"You speak of defiance as if you are above the laws of our kind," he said coldly. "You would claim dominion over what is not yours and exact vengeance against those under divine protection. Have you grown so arrogant, Dicaeus, that you forget the consequences of your actions?"
Dicaeus' jaw tightened. "And what of them? They have slain my kacoethes! That alone is—"
"Their right," Anos interrupted, voice edged with finality. "Your creation should never have been among them in the first place. You unleashed chaos upon the mortal world, and now you dare lament its destruction? Do not insult me with your hypocrisy."
Dicaeus flinched. He had expected outrage, but not such swift and undeniable condemnation. The weight of Anos' words struck deep, his very core thrumming with unease.
"Had Kaleeso not intervened," Anos continued, "you would have gone even further, twisting the threads of fate to your liking. And for what? Petty vengeance? Do you think yourself above judgment?"
Dicaeus pressed his lips into a thin line. He had no answer, nor could he muster an argument that would not sound like further defiance.
"Your transgressions are clear," Anos declared, lifting a hand that glowed with divine energy. "For your reckless interference, you will be punished."
The glow around his hand intensified, filling the chamber with golden light, swallowing the shadows whole. Dicaeus tensed, instinct screaming at him to resist, but he knew better than to fight against Anos' will.
Kaleeso watched silently, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She had done her part, and now the rest was out of her hands.
Anos spoke the words of judgment, sealing Dicaeus' fate. The god of chaos could only grit his teeth as the weight of divine punishment crashed down upon him, shackling his power, binding his influence—leaving him helpless.
"From this moment forward, your realm, dominion, and powers shall be passed on to someone more deserving." Anos said. His eyes then scanned the room as if searching for someone before landing on a hooded figure who was prostrating not too far away from them.
A glint flashed in his eyes, followed by a smile. "You over there," he called, drawing Dicaeus' attention to one of his minions. The hooded figure looked up, revealing a head of red hair. His eyes widened.
"Yes, Lord Anos." She responded politely.
"What is your name?"
The young woman blinked, confused by the sudden question, but responded despite her confusion. "My name is Eris."
Anos nodded. "Good. From this point on, you shall become the goddess of strife, discord, and chaos."
And as he said those words, a light came from above, striking the young woman—sealing her fate.
Dicaeus could only watch as everything that was once his had been given away, handed to a woman he had once thought beneath him. This very act was a slap in the face for the god. Despite his grievances, there was nothing that could be done. Once Anos had declared something, he couldn't be reversed.
In the mortal realm, far from the celestial conflict, Ceremus and Atilla remained oblivious to the force that had nearly stolen their chance at salvation. But thanks to Kaleeso's intervention, they could return to Trojas with the plant intact.
~*~
Anemone didn't waste a second after Zazel informed him that someone had sighted King Ceremus from a distance, finally returning to his kingdom.
The news spread like wildfire throughout the palace, and everyone was rushing to prepare, making sure not a single thing was out of place. They knew that after a long journey, traveling through the wilderness and the north would cause him to be tired, so they made sure everything was in order so as to not upset their king.
He ordered all the guards to be on standby and for the doors of the palace to be opened in order to welcome their king home. Within minutes, everything was ready, and the palace doors yawned open, flanked by rows of armoured guards standing on attention. Their polished red and gold armour gleamed under the setting sun, patiently awaiting their king's return.
Inside the palace walls, courtiers, high-ranking officials and a few elders paying the palace a visit hurried to their places in the grand hall, donned in their finest garments. Even the servants wore their more formal uniforms. Officials unfurled tapestries of red and gold from the balconies, displaying the sigil of Ceremus' reign and all his predecessors.
Outside, the people of Trojas lined the streets, their hushed murmurs blending into an excited hum as they peered toward the horizon. Children clutched flowers in their small hands, eager to offer them at their king's feet, while elders whispered prayers of gratitude for his safe return. It appeared even the sun was expecting Ceremus' return as it shined brightly even under the evening sky, blessing the people with a heavenly glow.
Then, a lone trumpet cut through the anticipation, followed by the reverberating toll of ceremonial bells. The majestic sound resounded through the city like thunder, heralding the one they had awaited.
Finally, from a distance, two figures emerged—a weary but victorious Ceremus, and at his side, whose shiny gaze betrayed the long and arduous journey he had just undertaken. The knights in training who were placed behind the official knights lining through the city, paving the path for their king watched with grim expressions as the one they had mocked since his arrival, the one they had beaten down and insulted for no rhyme or reason was actually by the king's side, almost on equal grounds, having spent weeks out in open country, treading a path none of them would have dared taken.
Atilla had accomplished an impressive feat at only twelve years old. None of them could dare make fun of him anymore—especially Magus.
As they neared, the guards clashed their spears against the ground in unison, a thunderous echoed through the courtyard.
Anemone, who had been watching from a distance, had tears in his eyes. He was so incredibly glad and grateful for Ceremus' safe return. The official standing next to him—Zazel, shared the same sentiment. Having spent years watching Ceremus grow up, from little prince to king, this was the first time he felt such joy and pride in seeing him.
Ceremus Rohelus Marcrinos truly looked like a king at that moment.
The advisor took a deep breath, steadying himself before stepping forward. As the royal advisor, he had always maintained composure, having to endure their king's capricious and tyrannical behavior. Yet today, upon seeing him, Anemone struggled to cool his emotions as his lips trembled.
As Ceremus reached the foot of the palace's steps, having disembarked from his horse, Anemone lowered himself onto one knee, placing a hand over his heart. Behind him, the gathered officials, nobles, and servants followed suit, their voices echoing as one.
"Glory to King Ceremus, Sovereign of Trojas. May the skies bless him and his reign be eternal!"
The words rang through the air, reaching the skies themselves. Flower petals rained from the balconies above, swirling like a celestial blessing.
From above, the goddess Aria watched as her son had made it back in one piece. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Trojas welcomed back its king.
~*~
The first thing Ceremus did once back was see Hael.
With the plant in hand, he ordered the alchemist in the palace to crush the plant into a fine powder and make it easier for Hael to consume. The huntress and the divine bird, who looked at him with surprise, greeted him upon his entry into the room. They hadn't realized his return since Hael's room was in a side building that wasn't closely connected to the palace. It was away from all the commotion and the noise to ensure Hael's recovering in a peaceful environment.
There was only a singular guard placed there—one of the kingdom's best since Anthanasia was there most of the time, and she was strong enough to guard and protect Hael from any intruders. So when he entered, Anthanasia stood up abruptly, almost in a daze, and bowed her head, grateful for his prompt return.
The alchemist, on the other hand, did as he was told, turning the plant into a tea to drink. The plant produced a potent smell that immediately surrounded the room. Once he had made the drink, the alchemist brought it to the king, who immediately went to Hael's side and tilted his head back to drink it.
"I don't think this method will work." Anthanasia, who had been watching on the side, remarked. She had been briefed about their journey and Ceremus' discovery of a plant that had the potential of saving Hael's life.
She didn't ask questions as she moved to the side and let the king do his work. Most would've been skeptical of this newfound remedy that could restore life, but since Anthanasia was a huntsman and had come across many things during her hunts, she wasn't the least bit surprised. On top of that, seeing the determined and confident look on Ceremus' face put her mind at ease
"I agree. He is unconscious right now and won't be able to swallow it." Loki added. "Perhaps we could have the physician inject it inside of him. The plant could be absorbed through his bloodstream.
Ceremus shook his head. "No, it must be consumed orally." He didn't know how he knew this, but he was certain of it.
The two glanced at each other in confusion, while Atilla, who had followed Ceremus closely behind, had a knowing look in his eyes.
Ceremus pursed his lips as he thought of a way to make Hael ingest the tea when a sudden thought came to mind.
He took the wooden cup and brought it to his lips, surprising the group behind him. Their eyes widened when they saw him ingest the plant before leaning towards Hael. The room fell silent. The only sound was the faint rustling of fabric as Ceremus moved closer to Hael's unmoving form.
Anthanasia and Loki watched in stunned silence, and the physician in the room had his mouth hung open while Atilla remained impassive. With careful precision, Ceremus parted Hael's lips, his breath fanning over the guard's pallid skin as he pressed his mouth against his. The warmth of the tea mingled between them As Ceremus allowed the liquid to trickle from his own lips into Hael's.
He cupped the back of his neck, angling him slightly, willing the tea to flow past Hael's unresponsive lips and down his throat. For a moment, his actions seemed pointless—the liquid merely pooled against Hael's tongue with no sign of movement. Ceremus furrowed his brow, remaining undeterred. He pressed his lips more firmly, creating a steady seal, and exhaled gently, coaxing the drink deeper into Hael's mouth. His fingers brushed against Hael's jaw, massaging lightly to encourage swallowing.
The tension in the room thickened. They all remained quiet, watching intently.
Then a twitch. A barely perceptible movement in Hael's throat.
Ceremus pulled back slightly, hovering just above Hael's face, eyes scanning for any further reaction. A breath hitched. A swallow. Anything.
That's when they saw Hael's throat bop and a gulping sound.
Atilla exhaled a slow breath through his nose, while Anthanasia's grip on the hilt of her dagger loosened slightly.
"Did he…?" Loki started, his voice hesitant.
Ceremus didn't answer. Instead, he repeated the process, drinking another mouthful and pressing forward once more. He was meticulous, refusing to relent until his actions brought some fruit, bared some results, anything that could show a response no matter how small.
With every breath he took, he gave a silent prayer—pleading to the gods.
On the third attempt, a weak, barely there cough escaped Hael's lips. His brows furrowed slightly, as though reacting to something distant, something beyond the haze of unconsciousness, as if something was still holding him back from awakening.
Ceremus pulled away, searching Hael's face for any further signs of awareness. The guard still lay motionless, but there was now a faint color returning to his cheeks, the shallow rise and fall of his chest more pronounced than before.
A long silence stretched between them before Atilla finally spoke, his voice quiet but resolute.
"It seems to be working." Atilla commented, voicing their thoughts.
Ceremus' shoulders, tense with effort, finally relaxed. He let out a slow breath before setting the wooden cup aside, gaze lingering on Hael's face. There was still uncertainty—still a chance that the plant's effects might not work, but Ceremus refused to entertain those thoughts.
He knew it was just a matter of time before he would wake up. All he needed was patience. He had waited three long months. What was a few more?