ARTHUR
ARTHUR STORMED THROUGH THE PALACE HALLS, HIS FRUSTRATION BOILING OVER. His boots echoed against the marble floors as he barked orders at guards and attendants.
"Does anyone know where in this bloody Realm the Crown Princess is?!" he shouted, through the chaos like a blade.
The guards glanced at each other uneasily. "N-No, my prince," one stammered.
"Useless—" Arthur muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
Elaine appeared from the corridor, her expression composed but tight. "Arthur, screaming at them is not helping."
Arthur spun toward her. "Where is she, Elaine? Don't play coy. You always know something."
Elaine shrugged, "I don't know where she is, but I do know Eugene might have an idea."
He groaned, rubbing his temples. "Eugene?
Arthur found Eugene sitting cross-legged in the ruined tower, surrounded by the faint glow of magical runes that danced across the crumbled stones. The air smelled of charred wood and damp earth, remnants of Eugene's latest spell work.
He crossed his arms, his presence looming over his younger brother. "Eugene Pendragon."
Eugene did not look up, his focus on a shimmering orb of light floating in front of him. "I am busy, Arthur."
"You are going to be a lot busier if you don't tell me where Artizea is," Arthur said, his voice clipped.
He sighed, waving his hand to dissipate the spell. "Why do you assume I know where she is?"
Arthur stepped closer, his tone sharp. Don't pretend you don't know something. I can see it all over your face."
Eugene's jaw tightened as he stood, dusting off his robes. "If she wanted you to know, she'd have told you."
"Eugene," Arthur said, his voice lowering to a near growl. "This is not just about her sneaking off. Father's in the arena right now, fighting Ishtar, and no one knows where Artizea is. Mother's nowhere to be found either.I do not have time for games."
Eugene froze, his eyes widening. "Father… is fighting?"
"Yes," Arthur bit out. "And you know Artizea would never let that happen if she knew. So where is she?"
"Where is Mother?"
"Are you listening to me? Where is Artizea—"
Eugene hesitated, his gaze darting to the orb he had been working on moments before. "If I tell you, you will only make things worse."
Arthur's patience snapped. He grabbed Eugene by the shoulder, forcing him to face him. "Worse? Worse than leaving Father to fight alone? Tell me where she is, Eugene!"
Eugene shoved Arthur's hand away, his voice rising. "Fine! She's by the lake. With Rhys."
Arthur's expression darkened, and a realization followed. "Rhys?" he repeated slowly.
"Yes," Eugene said, crossing his arms defensively. "And before you start yelling, let me remind you that Rhyssand helped not just me but you and our sister, too. He's not the enemy."
"Unbelievable –" Arthur's voice was filled with disbelief. "He's exactly the enemy!—"
"You always think you know the full story, but you don't—" Eugene stepped forward, his tone uncharacteristically firm. "She went to him because she needed answers. Because none of us were there for her, not me, not Father, not even you!Because Last time she trusted you, you cut off the only man in the Six Realms to love her for what she is—! So don't act high and mighty now, Arthur."
Arthur stared at Eugene, his chest rising and falling with barely contained anger. "I am not going to argue with you."
Eugene shook his head, his voice quieter now. "You are wrong this time, Brother."
Not sparing him another glance, "Find yourself in the arena, should the worst happen," Arthur said.
He turned sharply on his heel and strode out of the ruins, leaving Eugene standing alone midst.
Arthur sped to he stables, automatically reaching for his horse. He glanced at his sister's, Elaine's, stolas was no ordinary horse; he was bred in Egypt. The southerners fought with steel, the east fought with horses. She won't mind, right? he asked himself.
Stolas pounded through the city's outer gates, hooves striking the stone with urgency. He was as fast as the wind; no wonder his owner was a spaz. In a matter of seconds, they passed the west quarter gate when a flicker of movement caught his eye—three figures cloaked in silver and deep violet robes, their celestial insignia barely hidden beneath travel cloaks. They stood near the watchtower, speaking in hushed tones.
Arthur's heart slowed. Celestial representatives? Here? They were not supposed to be anywhere near the city unless summoned—and no summons had been sent. Not unless—
His jaw clenched. Something was wrong. Deeply, dangerously wrong. He wanted to sound the alarm, but he could not risk tipping them off. He urged stolas toward the western forest. But his gaze flicked south—toward the bay. The port shimmered in the distance. The sails. The docks. The boats.
Cesealia.
He could not afford to stop. But he did. His grip tightened on the reins as he looked on. Two paths lay before him: Warn Cesealia in case the impossible happened. Or find Artizea—to prevent the impossible from happening at all. He could not have both. His heart pounded, every breath a scream in his lungs, and then he moved. As if guided by something older than instinct, toward her—He would not lose her again.
*insert wings page break *
STOLAS THUNDERED THROUGH THE CITY, his heart in his throat. He did not blink, did not dare stop until her village came into view.
When he reached the cottage, he leaped off the horse before it had even stopped, and pounded on the door. "Cesealia!" he shouted, voice raw with panic.
The door flew open, and there she stood—disheveled but composed, already packing her grandmother's things. Her eyes widened the moment she saw him.
"Arthur—?"
He tried to speak, but the words tangled in his throat. Behind her, Rosetta peeked out from the shadows, clutching a worn satchel.
Cesealia's voice trembling, she asked again, "What's happening?"
Arthur took her by the shoulders, his breath shallow. "You need to get to the palace. Now. Both of you."
She shook her head, eyes darting to the frail woman behind her. "Rosetta can't make that journey on foot—"
"Then take my horse."
"I can't—"
"Cesealia," Arthur's voice cracked, "Listen to me. Take the horse. Get to the palace. I love you and I need you safe. Can you do that for me? Please?"
Her lips parted, stunned into silence for a moment—then she nodded breathlessly.
Behind them, Rosetta gave a soft, wheezy chuckle. "About time," she muttered.
Arthur turned to go, but Cesealia grabbed his hand, pulled him in, and kissed him—quick and firm, the kind of kiss that says everything words can't.
"Be safe," she whispered.
He smiled faintly, "I will."
Then he turned to one of the palace guards arriving behind him on horseback and barked, "You. Make sure they live. Or I shall hunt you down in your next life—"
The guard obeyed without question.
Arthur mounted the fresh horse and shot one last look at Cesealia—her silhouette framed in the doorway, clutching her grandmother's hand.
Then he turned and galloped off toward the forest.
Hoping he made the right call.
ISHTAR
TORCHES RINGED THE ARENA, their flames blowing and twisting in the frigid breath of the morning wind. Their light illuminated the crimson-and-cerulean banners that snapped to and fro. The arena's high walls loomed over the stands — usually full of light — were empty.
In front of the eastern gate stood the Queen of the heavens, and she made herself dressed in the part. Her black armor seemed to swallow the light — like a black hole devouring all near it— in her right hand— her divine obsidian spear gleamed as it caught the sunlight— her left hand was hidden behind her back, coils of magic flicking between her fingers. Her black hair was braided and out of the way. She stood tall and proud, her russet skin seemed to glow with barely contained magic.
From the western gate, King Gilgamesh stood proud in his golden armor, adorned with the remnants of past battles— dents, scratches.
Ishtar's eye drank him in. She smirked maliciously. "You have grown weaker in the bones," she purred, voice low and smooth, echoing through the arena. "The years have been kind— or maybe you lost your kill drive."
Gilgamesh merely raised a brow.
"Or maybe…" She smiled again, flashing her teeth. "Your wife would weep at the sight of who you truly are."
Gilgamesh's jaw tightened, but his face remained carved from stone. His hand tapped the butt of his lance lightly in the sand. "She prays for my safety," he countered, "What of yours?"
Ishtar swirled her spear in a lazy circle. "He is exactly where he needs to be." She lunged, fast as a snake. The first blow swung low, aiming for his side. "In his place, like any weak man—"
The two met with a thunderous clash. Gilgamesh pivoted, caught the shaft with his gauntlet, and turned it aside. He retaliated, diving forward with the force of a warhorse and thrusting with his lance towards her throat. Ishtar sidestepped, sliding under the blow. Then, as fast as light whipped the side of his helmet. Flashing her spear in an arc. When he raised an arm to block, she kicked him in the side with such strength that he stumbled back, only a step.
Sparks leapt like fireworks where their weapons met.
Gilgamesh pressed on —relentless, with monstrous strength, strikes precise and calculated — countering Ishtar's wild ferocity.
The ground trembled with each of their blows, each stomp of their feet a testament of their enormous strength, carving deep furrows in the sand-covered ground.
While Gilgamesh's attention was on her,
Ishtar's true plan unfolded.
In the cover of darkness, her celestial followers descended upon Babyloniyah, bypassing the palace's defenses. They struck swiftly and without mercy, targeting key structures and sowing chaos among the city's population.
"Still quick," she murmured, "Though not quick enough."
He punctuated this by kneeing her in the gut so strongly that she nearly folded in half. He followed with a punch to her face, an elbow to her throat, and drove his lance into her thigh. He moved to sweep her feet, but Ishtar danced away just in time, narrowly missing another strike of his lance. For a few tense moments, she was stuck in the defensive, parrying and spinning, her spear singing with the force of his strikes. Each thrust came with the weight of a falling tower, each step pushing her back.
Gilgamesh snarled. "You were saying something?" He growled. He swung his gauntlet, backhanding Ishtar with such force that she staggered. "I do speak lower celestial…" He added,
Ishtar huffed, spitting our blood. watching the way she moved— her rhythm was off, too slow and calculated. He could feel the change in the air. She was building her magic.
He lunged again, and this time when their weapons met, the air crackled like lightning. One of the hands shot a beam of sickly green light at him, and he dodged, summoning an iridescent blue shield to deflect the spell. He raised his lance and hissed a spell, his voice resonant. The air shimmered around him, and sand gathered, melting together into shards of glass. He sent the shards toward her, and she scoffed, flicked her hand, transforming them into glimmering knives, and sent them back to him.
He batted them out of the air without a thought.
The next blow came unseen, not even a shimmer in the air. A burst of heat, and suddenly a spear struck him from behind. It was superheated, causing him to curse and move away, the searing obsidian nearly pierced his armor like heat through wax. He howled when her spear dragged across his back. He staggered, blood dripping onto sand.
Ishtar grinned triumphantly. "Age has slowed you," She taunted, retreating a few paces. "Or perhaps your wife keeps you too warm in bed."
Spells flew back and forth between them, accompanied by curses and near-fatal blows. She whispered an incantation into her spear, imbuing it with a dark curse. When Gilgamesh moved in for the decisive strike, then paused.
Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum.
Gilgamesh's head snapped up. "What the fuck…" he breathed, half-horror half disbelief.
That single moment—one flicker of human emotion—was all she needed. Ishtar twisted beneath his guard and drove the spear into his shoulder. The divine curse ignited instantly, black veins ripping through his skin like spiderwebs.
"I keep telling you, your human sentiments will cost you, Gilgamesh," Ishtar said, her voice triumphant. "And now your city will pay the price for your weakness…"
Gilgamesh staggered backward, his aura dimming as he collapsed to his knees. His vision blurred, but he managed to glare up at her. "If you harm my family…you will suffer a fate worse than death."
"I somehow doubt that, as they will fall like the rest of you." Ishtar interrupted coldly. She turned, leaving him weakened and unconscious as her forces continued their assault on Babyloniya. "You thought you could best me, humanity's savior?" she sneered, pulling her spear free. "Say hello to your precious brother."
Ishtar turned her gaze toward the city walls—ancient stone that had guarded Babyloniyah for generations, glowing gold in the sun. With a single flick of her wrist, reality split like silk. Dark Celestial knights like shadows—poured out of the ether. Tall, faceless, armored in star-forged metal, their spears humming with the violent song of the heavens. The City of Lights Army descended upon the battlements, ripping through Babyloniyah's defenses as if the city were made of paper.
Gilgamesh struggled, pushing against the curse as golden blood dripped from his shoulder.
Ishtar leaned down beside him, her lips curling into a soft, poisonous smile. "Don't worry," she purred. "I shall play fair this time…" She straightened, her silhouette framed by the chaos she had unleashed, "…and claim my victory."
Gilgamesh's breath hitched, "Fuck you…" He growled, just before falling unconscious.
Ishtar looked back at him—almost lovingly. "Too little too late."
The ground shook as the city's gate fell.