression on you." Antares rubbed his chin, "It sounds more like you admire her than see her as an adversary."

  Guinevere shook her head, "No, I do not think I admire her, I think it is fear." She rubbed her hands together, "When I looked into her ruby eyes, they were dead, but it felt like there was something else in there looking back at me."

  "Oh you have fought her?"

  "Plenty of times." she began, "She is strong. A lot stronger than I thought. She is deserving of the title of Queen of the Nephilim. She is not one to be taken lightly. Her blood manipulation is lethal, even for a Nephilim." Guinevere reflexively grabbed at her left shoulder, a forgotten wound aching.

  Antares mused for a moment, taking in all that Guinevere said. Enrieta Zxyphor was not a name that he knew too well. His understanding of the Nephilim was once thorough. But now in his absence, his knowledge of the workings of them and by extension the rest of Aurum started and stopped at the end of the wine cup, as he lived his day to day life in drunken stupor. But house Zxyphor was an ancient name, with well known ties stretching back thousands of years. What he could remember was that house Zxyphor was the far more reasonable house of the three great houses of Vanaheimr, but still just as violent.

  He had hoped to calmly and amicably recall Guinevere and her forces from the battle at Hightower. He knew nothing of Enrieta and wondered what she was like. But Guinevere had drawn similarities between them, that unnerved Antares. If they were similar that meant she was just as dangerous. Removing his soldiers from Hightower may prove to be far more challenging than Antares anticipated. As his mind probed around Enrieta, a memory he forcibly repressed came about, an ugly unwanted memory. In that moment he remembered another Zxyphor that he had heard the name of, and wondered to himself surely she would have known of him, Adelard Zxyphor.

  "Is something the matter?" Guinevere rose to her feet. "You have a worried look."

  Antares quickly dawned a smile, "Oh no it is nothing please continue." he extended a hand helping her up sit next to him.

  "I do not know what she is really after." Guinevere looked out across the Pit, the white sand stretching on. "But I know she is waiting for someone."

  "And who might that be?"

  She turned to look at him, with a worried look in her eyes, "You. I think she has been waiting for you." She had not meant to say this out loud, but she could not help but share her concerns with him. Now that she had the chance.

  Antares patted her on the back, "Do not worry little Guinevere, everything will be fine." His reassurance steadily calmed her down. "I am sure Queen Enrieta is just as willing as I am to end this conflict over Hightower."

  "Does that mean you are willing to parlay?" Guinevere asked, more shocked than anything.

  The king nodded, sure of himself. "Of course, I would very much like to get the grimoires back without spilling blood. A simple conversation with her should not hurt."

  They both rose to their feet, prepared for the third bout of their spar. Antares had much to think about, although he did not know of what was happening at Hightower over his long absence. Even in his exile some information still reached his ears. Total war with the Nephilim right now would be unwise. He still had not fully grasped the strength of his complete army and he was unaware of who might use the chaos to further their own agendas. Every move he made had to be precise, from a meeting he would judge how much a threat Enrieta Zxyphor would be. First he would have to see if she would be willing to meet with the king of her people's former slave masters, of her eternal enemies.

  Guinevere turned to face him. Her first two attempts unsatisfactory. She grasped the edges of the lesson her brother was teaching her but she still did not see it clearly. There were many things she lacked, but everyday she continued to hone her skills ironing out every fault. She would do so here today, now against him. She entered a lowered stance, putting one leg in front of the other. Her demeanor far calmer than earlier. She slowly approached her brother who also lowered his stance. She studied him, absorbing everything, his cadence, his rhythmic breathing, the manner in which his eyes moved. She focused everything on his presence removing the outside. She would not allow herself to lose him again, if she could not track him through his bloodlust, she would track him with her eyes. Guinevere stopped in her tracks. Her eyes wide. Antares smiled.

  "I am surprised it took you this long to figure it out." he chided her.

  She looked away in embarrassment, she would later chastise herself for being so oblivious. The nature of her constant defeat now clear to her. While she attacked him with ruthless desire and bloodlust, Antares did not respond in kind. Throughout the first two rounds, he had been on the defensive, waiting and biding his time. Free of bloodlust. In her wrath she bared her fangs, covering herself in her own rage. Antares would slip into it, hiding from her vision, striking where she could not see. For as long as she threw strikes with the intention of violence, she would continue to struggle to see him.

  "This is how you managed to get around Bracca. I take it." He continued. "It is much easier to suppress your bloodlust when you need it most, than voluntarily. At least that is what I have heard."

  Her raised eyebrows expressed a moment of surprise at his words.

  Antares smiled, "I read the Akashic Records, when you all returned." He began, "They are very meticulous with all they see."

  She disliked talking about the Akashic, she detested everything about them. From their appearance and demeanor, to their cursed eyes and the magical powers behind them. She hated it all, they transcribed all they saw, down to the personal thoughts and feelings of those present. She remembered the first time she ever saw one of their scrolls. The words written with such conviction, such certainty as though they knew the outcome before even she did, despite it being her life. She felt naked in front of Antares, who himself had the eyes of an Akashic.

  "So, have you read all the records?" she asked.

  "I have."

  "You saw what Azariah did?"

  "I did," he said.

  "And you have nothing to say?"

  Antares thought about it for a moment. His eyes rolled around in contemplation, finally settling on Guinevere, "Not Particularly."

  Guinevere refrained from making anymore comments, she could see it would be pointless. She resumed her stance with renewed venom. And Antares responded in kind. As she approached, she caught herself once more losing herself in her bloodlust. She almost allowed herself to be swept up in her brother's games. It would be different this time, she slowed her breathing, cleared her head and steadied herself. She would hold no violence in her fists. No blood needed to be spilt.

  The first to strike was Antares, a more aggressive approach was taken. He continued with a series of blows that each managed to find their mark on Guinevere. But she did not panic, for the first time since they fought, she could finally see Antares. It was far easier to think when she only had to deal with the fact that she could not block his punches. Not being able to see him was a death sentence, but that was not the case anymore. She smiled. She leapt backwards trying to create distance but Antares would not let her. He closed the space within seconds. His barrage of blows increased in speed and power. Yet Guinevere did not panic, instead she continued to count and wait. The seconds stretched on for days but finally upon the count she was waiting for, she struck.

  As a young Lord of War he had already experienced enough battles to last him a lifetime. He had battled foes he seldom thought he could defeat and foes he thought to be above. All of them had left their mark on him, but amongst them very few offered to match the blow Guinevere had just given straight to his chest. The strike was enough to shock his system thoroughly, for a mere moment. But that was all Guinevere needed. Antares fell to one knee, clutching his chest. He looked up ready to congratulate her, but with venomous speed, leaving a trail of broken ground in her wake. She planted her knee straight into his face, knocking him back.

  With renewed precision she mounted him and continued to deliver repeated blows to his guarded face. For the first time since they started sparring, Guinevere had taken the upper hand. A smile crossed her face. She would break her brother's guard and force him to yield. This would prove to him and Casspien who watched far away that she was ready, that she could be trusted. Hightower was not lost, she did not fail.

  Although Guinevere had executed a precise maneuver in toppling her brother, her lack of focus upon mounting him would have devastating consequences. Upon hooking his legs around her neck, in that split moment Guinevere learned two important things. The first being her brother was far more flexible than she thought, his dexterity beyond even their people's standards. Secondly, she learned to never let her mind wander in battle, for this time it meant defeat, but next time it could mean something much worse.

  He threw her off with such force she was sent near the edge of the platform. She regained her footing, moving away from it. She turned to look back at Antares who had slowly risen to his feet. She prepared for his coming barrage but it did not come. He took one step. And with it Guinevere felt herself sink, deep within. The sensation was foreign to her, much of her childhood was spent at the castle, but in the summer months when the flowers and trees were in full bloom, she along with Melina and Ursula and her mother too, would go to one of the many royal castles scattered throughout Iliad for a few days. There the young princess would often swim in the lake by the castle, and she would swim as deep as she could and see how long she could hold her breath.

  Guinevere felt as she did back then, but the burning sensation in her lungs was different, it was new. Fear creeped around her vision. She strained her eyes to push it away, looking around trying to find something to hold on to. Her vision turned to her brother. Antares took another step. Such menacing aura poured from him. Guinevere had fought in battles where death was mere inches away, where the intensity of battle brought forth such strong emotions that they overwhelmed everything. But what she felt coming from her brother was something worse, something full of hatred. And such a powerful presence was aimed directly at her. She felt it through her body deep into her bones, such suffocating bloodlust.

  "I win!" Antares smiled.

  And just as the malevolent nature of his look appeared it disappeared. Guinevere breathed out, gasping for air. The rush of fresh air into her lungs made her cough. She bent over steadying herself. Her hands still shaken as the sensation rattled itself throughout her body. She had never felt such hatred, such a paralyzing sense of death and destruction, a desire to annihilate completely. And to think it came from her brother. She looked up at him annoyed.

  "I-it is not over." she struggled to get the words out, breathing still hampered. "You have not even attacked."

  Antares triumphantly pointed down and Guinevere followed his gaze. She gritted her teeth in shock, not only was she not on the platform she was several feet away from it. In the face of crushing danger, her body reflexively moved her out of harm's way. Never in all her years of combat had she ever experienced such a disgraceful act she thought. As a knight and general to be so moved by fear to retreat involuntarily, she lowered her head in shame. To her this was the worst possible way she could have lost, she fought to hold back tears.

  Antares approached the edge of the platform and squatted, "Oh come on! You did very well-" Suddenly a stone hit the young king's head sending him recoiling in pain.

  "You are a cheat and a sore loser." Began Casspien, followed by Ursula and Melina who rushed to Guinevere. "I specifically said no powers."

  Antares recovered from the attack by his lord regent. The blow by the small rock to his head stung greatly. Even as he saw them approaching, Casspien's movements were so slight he couldn't even notice when he threw the rock. The blow by Guinevere seemed to have done more damage than he thought. Its effects still running amok within him.

  "I did not use any powers!" Antares yelled back, rubbing his forehead. "That was a technique that is different."

  Casspien placed his hands on his hips unimpressed with his king's answer. "Hm yes interesting." he began, "Remind us again where did you learn that technique?"

  Guinevere looked at Casspien and then quizzically at Antares who froze up. She too had become curious in her embarrassment to know where he learned such a technique. It was nothing like the bloodlust of war and battle she was accustomed to, this was different, something deeper and violent than all of that.

  "We are waiting, king of Iliad." Casspien's tone was flat and yet Antares could sense him mocking him. "Please, we are curious."

  Antares chuckled to himself, "Well you see." he continued hesitantly, "My dear late father, in his infinite wisdom, sought to test my strength long ago. I may have perhaps picked up a few things from him."

  Antares didn't make eye contact with any of them, instead electing to look away half haphazardly laughing. Guinevere was unsure why he was acting like this. Admittedly she was jealous that their father not only sparred with him but in such a rare event he also shared knowledge about his style of fighting. Something not seen in decades.

  "Ahh the great late king Barranagan?" Casspien narrowed his eyebrows. "The same late great king, the legends say, took decades to master his techniques? That you learned from only one duel?"

  Guinevere's eyes widened and she rose to her feet. She looked at Casspien and looked back to Antares who was now the focus of his sister's ire.

  "You cheated!" She yelled, approaching him as she shook his head in defense. " Yes you cheated! You used your Akashic Eyes, that is cheating!"

  "No I did not." The king said in weak defense. "I cannot even turn the Akashic Eyes off if I wanted to. Should I have fought blindfolded?. Besides, father is the one who used the technique in front of me."

  Guinevere's face lit up, "Ah ha! So you did steal it from father!" Guinevere turned to Casspien and the others, "This is my victory."

  Ursula, Melina and Casspien nodded in Agreement, "It is." Casspien said.

  "Nevertheless." Casspien patted Guinevere on the back. "It was still an impressive showing, the speed in which you improve is admirable." she blushed embarrassingly.

  She was showered with praise from both the lord regent and her king. Long had she wanted to be recognized by her brother, someone she held in such regard. What he represented for her was everything she saw her people to be, the elegance, the calmness, the beauty. She swore to herself that she would serve him just and true. It was all she ever wanted.

  Days such as this were rare within castle Xerxes, where such jovial moments could be had. They all recognized how long it had been since they gathered like this, all of them much older, changed by the ever moving hands of Aurum, leaving her mark on all of them. While they were all deep in conversation, Lady Alena approached with the children in tow.

  "Of course I would find you here, shunning your duties." Lady Alena groaned.

  "M-Mother!" Antares bolted up, "What brings you and the children down here?"

  She raised a hand defiantly, "I will deal with you later." A chill ran down Antares' spine, she turned her attention to Casspien, " And you, I expected this from him, but not you."

  Antares began to protest, but smartly stopped himself from making any further mistakes. Lady Alena chastised them all for neglecting their duties for the day. As much as they tried to take it seriously, smiles could not help but cross their faces. Much of what was happening to them reminded them so much of their youth. Even Lady Alena herself, found her annoyance dissipating the longer she spoke, noting to herself that she had not seen them all like this before in years.

  "Now with that done." dusting herself off, "Samara, Lukas, stay with lord Casspien. He shall entertain you my darlings." Casspien knew better than to protest, her words held no room for comment. "I need to speak to your uncle Antares."

  Both children nodded meekly, already somewhat tired. Much of the day was pleasant, they were usually made to study all day. But their grandmother had better plans. Though the children did know the true reason of their excursion, they feigned ignorance, even as young as they were, they understood the ways of their home. They moved over to Casspien and he gave them the same stoic expression he carried and they returned one in kind.

  "Can you teach me how to fight?" asked Lukas.

  "No," responded Casspien.

  Guinevere giggled, "Do not think you escape this unscathed." Lady Alena shot her eldest daughter a look. "Henceforth as long as you remain in this castle I will see you at Agincourt once a day young lady. All of you." she said looking at Ursula and Melina too, who laughed half haphazardly.

  "But Mother!" Guinevere began.

  "I will not hear it." She shook her head in protest, "You elected to not attend your brother's crowning event. Need I remind you of the gravity of that decision. I will not have it. You will attend, converse and talk about matters of the state with the other nobles. Show them that all is well."

  Lady Alena turned around ready to leave, "I continue to be dismayed by your lack of care for what goes on within your own court, King Antares. Am I the only one that still cares about this family's image?" Their heads hung slightly, the scolding working.

  She motioned for Antares to follow and the young king did. He excused himself by greeting his niece and nephew who gave him warm smiles. He bothered not to change, despite his sparring tire soaked with his blood. He did not want to do anything that could potentially further annoy Lady Alena. They trudged on like that in silence for a while, climbing on to the platform leaving the Pit. He was curious to know where they were going but chose to simply just do as she asked.

  The sun set completely and nightfall blanketed the castle. Its halls were brightly illuminated with floating lanterns covering the high walls. Antares felt rather underdressed compared to those he saw. His sparring attire gave him the appearance of a beggar rather than one of noble blood, and yet his presence still gave way to one of such background. Lady Alena was quick on her way and he followed close behind.

  "I see Anastasia left." Lady Alena quipped.

  Her sudden words jolted the silence between them, "Yes, soon after my coronation I believe." There was sadness in his words.

  "You both cannot still harbor bad blood?" Lady Alena looked at him with concern. She knew how difficult her youngest child could be.

  Antares shook his head, "I have nothing but adoration for my sister. She refuses to speak to me." exasperation creeped into his voice as memories of numerous attempts to speak before she left. "Once more, you were talking of the family image? We are not the ones you should be telling that to."

  Lady Alena slowed her walk slightly, her expressionless face completely devoid of any tell on her emotions. She knew Antares spoke true, Anastasia's public denouncement of Antares had done nothing but further expose a divide within house Xerxes. One that had shown signs of cracking with Antares' exile five years ago, and now with the warden of White Mountain denouncing her own king brother. It showed to those who would seek to exploit, that the king's attention was divided.

  "She is hurting, and Minerva is taking advantage of that." She concluded.

  The air changed.

  "Do not speak that name in my presence." Antares spoke with tempered hatred in his voice.

  "You cannot deny her forever." Her sunset eyes peeking through her head wear. "She is your foremother."

  "She is a murderer." Lady Alena shook her head, Antares continued, "Yes she is. She ordered the murder of my birth mother."

  "We have been over this countless times young one, there is no proof-"

  "I was there!" Antares yelled, the halls shook violently. Those unfortunately present blown back by the resolute Will of a monarch. "I was there, I watched her die... I was there. I know what I saw."

  Lady Alena said nothing, allowing her king the chance to cool himself. She was disappointed in herself for her off hand remark. For just a moment she saw the six year old boy who never quite had the same look in his eyes ever again. The boy who was powerless to save the woman he loved most in the world. She swore to herself when she became the king's consort she would raise him like her own, how Myrra would raise him. She reached out for his hands and he took hers.

  "I will talk to Anastasia." Alena began, "She is in pain, all of us are in so much pain. I did not know how much I relied on your father." She laughed a painful laugh.

  Antares placed his arms on her shoulders, "I am here. You can rely on me." he reassured her.

  His warm smile reminded her so much of his father. The look of complete determination in their eyes. Their presence invoked a sense of confidence and security. Every time she looked at Antares she missed Barranagan a thousand times more. But she could never let Antares know that. Such a revelation would crush him. Even if he did not tell her, she could see it in his face he carried so much already. She would not be another avenue of concern.

  She tried to clean his damaged sparring attire, "You have far too much to worry about to concern yourself with me." Antares had not noticed they continued walking until Alena stopped. "Furthermore, there are more pressing matters to attend to."

  She stepped aside revealing they were in front of the king's study. Antares stepped past Alena and opened the door. There standing in front of his desk stood a skinny boy covered in what Antares thought to pass for clothes among the common folk. He looked tired and hungry, his sunset eyes locked onto the walls of books studying them.

  "Whose this?" Antares asked Alena.

  Cyrus straightened up, he turned around to see the king of the Stygians standing before him. The first thing he thought when he looked into the storm filled eyes of the man he was here to see, was the overwhelming presence he carried. He merely stepped into the room and it felt like he occupied the space, his breathing became slightly labored and heavy. This was nothing like he remembered, it was the same person but he was different, greater.

  Lady Alena motioned for the boy to introduce himself, "H-hello sir, I mean my king." Cyrus bowed awkwardly, he rose looking to Alena for approval which she gave. "I have come to deliver a letter."

  Antares raised his eyebrow and sized up the boy. He was riddled with bruises all across his face and body, much of his appearance was obscured. Because of it, it made it hard for Antares to recognize him at first. What part of him that wasn't bruised was covered in bandages. But even still. It took a moment but all the same Antares recognized the boy, the shock apparent on his face when he also realized the boy recognized him. He turned to look at Lady Alena who seemed unaware of the relation the boy and Antares shared.

  "From that expression I assume you know the boy?" Alena looked on.

  He let out a dry laugh, "It has been a few years. The last time I had a good look at him, he was but a snakelet." He turned back to look at him, rubbing his chin. "Now, he seems to have grown fangs."

  Cyrus outstretched a hand, in it a crumbled letter, "This is for you, my father said to give it to you."

  "Oh?" Antares took the letter, and examined it carefully. "And where is the naive old dog?" He looked at the seal, instantly recognizing it as his own personal one.

  Cyrus was quiet for a long time, the words stuck in his throat.

  "His father died the day of your coronation." Lady Alena interjected.

  The king stopped examining the letter. Truthfully the moment he saw the letter and his own personal seal, he knew it was authentic. With that thought he had an inclination of the contents of the letter. It had been a long time, and in many ways a different life for him since he last spoke with Dijkstra Locke. Even now Antares could remember the look on his face when he told him he killed his wife. Behind the overwhelming sadness that filled his eyes, there was some appreciation. At the time Antares found it strange, inhuman in some ways. His grief internalized, not once during their conversation did he ever raise his voice nor spoke ill of the then prince. He listened, nodded and thanked him for personally delivering the news. It was only as he left did Dijkstra find it within himself to ask something of him, and Antares listened.

  "This is true?" Antares turned to Cyrus as he looked away wiping tears from his eyes. The boy struggled to maintain his composition. The air of confidence he had carried throughout the day was on its last legs.

  "Yes, sir." he said softly, barely above a whisper.

  Lady Alena quietly watched as Antares' demeanor softened as they spoke. None more than him knew the pain one experienced watching the death of a parent. It was unfortunate Fate sought to grant Antares the privilege of experiencing twice. Taking one look at Cyrus she could see beyond his eyes, passed the pain and sadness a rage had begun to build. A rage only Antares could understand. One she failed herself to help him overcome.

  Rarely did the former queen consort hope. It was far too human for her own liking. Hope led to desperation, and that led to an even darker path. But tonight, she would allow herself that small pleasure. The sight of her wayward son, her eldest guiding another, was all she had ever wanted.

  "Where is your father's body now?" Antares asked, a softness in his voice even he was not aware of.

  "The Weeping Chambers." Cyrus said, unable to meet the gaze of the king, "I-I wasn't strong enough to carry him back home."

  His Akashic eyes had caused him great trouble for many years. Often those around him saw it as a blessing by the ancestors but to him they were nothing more than a malignant birth defect. For he saw everything differently, and thus he thought differently and felt differently. But as he looked upon Cyrus, upon his very essence. And watched as it bloomed and flowed inside and around him, speaking to him in ways Cyrus could not express. And for perhaps the first time in his life Antares was appreciative of his eyes.

  "Do you know how to perform the last rites?" The king asked.

  "A little bit, I've practiced the words.'' He recalled the nights leading to his fathers death as he recited the words to himself.

  "Very well. Let us go." Antares motioned towards the door, Lady Alena already opening the door.

  Cyrus stood there in bewilderment. His plan was merely to deliver a letter, truly an inconsequential quest from his father. And now that quest led him to not only an audience with the king, but within his very own private chambers. But that was not all, said king now wished to accompany him to see his father. This was greater than any magic he had seen throughout the day and the shock was enough to root him in place. Cyrus noted as saw the back of him; his hair darker than black, the very night sky twinkling within it softly. He felt he could see all the stars he and his father looked at when they walked through Akkad. He was in awe at how the very king himself looked ethereal. But it was not just him, for the boy Lady Alena, and the other Stygians he met all carried the same air. Signs of envy riddled his face.

  The young king turned in the frame of the door and gave him an eager smile. Cyrus blushed at his beauty. He held up the letter and motioned for the boy to follow him, he looked over at Lady Alena for approval and she gave it. He was tired, hungry, his wounds ached all over and he wanted so badly just to lie down and cry. Despite that, he consciously placed one foot in front of the other and walked towards the king, this time his only company would be the night and the ruler of Iliad, and because of it, his life would forever change.