JUST AS ISHTAR HURLED A NEWLY MATERIALIZED SPEAR, time seemed to slow.
Rhyssand hovered between the Pendragon army and celestial, catching the divine spear with his bare hand; his eyes burned with unyielding determination. His palm collided with magic, god against god, in a crack of thunder so loud the clouds dispersed.
"Stay away from her," he growled.
Ishtar's hands trembled slightly as she faltered back. Azreaphel stepped in front of her, shielding the shock wave with a grunt.
"My son," Ishtar spat disbelievingly, "You dare stand against me? Against heaven?" She flicked her wrist, summoning the celestial soldiers to her side.
The soldiers hesitated. This was no ordinary defiance. This was an order from their future king of the gods. This could go from bad to worse, but Rhyssand had a plan. He always had a plan.
"I invoke a Rite of Challenge," he declared, his voice echoing like thunder, loud enough to reach the heavens above. "You can not refuse as per the rules."
Gasps rippled across the battlefield. Even the wind paused. The celestial legions stilled.
Ishtar tilted her head, amused. "Very well. Proceed, my son."
"If I win… " Rhyssand began cautiously. "You release the Pendragons. All of them. You give me a chance to bring—Artizea— back from your influence. To prove her life is worth saving."
Her laugh was sharp and cruel, echoing off the marble ruins. "Your effects would be in vain, for it has been written in the very stars you admire so much," she hissed, "She will die, because she has to."
"Not while I draw breath." He met her gaze without fear. That stopped her. "Refuse," he dared coldly, "And I sound the Realm Alarm. A war that will tear your carefully spun balance apart. The demon realm has been waiting for an excuse… and since you have marched every soldier down here with you—" He paused. "It will be a massacre."
Ishtar's jaw clenched.
"So," he asked, voice steely, "What do you say—Mother?"
Her expression twitched. "And if I win?" she asked, her voice sugar-laced with venom.
"No more interference." Rhyssand said firmly, "I will be the sword and shield you raised me to be. I will follow every command without question. Your will be my own."
A hush fell behind him.
Arthuria's hand tightened on her sword. Gilgamesh's eyes flared with restrained fury.
Then laughed—cold, radiant, and echoing with mockery.
"Agreed! But I will not fight you, my child… we should have a test," she purred, tilting her head like a serpent admiring its prey. "Something poetic—fitting for a mother and son."
Rhyssand's gaze flickered to Artizea, still looming over her city. Fighting not only himself but also divine control, he gazed back at Ishtar.
His voice was calm. Firm. "Two truths and a lie." He paused, "If I can guess the lie—I win."
Ishtar arched a brow, intrigued. "And what truth would you wager on, dear boy?"
Rhyssand did not hesitate. "I want to know if you ever truly loved me."
And with that, silence claimed the battlefield once more. Even the gods above held their breath.
And then she laughed again, but softer this time. "Did your father put you up to this? First, him you wish to question my Love? Is that it?" She snapped her fingers, summoning a glowing celestial scale—ancient, divine.
"Very well," she purred. "Let the mortals and gods alike bear witness to the truth of my heart."
Ishtar pretended to think, tapping her chin with false charm. Then, in a silken voice, she spoke: "I bear the title of Queen of the celestial realm, I like honey in my tea. And of course—" she smiled, too sweetly, "I love you, my Son."
Silence fell.
Rhyssand stared at her. And then he said: "The lie… is the last one."
Gasps rippled across the battlefield. The divine scale between them sparked gold, then red—glowing hotter and hotter until—
"LIE."
The word thundered through the skies like a verdict from the gods themselves. Ishtar's smile cracked. Gasps shattered the stillness across the battlefield.
Azreaphel turned his head as Artizea's dragon form stirred, a deep groan rumbling from her throat like a mountain waking. The massive wings twitched. Her claws scraped against the stone.
Ishtar stepped back. Her smirk faltered, her breath caught.
"No… no, that can't be right…" she whispered, watching as the golden scale—the ancient celestial relic—tilted against her. It pulsed once. Then again. A brilliant flash of light—and the scale vanished.
"You lose," Rhyssand said.
Ishtar stumbled. "No—I do love you. I do love my son!" she cried, desperation breaking through her regal poise.
But above them, the vanished scale reformed briefly, just long enough for one final decree: "LIE." The letters seared red in the sky before dissolving into the wind.
"Let them go," Rhyssand commanded.
Reluctantly, with a snap of her fingers, the chains restraining the Pendragon family unraveled, vanishing into smoke and light. The Queen of the Heavens, once radiant with power, now looked… small. But she raised her chin.
"You still have one more test," she rasped.
A roar came from below.
Rhyssand turned sharply, eyes wide to her massive body twisting in agony, flames leaking from her mouth in violent bursts. Her eyes were squeezed shut, as if battling something deeper than chains—a war inside her soul.
ARTIZEA
When Artizea opened her eyes again, she was no longer on the battlefield. Instead, she stood in a timeless realm—a plane of gold and light, shimmering with threads of energy. The ground beneath her feet was an endless expanse of glowing mist, and the skies above swirled with an aurora of ancient power. It was as if the essence of the dragon she embodied existed here, an eternal sanctuary of her spirit. Her form in this space was not solid but radiant. Her figure shimmered like golden threads, her outline translucent and constantly fading into and out of visibility. Her hair floated around her like liquid starlight, and her eyes burned with an inner fire. She wasn't human here; she was a spirit, the essence of her dragon form's consciousness. She felt the immense weight of power coursing through her being. She could sense the ancient memories of her lineage—her father Gilgamesh's divine blood, her mother Arthuria's strength, and the sacred bond between her and the heavens. But it wasn't just power that filled this place. Fragments of her life drifted through the golden mist: Golden chains appeared, wrapping around her fading spirit form, tugging at her essence. She now understood. They were not meant to harm her but to protect her from losing herself entirely to the dragon. As she struggled, a voice echoed through the realm—a voice she recognized immediately.
"Artizea…"
It was Rhyssand, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos. Though she could not see him, she felt his presence, his love reaching out to her even across dimensions.
"Rhys—" Artizea said weakly, her voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and scolding.
Outside of the plane. He hovered in front of her, his wings slowly folding behind him. Eyes soft, voice steady. "Here we are again," he whispered.
A roar tore from her throat—not just power, but pain. Rage. Despair. That one was hers.And He knew it. Her tail lashed behind her, warning in every angle, but she did not strike.
Rhyssand stood tall, placing his spear down on the scorched earth between them. Then, he opened his arms. Wide. Unarmed. Unflinching. And dropped them in surrender. "You are not getting rid of me that easily, Princess," he murmured, using the name only he ever called her.
From a distance, Arthur whispered, "Is he mad?"
Arthuria narrowed her eyes. "Quite possibly."
Gilgamesh said without hesitation, "It is what works."
Artizea roared again, shaking the skies, her wings fanning flames across the field. She backed away from him—the only thing in the world she feared at that moment… was him. Because he hurt her. He left her. Lied to her. Broke her. And he knew it.
"So your grand plan–?" she shouted, her voice echoing through the chamber. "Bed me, then leave me defenseless to protect my people."
His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he could not look at her. But he knew there was no way out. "The plan was to destroy your dynasty–" he said finally, his voice low and trembling. "And to wipe out the palace from within."
Artizea recoils as if he'd struck her, her expression shifting from shock to pure rage. "Well, congratulations—" she spat, her voice breaking. "Take it all in—your handiwork! Is that what you wanted! ARE YOU SATISFIED NOW!" Her wings flared slightly.
Rhyssand took a step forward, his hands raised in desperation. "Goddamnit Artizea —I LOVE YOU," Rhyssand shouted back.
"Bullshit!" she snapped. Her voice cracked.
For a moment, Rhyssand did not respond. "I thought I knew what I wanted, once upon a time," he confessed, "Vengeance. To destroy your father. To make someone, anyone— feel the pain I felt when I lost Jace. But I could not." His voice cracked. "Because when I met you. And I saw… you. THE REAL YOU. Not a monster, not an heir. Just a woman who kept fighting— even when the world told her she shouldn't."
The dragon's breath trembled.
"You want the Truth…? Eric was dying when I answered his wish," Rhyssand whispered. "His first words to me were your name, and so was his last."
Her breath hitched inside the plane.
Eric stumbled through the weapons shed after the chaos that just unfolded, his betray…a betrayal he had never committed, would never…his breath shuddered.
The stars above him flickered as he looked upon them one last time, raising his hand to his chest. Just then, A figure stepped out of the distortion, barefoot on the grass, dressed in celestial white, while his wings were competing with the beauty of midnight.
"You're dying already." Rhyssand's voice was calm, almost gentle.
Eric let out a shaking breath. "I know."
Rhyssand tilted his head. "Then why speed the process?"
Eric looked away, shame twisting in his gut. "I hurt someone I love."
Rhyssand's eyes softened, just barely. "You wished for Artizea to be happy. With or without you. Did you not?"
Eric swallowed hard. "I did…"
"Then tell me—" Rhyssand stepped closer around him. "Do you think this will make her happy? Leaving the world like this? Dying with no explanation? No goodbye?"
Eric's throat bobbed as he whispered, "I will only cause her more pain alive… I should die now."
"For a sin you did not commit?"
His head snapped up. "I must have—"
"You did not," Rhyssand cut in sharply. "I cannot give you everything. Not at this moment. Maybe never."
Eric's hands curled into fists. "Then why are you here?"
Rhyssand stopped in front of him—the air tightening, darkening, as though the night held its breath.
"To ask for your help," Rhyssand said. His expression did not change, but the air around them tightened like a snare."Because if you do not, she will die."
"What?" Eric rasped. "No—she has control now. She's stronger. She—"
Rhyssand nodded once. "She is destined to. It matters not. There are plans for her execution. And backup plans for those plans. And more after that." His jaw tightened. "That is the most I can share."
Eric stared at him, trembling. "Who are you to her? And what do you plan to do with her?" His sword was shaking in his grip.
"I am but a god fulfilling your wish… in benefit to others." He raised his other hand. And every star in the sky blazed to life. Constellations shifted. The heavens themselves bowed.
Eric's blade almost slipped from his fingers.
"Every single one of them," Rhyssand said quietly, "Is a wish for her to live. From many different people for the past 500 years. Some wish every night. Including myself." The clearing glowed like daylight. "So I ask again, Eric Quin…Help me," he pleaded, while extending his hand, open and waiting. "Please. And I will fulfill your wish."
Eric looked at the stars at their desperate, burning prayers. He always knew she was someone else's shooting star; he never thought she would be the whole galaxy. With his trembling hand in Rhyssand's.
"Use me as you need," Eric whispered. "For her."
"The scandal was my mother's doing, to quicken her plans." Rhyssand exhaled shakily. "And so I took his body immediately in hope to salvage mine," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "But only because he asked that of me…begged me. You ask me, when was the first time I was Eric Quin? I lied…It was the stables…" He blinked hard, fighting the sting in his eyes. "I take his place—I had a different plan back then, many different plans that all failed…And so, per the arrangement, he asked of me from the beginning. That if the easy way did not work, then I would have to see through the hard way, and I was bound by every law imaginable to see it threw." I…said those things at the bar… I accepted Arthur's money because it was the only way to convince him that Eric was leaving the country, and convince my mother that there was no need to interfere, and give your brother the justice he was entitled to." He whispered. "To ensure your brother had peace, but I had no such feeling."
Artizea stared, trembling.
"The Whole truth?" Rhyssand lifted his hands helplessly, palms shaking in the cold air. "I felt… things," he confessed. "Things I had no business feeling. And worse—when I saw his memories, I became…" He swallowed. "Jealous. Obsessed. Entrapped."
Her heart stuttered.
"Your first kiss… your first time… it was with him." His head bowed as if ashamed of the knowledge. "And—gods in hell help me—I found myself wishing it had all been with me."
Artizea's tears slipped free.
Rhyssand's voice cracked. "I tried to let you go," he pleaded. "I swear to you on everything that I am to you—Rhyssandsnezniah, Rhys, Rhyssand, whatever I am to you—I tried. I tried with everything inside me." A tear slid down his cheek. "But I was too late." His voice fractured completely. "I am always too late." His breath trembled. "I did not deceive you to manipulate you. I deceived you because a dying man begged me to protect the woman he loved." His eyes burned. "And somewhere along the way—" His voice broke fully. "—I fell in love with you too."
Artizea turned away with a sob, her shoulders shaking. The truth was too heavy. Too real.
Rhyssand did not move toward her. "Nothing but the truth…" He did not dare touch her. "I will never watch you fall." He took a slow step forward."I could never abandon you," he continued softly. "It is selfish. And cruel. I know." Another step, closer. "But you showed me something I never believed I could have. You showed me what it means to love," he breathed. "To hope for something better. To be human."
Another step.
"I imagined being part of your life. Your family. A real one. Even though I do not deserve it." His chin lifted slightly. "But hear me clearly, Artizea Pendragon."
Artizea's chest rose and fell in shaky, uneven swells.
"I love you," he said. "And I will spend the rest of my life trying to make this right. Because I want you in my life—as my ally, enemy, friend…whichever you choose, one way or another. I need you. Because you are the only air I can breathe."
Artizea's lips parted. "I—"
"No." His voice softened. "Do not say anything." He lifted his hand and reached for her cheek.
Artizea did not realize when she had returned to her human vessel. Her eyes locked with his. Then—her pupils shifted. From sharp slits… to familiar crimson. Not the dragon. Artizea.
"Just come back."
She then slowly—gently—lowered her head to his chest.
Back in the Plane
With his words guiding her, Artizea pushed against the overwhelming tide of power. She focused on her memories—her family, her love, her duty. Slowly, her form solidified in the realm, the chains loosening as she regained control.
The dragon loomed before her now. Its fiery gaze locked onto hers. The fractured realm trembled under its weight, the mirrors around them shattering one by one. The beast's claws tore at the ground, each strike reverberating through her consciousness like thunder.
"I ask again," the dragon spat accusingly. "Do you know who you are?"
Artizea's gaze hardened, the golden thread of light connecting her to Rhyssand growing brighter. She took a deep breath, her voice steady and filled with resolve.
"I am Artizea Pendragon," she said, her words cutting through the chaos like a blade. "Daughter of Kings and Successor of Tiamat!" She stepped forward, unflinching even as the dragon's flames licked at her skin. "You. Are. Bound. To. Me!"
The reflection smiled faintly, a glimmer of respect in her gaze. Before dissolving into a golden mist that enveloped Artizea. And then she saw her—
"Very well."
Just then, she opened her eyes to the sensation of falling, above clouds."Did you see me, Rhys?"She whispered to herself,"I controlled it… "
Before she could crash to the ground, a streak of golden light shot across the battlefield. Before she could fully process her words, she heard a voice—familiar, steady, and filled with pride.
"As Radiant as the stars, my love. "
Rhyssand appeared like a comet, shooting through the sky, his sharp feathers cutting through the smoke. One rule, just one. And he broke it that day; he broke it every day since. Would he do it again? His wings spread wide as he caught her with surprising strength, easing her descent. Then the world faded. The test was complete. "I've got you."
Without a question.
Artizea's eyes snap open to reality into eyes as bright as the sun, but she could not help but not look away. For a brief second, time seemed to stop.
Ishtar's laughter was bitter and sharp. "You are just like your father—weak, sentimental, and easily broken!"
Rhyssand's gaze flicked to the enemy forces regrouped, preparing for another attack, then to Artizea, who struggled to rise from the ground, bloodied but unbroken. He positioned himself protectively in front of Artizea. His wings spread wide, and his voice rang out across the battlefield. "If you want her, you will have no choice but to go through me."
She snarled, "This disobedience has gone on long enough—Soldiers!" She barked, "Escort the prince back to his chambers and keep him there!" She commanded.
The celestial army hesitated, their morale wavering. No one dared advance.
Ishtar looked around in disbelief, her frustration showing as she hissed, "What are you waiting for!? I gave an order—"
"Enough, Mother." Rhyssand's voice rang out, silencing her. All eyes turned to see the Prince of Heaven standing against Ishtar. "Leave."
Ishtar narrowed her eyes, her power simmering just beneath her skin. "I never said I would leave." Magic crackled around her like a storm barely restrained. "This war," she spat, "Is happening—with or without you—"
Rhyssand lifted his hand. A spear of light materialized, steady and aimed. Then—a whistle in the wind. An arrow flew like a comet from the shadows, slamming into Ishtar's shoulder. She hissed, reeling back, her face twisting in pain. Another arrow—this one clipped the edge of her ornate crown, sending it clattering to the dirt.
She turned with a snarl. "It can't be—"
From a flickering portal atop the cliff, a voice rang out, "Peekaboo, bitch!" Elaine yelled furiously, "That's for my uncle!", already vanishing into the next portal before her presence could even register. Her arrows were impossibly fast—too quick to trace, too sharp to block.
Ishtar screamed in irritation.
Suddenly, a portal opened beneath Gilgamesh and Arthuria's feet.
"—Gil!" Arthuria yelped.
They dropped with a gasp, disappearing in a flash—only to land beside Arthur, who caught them both as Elaine popped up behind him, hair wild and bow gleaming.
"Now, Eugene!" she called.
A portal widened behind them—Eugene stood at the edge, arms trembling, eyes glowing with strain. He had finally cracked the code to Rhyssand's celestial portal system, the one he'd been working on for weeks. It was holding, barely. He winced, faltering, but held the gate steady.
From the swirling light, humanity's armies stepped threw, the knights, the mages, the savages, down to the capable man who could hold a sword, that included Cesealia.
Arthur pounced toward her, "What are you doing—" he urged, his voice strained.
But Cesealia only set her jaw, tugging on the strap of her shoulder guard—a piece of Arthur's armor, reshaped to fit her frame. "I am fighting. For my brother, and that's final." She strode past him nonchalantly.
Arthur's face contorted. "HELL no—Do you even know how to use that thing—?!" he exclaimed, looking at the familiar sword. It was indeed Eric's.
Cesealia hooked her foot behind his ankle with the grace of a seasoned warrior and swept him clean off the ground. Arthur hit the dirt flat on his back with a grunt.
"Ouuuu…" The Pendragons winced in the choir.
Cesealia stepped over him, "A sword is not everything," she said, while offering a hand that was far from apologetic. He took it, pulling himself upright with a wheeze, then glared up at his family, who absolutely did not look away fast enough to pretend they had not seen everything.
Arthur sighed in defeat, "…Mom, Dad—this is Cesealia," he groaned.
Cesealia dipped her head awkwardly, unsure of the protocol, "Your Majesties."
"Pleasure to finally meet you," she gritted her teeth, upon glaring at her first son, "let us have tea when the hour is more suitable."
"I… drink beer…" Cecelia blurted before she could stop herself.
Gilgamesh and Arthur both pivoted their heads toward each other in perfect sync.
Arthuria, however, giggled, "Ah—so do I!" she declared brightly.
Arthur whipped toward his mother. "You do??"
Arthuria arched a brow. "I was a man before I was your mother, you know."
Arthur flinched, but froze over when he saw the look on his father's face, it was the look of Well done. "W–what…?" he whispered.
Gilgamesh did not blink.
"Dad, you're scaring me," Arthur sputtered, "Eugene—BROTHER—help me—what is that—why is he looking at me like that—"
Eugene, still prying open a portal with both hands, groaned, "I cannot do this all day—"
"Wait—" A soldier stumbled through, bloodied and dust-streaked, armor battered, one gauntlet missing.
"My prince—" he gasped, falling to one knee before her. "The Egyptian King… he's dead." The words hit Artizea like a blade, "His soldiers still stand… but the enemy forces are advancing fast. They need orders."
Arthur shook his head. "I am no Heir—"
"He left them sworn to you and only you, Your Grace."
With trembling fingers, he held out a scroll sealed in jet black wax. "It is written in his will."
His breath caught. She reached for it slowly—almost reverently—as memories rose like a tide.
"Uncle?" Arthur asked, tilting his head as he leaned against the table's edge. "Why do you like the sea more than land?"
Alexander gave a soft chuckle, his eyes tracing the curling edges of an old, weather-worn map.
"One day, when you are older," he said, his voice quieter now, edged with something wistful. "You will understand what it means to be a leader… and you will want to throw it away the moment you realize the cost."
Arthur frowned. "You sound like my mother."
"Yeah, do not let your father hear this…but your mother, dare I say, is a better leader than he is."
Arthur snickered, "You can throw it my way—if you are tired of it, at least."
That made Alexander laugh. He reached out and ruffled the boy's hair.
"Hey—" Arthur squirmed.
"It is a deal then, Little Lion."
Arthur's grip tightened. The battlefield returned. The blood. The gate. The kingdom, finally wiping his tears, his expression hardening. "These are my orders." His voice rang out, "Secure the gates. Hold them at all costs." The soldier saluted and hurried away, along with the pentagons. Arthur exhaled once and then readied himself to step back into the fray. "Ready for the sky, Tiz?"
"Rhyssand will take the sky," Artizea said, already forming a strategy.
Arthur snapped toward her, "The cunt he will," Arthur snarled. "I am not letting that feathery peacock anywhere near the airspace while our family is on the ground."
"Arthur—"
"No." He pointed the tip of his finger against his lips, trying to regain some self-control. "He seduced you, manipulated you, had you wrapped around his little celestial finger till the point your backbone turned to ash, you fell for it. But I won't."
Artizea stiffened, jaw clenching. "Are you done?"
'Yes."
Rhyssand shook his head violently, stepping forward. "I thought I would have more time to stop her."
Arthur laughed, humorless and sharp, as he paced a few steps.
Artizea inhaled sharply, mind racing; however, she took Rhyssand's hand in hers. He cleared his throat and tried again, "She used my moment of… distraction to invade your kingdom. I am sorry."
Arthur scoffed. "Tell that to the hundreds already dead."
The distant rumbles of the war could finally be heard, almost as if a silencing ward had been broken. Screams and the clashing.
"What would mother say?" Artizea whispered.
Arthur's jaw flexed, "Mourn the lost by protecting the ones still with us." his eyes locked with Artizea, and they gave each other a nod.
Artizea turned back to Rhyssand, "Are you with us—" she paused, "or against us?"
"I am with you," Rhyssand confirmed.
Arthur rolled his eyes. Without waiting for them, he strode toward the battlefield, her sword gleaming in the dim light.
Rhyssand stood frozen for a moment, the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on him. His kin would have to die to protect her. Then, with a heavy heart, he followed her into the chaos, determined to fight by her side—even if it meant losing her forever.
As the tide of battle seemed to shift in their favor, the sheer ferocity of Rhyssand's movements became impossible to ignore. With a burst of celestial energy, he zig-zagged through the battlefield, his movements faster than the eye could follow. Each strike of his spear felled an enemy, leaving arcs of radiant light in his wake.
Rhyssand darted past Arthur with deliberate speed, the rush of wind knocking him slightly off balance. Arthur stumbled, catching himself with Excalibur. He glared at Rhyssand's retreating form.
"Cunt!" he shouted, his voice echoing over the clash of weapons.
Rhyssand turned his head just enough to grin back at Arthur, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Try to keep up, Pendragon!"