RHYSSAND
IT HAD BEEN A FEW DAYS OF ANOTHER ROUTINE. Every morrow, Rhyssand descended to the upper place balcony, always under the cover of evening. His wings are hidden from view upon finding Artizea in the garden painting. He had lingered in the palace after the council longer than he should have. She looked as radiant as ever, her strength and grace undiminished. But the spark in her eyes, the connection they had shared, was still there. He had his reason for not seeing her; with her newly awakened senses, he could very easily be the one to finish her off.
The air was thick while Gilgamesh calmed his restrained gaze of fury while standing next to the Prince.
Rhyssand was calm on the surface, his wings partially unfurled, a subconscious readiness for whatever might come next.
"What have you done to my daughter?"
Rhyssand did not flinch. These were the first real words the king had ever said to him. "I saved her," he finally breathed out.
The king's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. "Saved her?" He stepped closer, his words a growl. "From youor your kin?"
"From hers."
Gilgamesh's eye twitched as if he might execute him down where he stood, but he stopped himself as the image of his daughter broke flashes in his mind. "Don't you dare judge me," he gritted out.
"Then help me understand why when I saw her soul, it was nothing but darkness and self-hatred, and perhaps I will keep my judgment to myself."
"Careful, celestial."
"Last I checked, there are two of us here."
"I am the Monarch of Humanity—" he said coldly, "And you are standing on my soil."
"And you stand in the shadow of a woman you never truly saw," Rhyssand hissed. "She is utterly confused by how long she's been stronger than you ever gave her credit for—petrified of herself to the point she stopped fighting because she thought—death— was mercy!" He exhaled, and his thoughts drifted back to the day he told her about a flower's worth — But she… she was worth far more than any flower. For not even the garden she swore her heart upon could ever balance the weight of her soul.
The air between them was thick with unspoken anger, until Gilgamesh finally spoke, "No one, not the gods, not her siblings, not even her mother, could get her to come back willingly. Not once. I had to—" He faltered, the weight of the memory dragging his voice to a whisper. "I had to forcibly tie my daughter down like a beast just to keep her alive. Do you think I wanted to bind her? To hear her screams, to see the terror in her eyes as I fought to keep her just a little longer? No. And so I ask you again, what have you done?"
Rhyssand straightened, his wings flexed, then folded behind him. he stepped forward to close the space between them. "I gave her something no one else did," he finally said.
"And what is that?"
"A choice." Rhyssand pressed on, "You were so focused on controlling her that you forgot who she is, a person, not a crown, not a weapon, A person."
The king took a step closer, the weight of his grief and rage filling the space. "For the past seven years, I sought answers in every corner of this world, and still am."
"And yet your findings have been meaningless," Rhyssand said, his voice soft but cutting, "because you never thought the answer might be staring you right in the face. You never trusted her to face that part of herself and come back whole on her own. Yet she did it anyway—"
"But she's not whole." Gilgamesh growled, "She will never know what it is like to be whole, to know true peace until eternal rest. So let us not pretend what you truly came to do that Rite."
Rhyssand took a step closer, his wings flared faintly, "I am not my mother."
For a moment, the two men stood in silence.
Gilgamesh turned to face him again, his expression a mixture of anger and sorrow. "I do not trust you. You waltz into my palace, my realm, my daughter's life, and claim to have done what I could not."
Rhyssand turned away, "I do not need your trust…" his jaw tightened, "I would never hurt her, whether you believe me or not is entirely up to you." As much as it pained him, he could not linger. His presence would only complicate things. He stepped through the portal and did not dare look back. The last thing Artizea needed was another chance to ask a question right, because in that moment, he would confess everything.
Gilgamesh leaned heavily on the railing, looking at his wife and firstborn, his breath uneven.
GILGAMESH
Artizea wandered through the rows of seedlings, her steps slow. She had always found solace in this place when he was younger, but today, all she could think about was how she butchered even the innocent and vibrant.
Her mother stood nearby, tending to the remaining roses with delicate care. Her hands moved with the practiced grace. She glanced at her daughter, sensing the storm of emotions beneath her calm exterior. "They will grow back…" She said softly, her voice breaking the silence.
Artizea nodded, her eyes fixed on the blooms. "They were not just your flowers, mother…they were…" She reached out to touch a pedal, her fingers trembling slightly. "They were perfect," she whimpered.
Her mother paused, wiping her hands on a cloth before reaching for her daughter, "Nothing is perfect."
"How do you do it, Mother? How do you make something thrive in a world so… cruel?"
"Patience," Arthuria replied. "Care. And knowing that even in the harshest conditions, there is always room for growth, oh, and magic barriers, they help too."
Artizea giggled, then pressed her lips into a thin line, her gaze dropping to the ground. "I do not feel like I am growing," she admitted. "I feel like I am breaking."
Arthuria 's heart ached for her daughter, but before she could respond, a familiar figure entered the garden.
Gilgamesh's presence immediately filled the space. His steps slowed when he approached, and his eyes softened when they landed on Artizea.
Artizea stiffened, her body going rigid at the sight of him. She did not speak, did not acknowledge him beyond a fleeting glance. The memory of the cage, the chains, and the betrayal was still too raw, too fresh.
"Artizea—" Gilgamesh said gently.
But she shook her head, stepping back. "I have nothing to say to you, Father," she said quietly, though the edge in her voice was unmistakable. "And I do not wish to hear what you have to say, either."
His jaw tightened, watching her begin to walk away, but he did not stop her.
"She's angry," Arthuria said softly. "And she has every right to be."
He sighed, "I know."
"We hurt her," she continued, her eyes never leaving him."Not just with the cage or the chains "
"I know." He said sharply, his voice rising.
"Then stop saying you know and show her you know," she said, her tone softening. "Because right now, all she sees is the king who was ready to lock her away for his kingdom, not the Father who swore over these very roses that he would burn it all before he let that happen. Though they are now withered, that vow remains."
He looked away then in remembrance.
"Sometimes…" Arthuria said, "Protection feels like betrayal when it is done without trust." Her gaze shifted toward something shining. Her once-legendary sword, Excalibur, rested on a ceremonial stand, among the fallen, its blade gleaming faintly as though it still held the light of hope within. That she may one day wield it once more. The memories of battle still haunted her, the clash of steel, the cries of war, the weight of lives taken in the name of duty and justice,most of all in hers. Now here it lay, in this quiet moment, twenty-five years later, along with a promise she had kept ever since.
"You seem deep in thought," he said, her lips curving into a faint smile.
"I was just… reflecting," she whispered.
"In the past?" he asked, coming to sit beside her.
"Always," she replied, her gaze returning to the withered roses. "The past is where my greatest triumphs and regrets reside." Then shifted her gaze to the ones who survived.
Gilgamesh studied her, "For us both." The weight of regret was never lost on him. "The vow you made," he said carefully, "You have never spoken of it much, not even to me."
Arthuria sighed, her fingers brushing the cool air above the water. "I made it after the first and last war we fought together—" she paused, taking a deep breath, and resumed, "Many lives were lost that day. I was drenched in blood, none of which was mine. This was supposed to be a victory. Among our fallen enemies lay dead subjects, sons, and daughters. I saw neither good nor evil sides; they were someone's children. After the conversion of our people, I swore I would never again raise a sword to harm another living soul, no matter the reason, because I could no longer trust my own voice among the endless sea of the great bloodthirsty kings before me."
Gilgamesh nodded. "Do you ever regret it?"
"Not the vow itself," she said. "But sometimes, I wonder if it makes me unworthy to lead now, to protect. A warrior queen who cannot fight, what use is she?"
He took the shovel from her hands, his grip firm in deja vu. He took her hands in his, feeling the roughness of calluses, even with he years of war behind them, they remained warrior's hands. "Was it not you who said, 'A ruler's strength is not only in their blade but in their ability to inspire others to fight for what is just.'
Arthruia smiled, leaning her forehead to his. For a while, they said nothing; his thumbs brushed over her knuckles as though memorizing them for the first time. Then, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. "Your vow gives me reason to fight. It teaches our sons to protect what matters most, and gives our daughters the strength to see things through to the end." A faint smile touched his lips. "I am proud of them… but I am especially proud of you."
Arthuria 's lips pressed together, her heart swelling with both gratitude, still something lingered… "I still sometimes fear it still places a burden on you…"
"A burden?" he chuckled. "If anything, it makes my role clearer. I am the sword, and you are the guiding hand. Together, we will lay waste to any realm that dares to rise against us."
Arthuria's expression softened. "You always know what to say, don't you?"
He smirked. "What else did you expect when you married perfection?"
Arthruia rolled her eyes, but laughed lightly, the sound easing the tension in her chest. She reached out, placing a hand on his cheek, and he closed his eyes to take in her love. "Now," she paused, slipping her hands back into her gloves, then picked up her shovel, "All you have to do is tell our perfect daughter, everything you told me," she said, while pressing a seed into the soil and covering it, "It should not be too hard, Right?" she winked.
He met her gaze once more, then smirked. knowing He ran into that one, though the weight of her words settled over him. Leaning down, he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, "Thank you, my love," he said softly. Then, with a crooked smile, he tilted her chin higher. "Wait—you've got something here—" His lips claimed hers firmly, reluctant to give her back air.
"Gil—" she tried, her protest smothered.
"Strange, I cannot seem to get it," he murmured against her mouth.
"Go—" she shoved him lightly. Her smile softened as his warmth faded from her skin.
He chuckled and obliged with a satisfied grin.
ARTHUR
Arthur made his way from the healers' quarters; his wound had long been healed, but his mother insisted he visit for a moon cycle. He thought about what might have happened had his father not stepped in that day, death perhaps? Was that his punishment? His footsteps halted as the faint sound of voices, one oddly high-pitched, reached his ears. Then he paused in the shadow of the hallway, then crept closer, leaning against the edge of the open doorway.
A bird?
"Honestly, Eugene," the bird scolded, "Lord Rhyssand specifically said she needed rest, not running around like she's invincible. But no, nobody listens to me. I am just the talking bird."
Eugene sighed heavily, his focus fixed on the shimmering gem in his hand. "Artizea listens to no one," he muttered, adjusting the gem's setting. while the faint glow of magic shimmered around his fingers, "Why do you call him lord when he's your future monarch, anyway?"
Fin glided onto the edge of the table, "I do not know, I just do as I am told, and what is that?" his tiny talons clicked against the wood in rhythm.
"Turning this into something practical, A necklace, so it is always close to her," he paused, "It will store her energy and stabilize her better than the wrapping did," he added.
"I wonder who taught you that," Fin replied, "And how long will it take?" He drawled, tilting his head dramatically. "Because if she wakes up before you are done, you can explain to Lord Rhyssand why."
Eugene huffed, "You are so dramatic for a bird, you know that?" muttering under his breath, while tightening the final binding on the gem.
"Dramatic?" Fin squawked, flapping his wings indignantly. "You would trade your soul for knowledge if you thought it was worth it."
Eugene tensed, but his fingers firmly wrapped the final thread of the spell that bound the gem to the chain. "Alright, Done," he said with a small smile, holding up the necklace triumphantly. The gem shimmered faintly, the glow pulsing softly like a heartbeat.
Fin leaned forward, inspecting the finished piece. "I have seen better."
Before Eugene could reply, Arthur cleared his throat, stepping fully into the room and breaking their back-and-forth."Sorry, is that a talking bird?"
Eugene startled, nearly dropping the necklace, while Fin let out a dramatic squawk, nearly seeing his life flash before his eyes.
Arthur's gaze fell to the necklace, studying it carefully. "What is that?" he asked curiously.
Eugene straightened, holding it up for his brother to see. "It is for Artizea," he explained. "It will act as a stabilizer. Rhyssand asked me to make it—well, technically, he asked to enhance the wrapping, but I thought she would like it better like this, b-but if you think it is best—."
"I think she will love it," Arthur's expression softened upon taking a closer look at the necklace in Eugene's hands. He inspected it and its faint glow, turning it over in his fingers. After a moment, he nodded curtly. "Good job,"
Eugene hesitated before asking, "How is the wound?"
"Geeze—"Arthur groaned, "I told you with a face like this—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. They would send you back for your ugliness."
They shared a rare laugh.
Arthur leaned back, expression softening. "You know…I thought I was going to be the Crown Prince. I suddenly wanted to be the second prince."
"That sucks. I would never wish to switch places with you. I do not want to be the eldest."
Arthur snorted. "Do not worry—you are not suited for it."
Eugene's lips twitched. "Also…I thought you were Father. Sometimes I would fall asleep in the library on purpose, just to see if he would carry me back. Turns out it was you."
Arthur blinked, "Wait—" then raised a brow. "You literally pretended to sleep just so you did not have to walk to your room?"
"So help me…"
Arthur cut him off with a grin, "Because that is really smart of you, baby brother, no wonder you are a genius, and that is like the ultimate revenge, forcing me in that dusty ass library…Hats off to you."
Eugene scoffed. "Do you wish to give it to her?" he asked, while cleaning up his desk, "I am swamped, and… you probably have more to say to her than I would." He took a quill from a drawer, placed it into a drawer, then handed him a seed.
Arthur did not hesitate, "I will, thanks. We have not spoken in weeks…"
"Excellent," Fin piped up, his tone sarcastic. "I am sure you will deliver it with all the warmth and charm you are known for."
Arthur ignored the bird's jab and pushed the confirmation that it could indeed speak aside, slipping the necklace into his pocket. "Hey, Genius—I knew you were faking," he added with a wink, before turning on his heel, he began making his way toward Artizea's chambers.
Fin fluttering after him despite his muttered complaints. "Do not mind me," the bird said, hoping to glide just above Arthur's head. "I am only an envoy sent by Lord Rhyssand."
"Of course, the talking bird belongs to another talking bird," Arthur said dryly.
They reached Artizea's chambers fairly quickly, but before Arthur could knock, another presence approached.
"Son," Gilgamesh said, his tone calm but expectant.
"Father," he hesitated for only a moment before pulling the necklace from his pocket. "I was just going to give this to her," he admitted, his voice steady. "For her recovery."
"How is your recovery?"
Arthur blinked, surprised by the question, "I am fine, the healers said it is fine. I am fine." he felt like every day he was repeating himself like a broken record.
"Let me see."
"What, now—?" Arthur started, but at his father's stern look, he sighed. "Okay." Carefully, he unwound the bandage. His father leaned in to inspect the wound, lips pressed into a thin line before letting out a slow sigh. "Let me guess… Mother said it was ten times worse than it actually is."
"The healers say otherwise. Do you understand the severity? Your sister's claw could have killed you."
"Wait, seriously…?"
"I suggest you obey your mother and get checked every day until the surface heals. Wounds like these are unpredictable. If she learns of this, she will go mad."
"Got it," Arthur said quickly.
His father studied him for a long moment before holding out his hand. "I will do it."
Arthur handed the necklace over without argument. "Are you sure?"
Gilgamesh nodded, his expression softening slightly when he glanced at the door to Artizea's chambers. "Let her anger be directed toward me."
Arthur stepped back, his gaze briefly flicking to where Fin had perched on a nearby sconce. The bird gave him a smug look before disappearing as if he had never been there. His father arched an eyebrow but said nothing. Arthur shook his head, turning back to his father. "Then, Good luck."
Gilgamesh watched as his son walked away down the corridor. With a quiet sigh, he pushed the door. Whatever awaited on the other side was what he deserved. A king and A father were at war within him; there was a choice to make, and he was determined to make the right one this time.