The sound of clashing metal reverberated across the small room. Lyra and Alex swung their swords in perfect unison, quickly anticipating the other one's move. They hastily fought around the room, narrowly falling into the burning, hot forge on several occasions. And with the occasional tool being knocked from its resting place.
Alex twisted his sword with expertise, landing a small cut on Lyra's hand.
He smiled hard at this. "Oomph. Too slow."
Lyra's eyes narrowed in anger, and she sped up her attacks, nearly striking Alex in the chest. Alex quickly moved out of the way, leaping over a table full of tongs, knocking a pair onto the ground in the process.
The table now stood between them. Lyra began to move toward him, sword still pointing in his direction. And he moved too, like a classic game of cat and mouse.
Alex gave her another grin as he leaned against the table.
"Whatcha going to do, Lyra?"
His voice was teasing, and that irked her even more.
"Watch," she said with a glare.
Lyra continued to glare at him as she looked around, calculating her next move. She turned back to him with an even bigger grin.
Suddenly, she jumped up onto the table and swung upward with all her might.
Alex quickly ducked as a bucket came swinging from the ceiling, narrowly missing his head. The bucket sailed through the air before becoming trapped between two cabinets.
Feeling confident, he turned back to face her.
"Is that all you got?" he asked.
Lyra looked around. Her heart was pounding. She wanted to win. And he knew it.
Suddenly, she felt her feet fly out from beneath her, and she found herself on her back. She glanced up to see Alex pulling the sword from her hand.
"Never let your eyes leave your opponent," he said, with a serious tone. "Because now you're dead."
Alex gently pointed the swords into Lyra's stomach, in a show of her defeat. In response, Lyra suddenly kicked him. And he let out a rather loud groan.
"Jeez, did you actually have to kick me?"
Lyra rolled off the table. She looked around again. She stopped; something had caught her eye: a sword stuck in the stone wall.
She moved quickly toward a large table and climbed up like a bear in a tree. Alex watched her from the other side of the room. He knew where she was heading.
"Don't even try it. It's been stuck in the wall for fifty years."
Lyra held her breath as she concentrated with every fiber of her being. Suddenly, the sword became dislodged from the wall. Its heavy hilt nearly cost Lyra her balance.
Alex watched in shock as his sword slid out of place.
"How the hell did you do that?" His face was completely dumbfounded. "That sword has been trapped in there since my grandfather ran the shop."
She shrugged her shoulders before dropping the sword onto a nearby tabletop.
"I don't know. I guess I've been training harder."
Alex suddenly looked serious.
"Still wanting to join the rebels?"
Lyra does not look at him as she holds out her hand. And with a sigh, he dropped the sword onto it. He watched her walk off with a face full of dismay, but beneath that layer, a glimmer of worry.
She took the sword to a nearby table and began to clean it with a rag.
"Lyra?" he asked softly, his concerned voice coming from close behind her.
She glanced up to see him standing next to her. There was a familiarity in the way that he stood next to her.
"How can you think about joining them? They're ruining the kingdom."
Her eyes suddenly flashed dangerously.
"And what about the king?" She asked angrily. "Hasn't he ruined this kingdom by allowing us to starve?"
Alex does not respond. His attention was now caught by a large pot over the fire that had begun to boil over. He removed the pot from the heat, placing it to the side. He began to rake the coal, keeping the fire burning hot.
Lyra impatiently watched him.
"The king has allowed us to fall into ruin," she said, her voice suddenly trembling. "All in the name of the gods. Well, they aren't here, are they?"
Alex turned to look at her, suddenly fearful.
"Watch it, Lyra."
"Why should I? They don't deserve reverence, and they won't get it from me."
"Seriously, shut up. They can hear us."
Lyra let out a laugh.
"Hear us? No one has seen or heard from them in twelve years. They can all rot in the underworld for all I care—"
Alex suddenly pushed Lyra against the table, his hand covering her mouth. Their bodies pressed closely together. For a few moments, they stared at each other.
Alex stared deeply into her eyes before he slowly lowered his hand from her mouth.
"You know, Lyra. There's something I've been meaning to say to you—"
A door suddenly slammed in the distance, and a voice rang out:
"Alexander? Lyra?"
The two of them separated quickly, as a middle-aged man appeared in the shop. Relief spread over his face when he noticed them.
"Thank the gods! These damn patrols are getting worse!"
The man was Heroides, a famed welder and forger of weapons. He was respected throughout the land, even if he came from Pricus.
Heroides bent down next to the fire, raking the coals as Alex had done. He watched as the coals continued to burn brightly.
"There's a war coming," he said quietly.
Alex and Lyra exchanged dark looks. Alex stepped closer to him.
"What do you mean, uncle?"
Heroides stood up and turned to face them.
"The rebels have grown in number, and the king's decision to further control the people with these patrols has not been…met with kindness. But he will not stop until every rebel has been squashed. There will be no doubt, a clash."
Lyra's face contorted with anger.
"And what about the right of the people? Why should we continue to bow to a king who doesn't deserve it?"
Heroides looked at Lyra with an appraising look.
"I understand your quarrel, Lyra," he said, softly. "But he's of a divine line, blessed to the throne by the gods centuries ago. It's hard to fight that. The immortals have squashed all the past rebellions. This one will be no different. Even if their new leader is a priest—"
Heroides quickly stopped speaking. He glanced at Lyra, whose face had begun to drain.
"A temple priest is leading the rebels?" she asked.
Heroides did not meet her eyes, moving to a chair next to the fire. The silence was deafening.
Lyra quickly sat next to him. She lightly touched his arm in a pleading kind of way. He turned to look at her, his eyes full of sorrow.
"Please tell me, it's not Christos?" She asked, her voice full of concern.
Heroides turned to look at her. He slowly nodded.
Lyra stood up suddenly, in shock. She began to pace around the room.
Alex looked between her and Heroides.
"Christos? You mean, the man who abandoned Lyra as a child?"
Heroides gave Alex a look.
"Just don't, Alex."
Alex sighed, sitting down on a nearby bench. He watched as Lyra continued to pace the room. She stopped moving every so often to bite her lips; a habit she had formed as a child.
She suddenly looked between Heroides and Alex.
"The night that…my sister died," she said, quietly. "Christos swore he would make the gods pay…said that he would do what he could to force them into a…war. He said he knew a way to defeat them."
Heroides went pale as Alex glanced between them.
"A way to kill the gods…is that even possible?" Alex asked.
Lyra looked away, her eyes beginning to brim with tears.
"He said…he could bring back Isadora…"
Both Heroides and Alex looked at her in surprise. Lyra sat down again, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Alex came to sit down next to her, placing his hand over hers.
"Lyra," Alex said quietly. "You know that's not possible."
Lyra nodded, and they both turned to look at Heroides, who was deep in thought.
After a moment, he turned to look at them.
"We're hurtling toward a dark chapter of our history. So, Lyra, do you still want to join the rebel cause?"
The air was thick and smoky. Suffocating. Yet it was incredibly cold. The ground was scorched, like it had been set on fire over and over again. And steam rose in the air, covering it like a blanket.
A beautiful woman with long dark hair and pale skin made her way across a rocky plane. She wore a dark robe that dragged on the ground. Yet it never became dirty.
Dreadful sounds surrounded her as she walked. They were the cries of human pain. The sounds of millions of people in pain, to be exact.
The woman wore a smirk as she made her way down the dark path. In the distance, a figure was hanging in the air, fifteen feet high. As she came closer, the figure became a woman with long blonde hair, hanging from a cross-like structure. She was covered in spikes, painfully lodged in her body. Blood poured down.
The dark-haired woman stopped before the woman. She gave her a sinister grin.
"You know, Isadora," she said thoughtfully. You have received the harshest punishment, yet you might be the only human soul I have that has yet to wail in pain."
Isadora's eyes were closed, and she did not reply. The only response came from the blood that poured from her wounds.
The woman continued to smile.
"Nonetheless, you committed the ultimate crime of attempting to kill an immortal, so I'll make you shriek if it's the last thing I do."