RHYSSAND
Rhyssand sat at her bedside, eyes fixed on her face. He had not moved since the last contraction faded. The midwives, their hands steady but faces pale, gathered the bloodied linens into baskets and quietly withdrew, leaving behind only the stillness.
"Where… is the baby?" Artizea whispered at last, as her eyes fluttered back open.
"Here," Madeline said softly, stepping forward. She placed the tiny bundle into Artizea's waiting arms.
Artizea smiled weakly, her lips trembling. "Hi…" she breathed, her voice breaking into a tired laugh.
"Hi…" Rhyssand tried to echo, but the word came out cracked and unsteady, thick with tears.
"Rhys," she teased softly, glancing at the makeshift setup around her. "What's all this?"
"You needed celestial blood," he said, gesturing to the faint golden glow that still connected them.
Artizea sighed, of course she did, resting her head back against the pillow. "You're lucky I don't have the energy to yell at you right now."
But he did not smile. Instead, a heavy silence fell between them.
"Maybe I should take the tea, huh…" she murmured at last.
He hesitated before answering, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "I always thought you should. I just… did not know how to bring it up. When…"
"It is fine," she said gently. "We can talk about it."
And they did, sitting close, their son nestled between them. The candlelight flickered around them like breathing stars, and for once, there was no throne, no duty, no destiny. Only two souls speaking honestly in the stillness of the night.
By the time their voices fell quiet, the world had shifted. The birth ofCallisto marked not just the start of a new life but the beginning of a new chapter in theirs.
Months had passed, and Rhyssand cared for Seraphina with the same devotion he gave to Callisto. He often found himself in the nursery, juggling the needs of both children. determined to allow his wife some much-needed rest, she would allow herself if he begged on both knees, he cradled Callisto in one arm while rocking Seraphina's crib with his free hand.
Seraphina was only a few weeks old, and Callisto was just slightly younger. Months passed, and Rhys cared for Seraphinawith the same devotion he gave to Callisto.
But there was one visit he could not avoid—a visit to Kur to let Ishtar see the daughter she would never raise.
Artizea leaned against the door frame, watching him. "You look like you have done this your whole life," she teased, her eyes soft with affection and… something else. The sight alone could make any sane woman want more. Any sane.
Rhyssand glanced up, "This is a drastic difference to how celestials are raised, I am pulling what knowledge I have of your tiny library."
"It is not tiny," she pouted.
"Compared to Celestaia?…Yeah," with a tired but genuine smile on his face. "I might have to grow another two limbs at this rate. They both have their own idea of when It is time to sleep."
Artizea chuckled, stepping into the room. "Allow me to help," she asked, taking Seraphina into her arms, studying the infant's tiny features. "It is strange," she said quietly. "To think of her as your sister. She could almost pass as Callisto's real sister. They're like two halves of the same star."
"She could," Rhyssand agreed, "We should let it be that Tizea…"
Artizea nodded with a smile, "Like Arthur and me…" she whispered. But Seraphina began to cry in her arms, her brows furrowed. "Does she not accept me? Because she has still yet to latch…"
"Of course she accepts you," he murmured, brushing his thumb under her jaw. "The healers say it will take time, physical as well as emotional, unlike…me, her birth mother is still alive, she is most likely confused," he said, moving to Seraphian's soft cheek. "I find that when they're together, they seem soothed by each other's presence. Her cries always soften when they're side by side. Look."
He was right.
The two infants seemed to recognize each other, as they did from the very beginning, when Callisto had first fallen silent, and now whenever Seraphina was near, his golden eyes wide with wonder as their tiny hands reached for one another.
The rhythmic hush of Artizea's sleeping breath in the bed just beyond the open door. Moonlight spilled through the curtains, casting a faint glow over the cradle and the man beside it.
Rhyssand sat in silence, cradling Callisto against his chest. His son made a soft sigh, barely a noise, as if feeling the call to the wind, the urge to spread his wings, but his father tightened his hold, as if anchoring himself to the moment. To the now, to this.
A shift in the air made him turn around, thinking it was Artizea's nightmares again, but this time it was Madeline standing at the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. Her usual sharpness was dulled by exhaustion—and something else. A quiet, cautious protectiveness.
"You should be resting," he said softly.
She ignored the comment, stepping farther into the nursery until she reached his side. Her eyes flicked down to Callisto. Her face, usually unreadable, softened just slightly.
"He looks like her," she whispered.
He smiled faintly. "He does."
Madeline's gaze lingered, then slowly drifted up to his face.
"Why don't you like me?" he asked, his voice just above a whisper.
She hesitated, startled by the question. For a long moment, she did not answer. She watched him rock Callisto, the motion steady, gentle. Loving. But her tone held no warmth."I just can't help but feel… You are going to be the death of her one way or another."
Rhyssand's head lifted, his expression unreadable."I would never allow that," he said, voice low and firm.
Madeline's eyes narrowed, but not with anger—grief, maybe. Fear. She stepped closer and crouched down to meet his eye level, her voice barely audible. "She lost three times the blood an average woman can bear today. Three times, Rhyssand," she said his name like a plague, "Did you know that all-knowing god?" she shot
"I did," he shot back, "We talked about it, we agreed—we— knew the risks."
Madeline scoffed, "She may be half whatever you are—"
"Whatever I am?" His voice dropped.
"What if you could not save her this time! What would have happened if she were anything less was as certain as the sunrise. You knew that, you should have term—"
His jaw tensed. "I am going to assume you are not suggesting I should have removed my son against my wife's wishes—"
"I sat there just like you, I held her hand while she screamed your name, while she bled on that bed, with those incompetent nurses I had to take over from, and you know what I saw?" she continued, voice tight with restrained emotion. "She could have died. She almost did." She blinked away her tears, but her eyes never left his. "Because she loves you, and I know you love her, too. And maybe it is not my place to have an opinion about her choice of husband—"
"I think it is far too late for that," he muttered softly.
"Because Eric is dead—"
Rhyssand froze.
"I am her friend." Madeline said sternly, "Her best friend, for a long time. And It is not about jealousy, I want to see her happy, and she is, but—I can't pretend I trust you. I hope I am wrong. I do, but I can't lie to you, I do not hate you—no—I am terrified of you."
After a moment, Rhyssand looked back down at Callisto. Then slowly, carefully, he rose to his feet and gently laid the child in the crib. "I will not tell my wife of our talk," he said at last, his voice low but steady."Truthfully, I held a shield, specifically so you could speak freely. To let out what you needed to, without fear of her wrath or termination of her only true friendship." He exhaled, his gaze fixed on the sleeping infant. "Because, believe it or not, I do not only care for her well-being. I want to see her happy. And she was happier with you before I ever forcibly came into her life." He turned then, meeting her eyes with quiet honesty. "I love her enough to know what she needs. And she needs you." There was a pause — long enough for the weight of his words to settle. "She's lucky to have you, Madeline," he added softly. "They all are, in everything you give."
Madeline's guard faltered — just a little — when she finally looked at him, and for the first time, there was no hostility between them. Only an unspoken understanding and a shared devotion to the same woman who bound their fates together. She nodded, arms folding again, though not as tightly. "Congratulations on your son," she said.
He did not respond at first, but as he sat back down beside the crib, he breathed in, "However, if she decides to have another child, if that is what she wants from a husband, from me. Then I am bound to give her that wish. I will not pretend to dislike the idea." He paused, eyes never leaving the newborn's face. "My wish to you is this: if any misfortune should occur because you interfere with such a blessing…" His gaze snapped up, the monarch's authority settling into his voice like steel. "I will make certain your eternal rest is anything but peaceful."
Madeline did not flinch; nothing could have skinned her alive like looking into the eyes of his mother's wicked, filled gaze that night. It was a memory that could never be erased, although she could have sworn something shifted behind his eyes. Not softness. Not regret. Something deeper. A plea.
A vow for a vow.
ERESHKIGAL
The gates of the underworld loomed like the jaws of some ancient beast, shadows curling in and out of their carved obsidian teeth. Alexander walked forward without hesitation. His boots echoed on the black stone as if the world itself were measuring each step.
Upon the throne of bone and gold sat its empress Ereshkigal, "The great Alexander, the Conqueror… selflessly saving another." Her voice cut through the darkness, lighting a path of blue fire from her throne to him.
A slow grin pulled at Alexander's mouth. "And you are?"
Her gaze sharpened, and the air seemed to still. Rising from her throne, she descended the steps with grace. "Is it not obvious?"
He chuckled. "Forgive me. I see a pretty lady and… think of atrocities."
The goddess scoffed, though there was a flicker of amusement. "You humans never cease to amaze me. No wonder the heavens wished to wipe you away."
His grin faded. "Did we win?"
"You won the battle…" Ereshkigal said, circling him slowly, "but not the war. That is still to come." With a flick of her hand, the green fire rose into a wall, almost like cave paintings telling a story, moments from his life playing like fragments of memory.
"You, Alexander Santanio—" she recited the following list with disdain, "Nearly fifty wives, twice as many children, one on the way—"
"Damn," he frowned, "But any chance do you know where they are?…"
The goddess frowned in disinterest, "Countless lands seized and left leaderless in your wake, all in the name of your monarch. Tell me, mortal—what do you think will happen when I weigh your soul? I must remind you, Lies are forbidden at a god's threshold."
Alexander gave a short, humorless laugh. "I am dead, aren't I? Even if I wanted to, what good could you possibly do to me?"
"A body can die," Ereshkigal said coldly. "A soul cannot. Imagine what I could make you endure for eternity."
"It won't matter," he replied. "I won't pretend I lived a noble life. But I gave it up for one thing—so the people I lovecould live. So, weigh my soul and be done with it."
Her expression barely shifted as she summoned the scales. Light and shadow burned against each other. At last, her brows drew together.
"Your good deeds outweigh your sins. I can only assume you have the favor of the gods, or rather, my nephew." Ereshkigal closed her hand, banishing the scales. "Come."
They walked in silence until the Bridge of the Afterlife stretched before them, a single thread suspended over endless dark.
"You have been granted eternal rest," Ereshkigal said, "Though I hardly think you deserve it."
"I agree."
Her head snapped toward him. "What—?"
"You said it yourself—I was a shit father, a shit husband, and probably the worst human to ever walk your realm. So do it. Give me your justice."
She studied him, brows knitting. "Strange… I sense no deception." At last, she reached for his hand. "Then, stay by my side for eternity."
He raised a brow,
"It is… lonely here, since my son died."
He was caught off guard, then a smirk tugged at his lips."No test run? What if I am not to your satisfaction? My guess is you are into bondage."
The Color rose to her cheeks. "Who said anything about bedding?"
"You're face."
"You said you have sailed every corner of the human realm. I merely wish you to tell me everything about it, from the highest peak to the ocean bed."
"And… by everything?"
"You are the most revolting man to enter my realm," she said flatly, trying to withdraw her hand.
He caught it. "At least tell me your name."
"Ereshkigal is the name I was blessed—"
"Nah."
Nah? She thought, was that some sort of human slang? "I beg your pardon?" she asked in disbelief.
"You are asking a former rake to commit to a woman for eternity. I am not doing it for a goddess hiding behind a title."
She huffed. "Then give me a human name. I've always wondered what it would be like… to be, not a goddess."
He considered her for a moment. "How about Cleopatra?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Is that one of your concubines? If so, I refuse—"
"No…" he chuckled, " I don't know why, but you remind me of a snake. A very beautiful snake, I might add." She stilled. "Tell me something else, why is it eternity? Do gods not die as well?"
"I sometimes forget mortals must be told every single thing; some do not even remember once they have been told, so what is the point? But very well, the story goes as follows. Long ago, I visited the human realm. That in itself was Foolish enough, but my curiosity led me further. I wished to see at least one human. And I did, I-i got scared, and before he saw me, I took the form of a serpent, I…broke the rules of Balance, I tried to escape, but I grew hungry…and devoured a simple blade of grass he left, while taking a bath. That act, so small, so meaningless to me, made me a living legend in a world I have not set foot in since." She sighed, not waiting for him to ask why. "For breaking my oath, I was punished to remain within my own realm,to govern it for eternity, upon awaiting the one to free us all. Every hundred years, I am reborn. My memories are kept within a gem, though I have never dared to look back upon them. Death is all I have and will ever know. Imagine—five hundred years' worth of it…" She waited for a question, but thought it had nothing to do with her life. rather another. "Now that he is here, I only asked that I remain bound to my realm; me, no more reincarnations. I am the realm. The realm is Me, that is my oath."
"What of the rules of my oath?""You only exist as long as I exist; no one else can see or hear. You belong to me and only breathe when I say you can breathe."
Alexander's gaze dropped to the exposed flesh she hadn't yet to realized was indeed exposed, or maybe this was how a goddess was attired, his mouth dry at the thought. He had taken cities, broken empires, fucked his way through harems of women who wept with pleasure beneath him. But this—this was a conquest of another kind. "You speak as if you already own me," he said. "What if I refuse?" though he already knew the answer.
She stepped closer, "Then you will rot, as all mortals do. But you will not refuse, will you, Alexander Santonio? For it is not in your nature."
He had spent his life chasing the next victory, the next thrill, the next body to claim. And now, here was a queen who offered him forever. "You drive a hard bargain, my lady," he murmured, "But I accept. I have been lonely as well in my travels; now I wish to… settle down, I wish to rest, for eternity."
She hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Very well. Call me Cleopatra."
"Call me…" he said. "Alex."