"Did you truly love her?"
The shine in his eyes was gone, replaced by the smoldering fire of anger. His voice tore across the silent battlefield, where fallen warriors lay in heaps, their armor dented and bloodied, and the acrid scent of iron and smoke lingered. Empires had crumbled, treasures had been squandered, and this war, born of folly and passion, had left nothing but ruin.
He leaned on his sword like a crutch, forcing his battered body upright, each movement a torment. Wounds ached, grief weighed heavy on his shoulders, yet he demanded once more, "Answer me!"
This war, draped in the pretense of virtue and vice, had sprung from a love that turned tragic. History held no record of a kingdom thriving amid relentless bloodshed.
"No."
The reply was clipped, icy, void of comfort. The aloof man raised his gaze to the heavens, eyes distant as though tracing a memory beyond reach.
Blood dribbled from the corner of the wounded man's mouth. With a last ounce of strength, he gripped the other's tunic. "You always answer so briefly, so brief it breeds endless misunderstanding. Tell me… what were Mother's last words?"
The aloof man's gaze returned, meeting the fiery glare of the wounded one. He released the tunic but repeated the question, voice calm and unwavering.
"Την αγαπώ, αλλά όχι στο σημείο που θα θυσιάσω τη ζωή μου για τη δική της."
Fists clenched, the wounded man drew a shuddering breath. His frame trembled with fury. "I would strike your face, but my strength deserts me."
The aloof man spoke with measured serenity. "As your mother wished, let the past rest. Forget I ever existed, if that is your desire."
Rage twisted the other's face, jaw tightening. "You caused her suffering! And now you speak of peace? Damn your empty apologies! Even if you rot in Tartarus for an eternity, it pales beside what you've done. The torment you wrought surpasses any underworld punishment!"
"I know."
Two words, simple yet damning, struck with the force of a sword. Fury surged, veins bulging, teeth grinding, fists shaking.
"Damn you!" He flung his sword aside and staggered, barely upright. "I have never met anyone so maddening as you!"
The aloof man's tone shifted, calm as a teacher addressing an obstinate youth. "The young lack respect for their elders. Discipline they bristle against. They misunderstand, raise their voices, and retreat to their comforts."
Nicholas, still trembling, nodded reflexively before realization struck. "Wait. We are not finished here!"
Thousands of years ago…
A pair of goddesses faced each other across a marble chessboard, their expressions grave. The hall thrummed with divine spectators, yet the tension between them swallowed every whisper. One, composed as the stillest breeze, reclined with poise despite the match's trials. The other furrowed her brow, fingers gripping her next piece, nerves barely concealed.
The board was perilous. Black's king crouched at h8, defended only by pawns at g6 and g7, and a lone bishop at e4. White's king rested safely at g1. A queen lurked at a3, a knight at e7 menaced the remaining pawns.
With deliberate grace, the poised goddess lifted her queen and set it firmly on h3.
"Checkmate."
Gasps filled the hall, and the finality settled like a tide.
"Thirty thousand two hundred ninety-six wins!" a herald proclaimed.
"As expected of the Celestial Saint!" cried another.
Thunderous applause shook the marble pillars, laughter and cheer mingling with awe. Even the elder gods, usually indolent in their seats, stirred in recognition of the display.
The defeated goddess smiled, gentle and measured, her gaze meeting her opponent's in acknowledgment. The match had been long and grueling, and though her body ached, Isabella felt enlightened by the struggle.
Irene exhaled, exhaustion softening her sharpened mind. She glanced at her cousin, who returned a sheepish smile. Victory did not diminish Isabella's brilliance. Even unmatched among gods, Irene recognized her cousin as a formidable foe.
"Ella, do you know how close you were?" Irene teased.
Isabella scratched her cheek, a hesitant smile on her lips. "Really? I… didn't realize…"
Irene's gaze lingered, piercing, unraveling Isabella's carefully woven mask. Though Isabella was older, status mattered little against power.
Their chatter stretched into the evening, the sun yielding to the moon, a quiet testament to their bond and rivalry.
The following morning, news spread that the half-century chess rivalry had ended. Irene had triumphed once more.
Within the great hall of the Celestial Rulers, a court convened. Pillars of gold and marble soared skyward, housing assemblies, ceremonies, and rare indulgences. Helios, the Heavenly Ruler, presided from his throne, eyes gleaming like twin suns. Morning had waned, discussions drifting from statecraft to lighter matters.
"I assume all know the outcome of the match," Helios said dryly. "For three decades, it is all I have heard. Tiresome."
Rising, one hand clasped behind his back, the other poised lightly, he added, "Though I misjudged. One hundred years, perhaps, was an overestimation."
Laughter broke across the court, fading as attendants quieted.
"The Celestial Saint remains unmatched," a man intoned. "A genius of her generation, wisdom inherited."
Helios chuckled. "Flattery earns neither favor nor rank. At most, a token reward." He stroked his chin, sighing. "My daughter has ever been troublesome. As a child, she broke countless rules. Ah, the chaos of those days."
The court joined briefly in mirth, then resumed solemnity.
. . .
The heavy doors burst open. A celestial knight strode in, armor gleaming beneath the sun emblem. His plumed helm bobbed with every hurried step. Behind him, a wounded messenger staggered, his once-white cloak streaked with blood and grime. The gods in attendance stiffened at the intrusion, some rising to their feet, yet none dared interrupt the knight's urgent pace.
Helios' golden eyes, sharp as sunbeams, fixed on the pair. "State your business," he commanded, voice calm but edged with latent fury.
The knight bowed deeply, voice steady yet urgent. "Your Majesty, I bring grave tidings. The Devil's army has struck, catching our forces unaware. Our general and many celestial knights have fallen. The line was held but barely. I beg your judgment."
A low murmur rippled through the hall. Some gods shifted uneasily, hands tightening on their staffs.
Helios' gaze sharpened. "Explain. What provoked such negligence? Was the general incompetent? Or merely arrogant?"
The knight swallowed, his armor clinking as he shifted. "Sire, the Devil's forces struck without warning. Our scouts had detected nothing. The general, though proud, had prepared as best he could, but the ambush was swift and brutal. He fought valiantly, yet—"
"Yet what?" Helios' tone was mild, but his eyes blazed like molten gold. A few courtiers flinched.
"Yet he fell, along with many of his men. The enemy's power exceeded expectation. Our line broke before reinforcements could arrive."
Helios rose, motioning for silence. The hall was tense; every god present leaned forward, awaiting his judgment. "And the messenger?" he demanded, voice booming. "Why come here with haste? Speak without fear."
The wounded messenger, hood pulled back to reveal a raw gash across his nose, trembled. "Your Majesty… I rode with all speed. My instructions were clear. Bring news to the court immediately. The general feared for the realm…" His words faltered. "…yet I… I do not know the full extent of the enemy's plan."
Helios' gaze pierced him. "Do you comprehend the gravity of your failure to anticipate even partially? How many lives have been lost? How close was this to becoming catastrophe?"
The messenger's knees buckled slightly, though the knight steadied him. "I… I can only report what I saw, Sire. The Devil's army advanced unseen. Our scouts were slain. We—"
"Enough!" Helios' voice rolled like thunder, silencing the hall. He stepped down from the dais, golden light flaring around him, illuminating every tense face. "You dare bring calamity before me, seeking judgment for a stranger's death, yet speak of incompetence as excuse?"
The knight bowed again, steady. "Your Majesty, we report only truth, nothing more. Our line is breached, but the enemy is not yet at the gates. If we delay, the consequences will be worse than the general's loss."
Helios' hands clenched, golden light radiating faintly from his form. He raised one arm, summoning a magic circle in his palm. Tendrils of energy spiraled toward the trembling messenger. "And you, who clutch this wooden box, do you grasp the weight of what you carry? The proof of this disaster?"
The messenger shivered, the box pressing against him like the weight of the world. "I… beg you, Your Majesty—"
Helios' glare intensified. Slowly, deliberately, he released the spell. The tension in the hall did not ease; every god's gaze remained fixed on him. "Cell him. Dismiss the court!"
The courtiers scrambled, relief and fear mingling, the weight of Helios' fury lingering like molten gold in the air. Helios turned away, fists white with tension.
'What is this, Deimos?' he wondered, suspicion boiling alongside his fury. 'An underhanded taunt, perhaps?'