ISHTAR
THE SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION HAD ALREADY BEEN PLANTED. Ishtar had played a long game, and she knew that Rhyssand's heart would lead him into a trap of his own making, and her patience was unmatched. She knew the state of the Pendragon family—fractured, wounded, their power weakened. She boldly stormed into Pendragon Castle, unafraid and itching for confrontation.
Any human she came across, whether guard or servant, she spelled them asleep, for she had no wish to fight them. As she drew near to her destination, she could hear the raised voices and clanging of furniture as though the universe was guiding her in the right direction. Elated, a malicious smile carved its way across her face just as the chamber's large stone and iron double doors came into view. She gave the dragon-themed door decorations an annoyed look before schooling her expression. It was show time, and she loved bringing chaos to those around her.
The council chamber buzzed with the murmurs of gathered nobles and advisors. It felt as though it were built to intimidate even the boldest of souls. High on the walls, dozens of iron sconces hung like jagged fangs, each bearing torches that sputtered with restless flames. Their light flickered ominously across the banners of the kingdom and her allies- depictions of roaring lions and the like- casting distorted shadows across the chamber floors. A long table of polished obsidian dominated the center, its surface so dark it reflected the faces and torchlight above it, even the iridescent multicolored glow of the stained glass high above. Any other available space above the heads of the council was occupied by the skulls of beasts and demons slain by the king, many missing one of their fangs. The walls, hewn from a black volcanic stone of nearby allied country, rose upward into a vaulted dome that seemed to swallow the moonlight coming in from its glass center, a mesmerizing stained glass piece of the king in battle with a bull.
Around the table, commanders clad in steel and fur or silk and cotton, sat rigidly as their King presided over them, vetoing or allowing requests made by his people. King Gilgamesh leaned on one gloved hand, eyes smoldering beneath his mane of golden blonde hair. His cloak, a heavy velvet the color of burgundy and trimmed with beast fur, hung off the back of his chair, flowing like spilt blood behind him. A black silk shirt hugged the breadth of his shoulders and chest, marking him every inch of the warrior king his enemies feared. The noise in the room halted abruptly when the doors at the far end shuddered as though struck by a storm, drawing eyes toward it. With a resounding crack, they burst inward.
Ishtar slammed the grand doors aside and basked in the deafening silence that swallowed the room. A gust of cold night air swept into the chamber, dousing the heavy atmosphere with her unnatural presence. Torches guttered wildly, and several hands flew towards sword hilts, some being drawn while others grabbed other weapons hidden on their persons. She paused there for a moment, allowing her aura to glow around her as she spread her wings, ensuring all eyes were upon her, the beautiful Goddess Ishtar. She smiled wider.
Only once she was satisfied did she confidently stride inside, stepping over the ruined threshold and door debris. Her presence was undeniable; she wore no armor—adorned in a divine corseted bodice of hammered gold molded perfectly to her silhouette, etched with swirling patterns of serpents and phoenixes. Her skirts were silks that trailed like a celestial flame, a shimmering cascade of scarlet and deep sapphire, layered with black, each embroidered with gemstones that glittered like stars in the heavens above, her eyes a dangerous glimmer of mischief and wrath. Her brown skin gleamed like polished mahogany in the torchlight, her eyes- uncannily bright, nearly molten- captured every flicker of flame. Her hair, jet-black and intricately braided with thin strands of gold, cascaded down her back. Her crown, high and lethal, was forged of blackened gold and shaped into curling horns, mimicking a dragon's. Every detail of her ensemble declared opulence, power, and unrestrained dominion.
Heads turned and eyes followed as she swaggered with purpose toward the throne, where Gilgamesh sat, his golden gaze narrowing in suspicion. The tension in the room was palpable.
The council broke out in whispers, curious about what might unfold before them. "Why are you here?" Barked the King. "You have not been summoned, Ishtar."
Gilgamesh's voice echoed with authority, his tone unbending. He sat straight in his seat, radiating such anger that the guards behind him shifted uncomfortably. No one could wrap their minds around the fact that she walked into the heart of the kingdom- alive, unbound, uninvited.
"Oh, Gil," she purred mockingly, stopping a few paces before him. Her voice was rich, resonant, and dripping with disdain. "Did you not get the dove I sent? I will be filling in as ambassador today." She swept her gaze across the council chamber, eyes dancing to the high stone columns and banners, to the forgettable faces of the council until her eyes met the King's. Their eyes clashed like steel.
"Why are you here? Where is your brat, Rhyssand?" Gilgamesh demanded.
Ishtar smirked knowingly, her lips curling upward. "Oh, my son?" she laughed. "Well, he seems to have… more pressing matters to attend to, looks like you get the real deal today, lucky you."
"A pity I see," she continued, "He is such a fixture, would you not say?" Her words dripped with poison, subtle as a bull and just as direct.
Gilgamesh's gaze sharpened, reading between the lines. "What are you playing at, Ishtar?
Her lips curved in a slow, dangerous smile. "I've come to finish what was left incomplete— I invoke the Rite of Challenge," she declared, her golden eyes narrowing. "You have defied the heavens for too long, and now your abomination of a daughter has proven my warnings true. Face me, or be branded a coward before gods and mortals alike."
Gasps rippled through the room, and the whispers swelled like the tide. Advisors exchanged frantic glances, and Arthur, who got up to support his father—standing to the right of the throne as usual- made his presence known to stand beside his mother, who was now visibly shaken.
"You dare?" Arthuria hissed under her breath.
Gilgamesh, however, remained calm. He leaned forward, his presence heavier than stone. "You walk willingly into my den, to speak foolishness, alone. You wish to challenge me? Is that truly your intention, once more?"
"It is but one of many wishes," Ishtar's eyes gleamed, her smile cold. Sovereign against sovereign. Or are you afraid your legend is nothing more than a gilded tale?
The room hushed in a brittle silence; however, it swiftly Gilgamesh's knuckles tightened on the throne's armrest, his mind already calculating the pros and cons. His jaw tightened upon his decision. "You waste your breath. If it is a fight you want, you shall have it. Any fool who dares to challenge me must be ready to bleed. Your life shall be mine."
Shouts burst from the council in protest, the people alarmed. The King silenced them with a single raised hand.
Ishtar's answering smile was pure triumph.
The two discuss their terms, the council as their witness.
"At dawn," Gilgamesh confirmed.
"So all may witness which crown will descend into dust." Ishtar continued. She remained locked for a moment longer, fire meeting fire- before she turned, her cloak swirling behind her like a storm given shape.
In the arena the next day, the tension was suffocating.
Arthuria stood near the weapons, her back to Gilgamesh, who was adjusting his armor with deliberate calm. She broke the silence first.
"You don't have to do this," she said, her voice heavy with restrained emotion.
He paused, his golden gauntlets glinting in the light. "I am the king, Arthuria. A challenge to the throne cannot be ignored, especially not from a monarch."
"We have been down this path before—" Arthuria turned sharply, her piercing blue eyes meeting his. "You are not just a king. You are a husband. A father. Your life is worth more than proving your strength against her schemes. You taught me that!"
He could not help by smile amidst the chaos before him, she remembered.
His gaze softened briefly before hardening again. "This is not about proving strength. It is about keeping our family safe. I broke that vow once. I won't again."
"What good is a family without its head?" she snapped, stepping closer. "What honor is there in walking into a trap? You know Ishtar better than anyone. She doesn't fight fair. She'll find a way to twist this to her advantage. You know she will!"
Gilgamesh's jaw tightened, and his voice dropped to a low rumble. "You think me blind to her deceit? I know what I face. But I will not have her live after the insult to our family without consequences; this may be the path that leads her to her end."
"Or yours!" Arthuria's lips trembled as she struggled to contain her frustration. "If you fall, Gil, what then? Do you think your children will overcome this easily? Do you think I will?"
He stepped closer, his hand lifting to her cheek, but she turned away. "Arthuria, I made you vow that I have renewed every cycle," he said softly, "trust that I will return and renew it again."
She shook her head, stepping back. "I can't." Without another word, she slapped him. "Are we really going to do this again!"
"My vow is nothing compared to the wager we made, I promised to you to protect our family, even if it costs me—that was the wager we made together, Ria—"
Arthruia slipped from him, wiping her eyes,
"Ria—" he called out.
However, she had left the chamber, her steps heavy as she made her way back to the palace, refusing to attend the duel.
"Dad—"
"Find your sister."
"But—"
"Find your sister, do as I say."
Arthur hesitated, then nodded.