The Epic of Antares

Her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness, she was too focused on slowing her breathing. The periodic thumping that rang in her ear reminded her that her heart still beat. That she still lived. She closed her eyes for a third time trying to focus. She searched through her memory, somewhere safe but she could not find it. If it existed she would not be here. It was because she had never felt safe that she found herself here. Where her memories failed to give her comfort. She found it in the anger that had grown over her show of weakness. All was not lost, only one more obstacle remained in her path. She could not stop now.

Elliel slowly opened her eyes for a fourth time. This time slower, allowing them to familiarize themselves with the darkness. The air was heavy and clung to her porcelain flesh. She rubbed sweat off her brow, dirt and grime stained the back of her hand. She could not help but rub the back of her smooth head imagining what it would be like to have such a flowing set of hair. Her vision had begun to adjust well. She could feel the rough sand beneath her scratch against her skin. She moved a hand through it, counting each individual particle she could feel. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of grains sifting in between her hands. The action calmed her.

Her sight had fully returned and now she could examine the room. And that was when she remembered the small box she found herself in.

It had been six days since she was placed here. It had been ten days since she had anything to drink or eat. But she was a Nephilim, that did not bother her. She knew she could go another four days without food or water. Is what she had kept telling herself, to hold back the delirium that slowly encroached her thoughts. She did all that in an attempt to not remind herself that most important of all; more important than food or water—Elliel had gone six days without blood. Hunger tore at her insides, but still she would not relent. She looked forward to the bars attached to the front of the box, the total darkness that extended behind them. There in that abyss, everyday day for the last six, a blinding flash appeared. Everyday it would rob her of her sight for hours, plunging her into darkness. Where she would have to face her darkest fears, and she would scream for hours. She rubbed her throat and swallowed. She wondered how much longer she would be tortured. She had begun to crack.

And there it was the blinding light. But this time it felt different as she covered her eyes. It was not as strong, it felt softer. Safe. She lowered her hands and saw that the bars had been released. Elliel slowly made her way out of the box. She crawled on her hands and knees until she came into a wide open area. The air was filled with Nephilim blood. It made her nauseous. As her eyes adapted to the light, her surroundings became clear. She stood within a large arena. The white sand was painted with blood patches scattered around. A fearsome battle had taken place, Elliel could still feel the lingering bloodlust. She looked up to a sun that was not her own. In place of the blazing red star she knew. A giant white flame suspended in the air. From it, it gave the whole area color. Deep brown rock walls reached up and connected on the ceiling. Sealing them in a dome like structure. Elliel could not explain it but she knew they were still above ground somehow. She looked around searching for direction. And she found it on the two large gargoyles that perched on a viewing platform. She almost screamed out of fright, for the stone creatures looked alive. Their stone eyes boring directly into hers. They did not speak and yet they told her it was not them her eyes should look upon. And so she lowered her gaze from the gargoyles to the three royal Nephilim who sat there with unimpressed looks. Elliel seldom dreamed, it was a luxury that she had not been able to afford in quite some time. She had not earned the right to sleep peacefully. But during the rare times that she could not fight back and the dreams came. There was only one such dream she allowed herself to entertain—that of her queen to know of her. As Elliel gazed into the eyes of Enrieta Zxyphor, she found herself free of all the pain in her body.

Enrieta was in her usual foul mood. She leaned against her left hand and put one leg over the other. Her dead eyes stared off into the distance as she teethed on thumbnail. Ever since her return from Aella's Bathhouse she found she was unable to shake an uncomfortable feeling. Her thoughts once more shifted to Antares, she quickly pushed it away not before reminiscing on his otherworldly beauty. Eyes so cold she felt they could freeze the very world around her. The hatred within her.

"That was pleasant," the woman to her right said. The softness in her voice not enough to soothe Enrieta.

"Did they have to be messy?" the other woman to her left said in a thicker Vanaheimr accent.

Mihai clung to the stone railing and swung his legs excitedly in the air. His royal attire gave the boy a sharp look, almost good enough to hide the mischief he was always known for. His white skin and hair gleamed brightly. His ruby eyes burned with curiosity.

"That was amazing!" he exclaimed, he turned to his queen, "Right mother? Maybe it could be him?" The boy tried to put on an air of assuredness. One his mother saw right through.

Enrieta grunted.

Mihai furrowed his brow, "That's not an answer."

"Oh Adonis, do not mind your mother," said the woman to Enrieta's right. "She is in a bad mood because she fancies someone." She winked at the boy who did not understand her words.
Enrieta did not move, but her eyes contained all the malice in the world directed at one of her dearest friends. Yzabela of House Reiter giggled at the bloodlust oozing from her queen. She knew she was in a foul mood and still looked to press her. Just as she always did. Despite belonging to House Reiter one of the three great houses of Vanaheimr. Yzabela did not carry herself like a royal. No, she much liked the mischievous side of things. And still many wondered why such a lovely person had little talent for decorum. Her long flowing hair rivaled Enrieta's. But where the queens, one calm and still like the ancient mountains of Aurum. Yzabela's was wild and free, like a true Nephilim. It almost devoured the throne she sat on.

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"Yzabela stop it," the woman to their left spoke out. "Adonis Mihai return to your platform with your teachers. We will talk after the next candidate." Her words left no room for young Mihai to object. He looked at his mother who was unresponsive and grumbled. With that he left.

The three royals were alone.

"Yzabela is right. If you were going to be in this unagreeable of a mood, you should have laid with him when you had the opportunity." The woman continued.

Runa Fierar spoke to her queen with the confidence of a friend of many decades. She rivaled the queen in age but could still not shake off the childish face that many Nephilim dawned. The piercings that covered her face did nothing to hide the attractiveness behind them. Even as terrifying as her maroon eyes looked, the lack of emotion that she wore was far more unsettling. Her hair was straight and as white as the others. Her bangs were cut evenly across her forehead. Where the others chose to wear the finest and softest silk garments leaving much of their bodies exposed. Runa chose black leather, bound tightly to her. Her bosom extenuated and the contrast to her skin highlighted. She represented elegant rebellion. Something the Nephilim still sought to master.

"Have I done something to give both of you the impression I could not have you killed?" It was the first time the Queen of the Nephilim spoke in some time.

"Over a man?" Yzabela playfully asked.

"How unlike you," added Runa.

Enrieta rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the arena below. Upon her return, there were a few things she was not looking forward to. First and foremost was her conversations with Yzabela and Runa. Both she knew would endlessly mock her attempt at parle with the King of the Stygians. Their brashness was useful to her. She did not want to be feared by all. Of all the younger Nephilim, she found much of what drove her in both of them too. Enrieta knew she had much to think about. And she believed hearing what her closest allies had to say on the matter of her time with the Stygian King would prove beneficial. But instead they chose to tease her for it. Their playfulness bored her.

"I summoned you both here for your insight into the contents of my conversation with the King of the Stygians. Not to ruminate about my thoughts on him." She did not hide the irritation in her voice.

Yzabela Reiter traced a delicate porcelain finger around the lid of her glass chalice. The red liquid within glittering in the light. "Apologies my queen. It is rare to partake of your divine blood. And even rarer still to know your thoughts." She raised the glass to her stained red lips, the smoothness of the queen's blood flowed like warm fire down her throat. And she saw.

"What she means is that we are concerned." Runa Fierar downed the last of her chalice. Like Yzabela, her lips stained red. The warm sensation of the blood filled her with vitality. And she saw.

Her people called it the Sanguine Knot. Enrieta did not care to refer it to anything more than a tool. The first time she experienced it, she was seven years young. Her brother Adelard in those early years tried as he might to teach her about their ways. He had always found it important that Enrieta learn about their past, where they came from and what made them so different to the other realms. Even as she sat there on her throne all those years later; her closest advisors were lost in her memories. She still heeded his words. She recalled as her brother's flowing snow hair glowed in the harsh sun. His smile was far brighter than anything she had ever seen before. The warmth she felt in his presence was something she would only ever experience again when Mihai was born.

She remembered holding the small cup in her hand awkwardly as her brother lectured her on the history of the Sanguine Knot and its uses in war. Something she was far more interested in talking about than her brother. Truthfully it was not until Enrieta saw her brother cut himself and drip the red liquid into her cup that she began to understand the gravity of what he was trying to teach her.

His words echoed in her head, Dearest little Enri. My Enri. Know this can only be done with Nephilim you hold dear. It is the greatest show of love we have. Do not stain it as others have done before. There was much that had happened in her life soon after that day. The day her brother showed her love. Only those whom a Nephilim hold dearest in their hearts can drink of their blood and see their memories. Such a sacred and ancient magic that only those chosen outside of the royal bloodline are allowed to partake. Enrieta could not help but smile. If her brother were here, he would scold her for staining such sacred magic. There was much she would sacrifice to hear his voice just once.

"What an extraordinary man," Yzabela blinked her eyes open, a delicious smile on her face. "You really should have let me go in your place."

"And have us watch your memories?" Runa yawned, "The only insight we would get is how large his manhood is. And how it would fit inside of you."

"Quite well." Yzabela bit her lip. She did little to hide her excitement at the thought of butchering the Stygian King while she rode him.

Enrieta waved her hand in the air, "Enough. Tell me all you saw."

Yzabela elected to go first but was interrupted by the commotion in the arena below. The bodies from the previous exhibition had been removed and now they prepared for the final presentation of the day. To the far corner a small wooden door opened. From it a young Nephilim emerged. Even from as far as they sat they could tell it was a young girl. Her thin frame and bald head were exposed against the harshness of the sand around her. Her skin looked ashen, her eyes sunken and lacked luster. But as the small little thing adjusted to its surroundings it turned to look in her direction. Before long it collapsed to the floor in worship. Enrieta Zxyphor responded with indifference and growing impatience.