Antares made his way to the great hall. The path he chose to get there was one very few knew about. In his youth, he would explore the castle in the dead of night by himself trying to find mysteries and clues left behind from his kin centuries ago. He had grown up on stories on the construction of Castle Xerxes; on how it was built four times over. Kings through the millennia would each add to the castle, a part of themselves. A moment from their reign engraved into the marble walls of the castle. The exterior of the castle would rarely change, but within its hallowed halls, many were busy at work. To Antares, Castle Xerxes was more akin to a labyrinth than a castle or a palace. And still, Antares found comfort in that as he walked the halls.

  Part of him wondered what all those great kings would say if they could see the castle now. Each one of them building on top of the other, extending in many directions. All for their names to be nothing more than echoes no longer spoken. He looked at the finely carved marble, he could see no fault in the work. Such exquisite work done. And it did not matter. Very little did when time was given enough opportunity to march on. And yet the young prince could not help but chuckle to himself, as much as he admonished his ancestors for their lofty desires. For only a mere moment he thought to himself, he too would like to add to Castle Xerxes; a reminder that he too existed.

  As he made his way around another corner, he could hear faint chatter and people shuffling around. It was not that he was avoiding conversation with people, it more so had to do with Antares growing exasperated with the looks they gave him. They were unsure what face to show when they offered their condolences for his loss. His issues with his father were well publicized throughout Iliad. It was no secret they were at odds but still he loved his father as desperately as he tried not to. He would never fully recover from his loss, but he did not need the constant reminder from those here today as they gave him looks akin to what one would give a child.

  In these empty halls he felt at peace, the light shone through the windows illuminating the great passageways. Although the exterior of the castle was a uniform obsidian, a monolithic structure of pure radiance. But within the castle, the interior was decorated with pristine marble across the floors and ceilings. The contrast was striking, reminiscent of a dream. Different colors danced in the light. Stygian architecture was one of careful consideration. No space was wasted, everything needed a reason to be where it was. Gold trims adorned the many pillars that he walked past, each hand crafted with such care that even thousands of years later the details were still visible. On the wall hung portraits of his kin like that of the other halls he walked through. Again some of them he knew, others he did not. Yet they all carried the same air about them, the air of duty and superiority. As he went around the last corner, he could already hear a large commotion coming from the throne room. Antares let out a large sigh, the arrival of the elders always made people uncomfortable. Part of him believed they reveled in their mysticism and at times might have even enjoyed it.

  As he reached the great doors carved out of an ancient tree, he placed his hands on them. Despite being thousands of years old, he could feel the power emanating from them. It felt vibrant yet old, cold yet warm. He remembered stories of his mother telling him about how the doors were carved and who carved it. A story he had grown fond of as it was one of the few times what he learned about his kin was not steeped in blood and destruction. The tale was about the brother of the king at the time, wanting to show his love and appreciation. It is said the brother was an amateur carpenter wanting to create something out of an old tree that was nearing the end of its life. The story went as he remembered, the brother pouring every ounce of care and love into each carving, he ran his hands through the crevices. He knew the story of what was carved by heart; it was their entire life up till then. Everything they had ever been through, all their failures, their successes and everything else in between. It is said the king it was dedicated to, stood where Antares was standing for days marveling at his brother's creation, overcome with so much adoration for his little brother. Antares gently put his head against the door and spoke in the old tongue.

  "Brother, wherever you are please give me strength. Not to rule, but to be strong enough to hold them together... Until your return." he whispered.

  As Antares opened the door, the weight of it creaked and groaned. The sound was loud enough that it reverberated throughout the throne room. It silenced all that were present. Words were not needed, his very arrival was more than enough. All those present stopped and looked at him, some with disdain, others with baited breath. And a few of them simply were expressionless. Antares was not a large man by any means, he cut a slender well toned frame. Even still in that moment, he must have looked far larger than he was. No one dared speak as he approached.

  The throne room was truly magnificent in all of its glory. This was not unique to Iliad, truthfully, all the throne rooms throughout the 9 realms were spectacles in their own right. But what set the Stygian throne room apart from the others was not its sheer size or magnitude. It was the reverence one felt being in it. It was the oldest of the throne rooms throughout the realms, and over the millennia it was responsible for the death of millions. Although they would never admit it, the irony was not lost on the Stygians that one of their greatest objects of power was entirely constructed by a human. A fact the Stygians are never quick to mention. In comparison to the rest of the castle, the throne room was completely covered in obsidian. Its presence devoured all light around it. From it darkness seemed to emanate. And still plenty were drawn to its allure. At the angle the castle was situated, it had constant sunlight for much of the day. The sun's rays bounced off its walls and illuminated the entire room. Livery of past Stygian rulers covered the walls that seemed to stretch into the sky. The ceiling was decorated with an otherworldly large mural of the Stygian god King Gilgamesh, the first emperor of Aurum. He was adorned in his golden armor surrounded by his legendary weapons. If there were those who did not think him a God, those thoughts were quickly dispelled upon looking at his mural up above. It is said the creator of the mural was incapable of properly capturing Gilgamesh's likeness. Instead, where his head should have been a large sun was painted, as it was believed to look into the eyes of the emperor was to look into the very sun itself. A golden like hue radiated from the mural as though Gilgamesh would come down at any moment and reclaim his title of Emperor.

  In the four corners of the room stood statues of what many considered to be the greatest Stygian rulers to have ever lived. In the first corner, standing proudly Dyros Xerxes . The first son of Gilgamesh, in all his glory. A large man who was said to stand seven feet tall and whose accomplishments were even larger than he was. In the second corner standing resolute Antares Xerxes I. The man that was known as the only being ever to slay a true immortal. Antares did not only share a name sake with his kin but many believed he and his father were spitting images of their ancestor, more so Antares himself. In the third corner, standing calmly was Adelheidis Xerxes. Not only was she the first and only human to ever sit upon a Stygian throne, it is widely believed if not for her, the Stygian people would have longed since followed the Fire Giants into extinction. And in the last corner standing defiantly, Xerxia Xerxes. The last Stygian Empress that many considered to be the Goddess of Spears and the only Stygian woman to be given the title of Lord of War.

  These four people who lived throughout different times, forged themselves in different ages represented the Stygian culture as one that is not only powerful, resolute and calm but overwhelmingly vengeful. Their marks never to be forgotten, their stories to be told for as long as men had tongues to speak. To Antares he felt small in the presence of merely their statues. He believed he could never have a life worthy enough to be mentioned in the same breath as these heroes. Each one a savior in their own right. He, a drunk outcast at best, and a failure of a prince at worst. As he passed through the crowd, they parted ways to allow him passage. And in front of him stood the throne.

  Memories flooded within him looking up to meet his father's gaze. Back then the throne to him was so high up, his father might as well have been sitting amongst the stars. But yet for some reason even now that he had grown much over the years the throne still felt a long ways away from him. If he tried to reach out and grab it he felt he would never truly reach it. His interest was not on the gold plated designs that adorned the chair, nor the various gems that dotted all around it; each one seemingly brighter than the last. No, his interest was squarely on the three beings that stood in front of the throne like sentinels. It was they who would grant permission, or deny him.

  "Finally you grace us with your presence, exile." Uttered the elder on the left.

  "Perhaps he is unaware of the magnitude of what is at stake." responded the elder on the right.

  Antares knelt much to gasps and muttering of those around him. He lowered his head and touched his palm on the floor.

  "Forgive me elders, there were matters I needed to attend to," Antares responded softly.

  "Matters greater than this?" said the being on the left motioning to the throne.

  Typical. Thought Antares. Even in their old ages, the Stygian elders still were full of theatrics. This whole event, the death of his father and the choosing of the next king was all a spectacle to them. Truthfully he knew a majority of them were glad his father had died, but he could not voice his opinion. Not now at least. The mystery surrounding the elders was one that dated back thousands of years. Who they were was unimportant as they shed any sense of identity upon ascending to their positions. What little is known is that they were once powerful Stygians during their time. Every age had one, a Stygian who transcended all others, who showed feats and capabilities only ever heard about in stories. In total there were only thirteen of them at a time. Each of them were of various ages, ranging from a few thousand years old to a few ten thousand. It is true the Stygian king ruled Iliad, but the elders in some eyes ruled over the Stygians and by extension the realms. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately depending on who benefited, they rarely if ever involved themselves with the matters of Iliad and what lay beyond. They remained in the ancestral city of Uruk in the far north, hidden behind a lake that never freezes and mountains that never thawed. It is said one can count on one hand over the last ten thousand years how many times they have left Uruk and come this far south. Their reclusive nature, their desire to operate within the dark offered them many opportunities, none more greater than the freedom to do as they saw fit. Away from all those who would dare wonder. Each elder was indistinguishable from the other, their garments masked them in a thick darkness, hidden behind their hoods were faces which were not so easily gleamed. Some had not been seen for millennia and they were content with that.

  For Antares his relationship with them was a complicated one, his father's actions following the day his mother was killed, soured any chance of mutual association for the foreseeable future. What made the elders terrifying was not their reach or combined wisdom, but their constant communion with the Ancestors. The Ancestors guided the Stygian people from The Great Beyond and the elders were the only ones capable of connecting them. Stygians had no need for Gods or anything as inconsequential as that. Those who came before would lead them to a future fate had carved for them all. But that angered Antares. Long had his people been slaves to fate, resigned to carry the will of those who no longer were here to experience the consequences of those actions. To Antares, the elders were merely puppets, men and women enamored by the tales of old, for a future that was abstruse.

  "Enough now, rise prince Antares." Spoke the elder in the middle.

  Antares rose slowly making sure to mask any and all looks of worry on his face.

  The elder in the middle took a step forward.

  "All those who do not carry the blood of Xerxes leave this room at once." He commanded.

  King's Speech. Thought Antares.

  Antares had read the stories of its origins and was taught it in his youth. A power capable of bringing any man, beast or being to its knees. It took him a long time to learn how to master it. In that moment his thoughts went back to his youth using the power on various small animals trying to command them. If only his younger self knew how proficient he had become in using it, he might have even learned it earlier.

  And yet being proficient as he was, paled in comparison to how the elder used the power. Antares could feel the primordial pull of his words, clear and concise in his delivery. His entire body shuddered under the gravity of the words. They were words that carried the weight of thousands of years, words that had experienced much suffering and great conquest. They were the words of a king. He turned to look as the humans shuffled themselves from the room without protest. Their faces were adorned with blank expressions as they left, very much so under the effects of King's Speech. None could muster the urge to even argue, not even the great houses themselves. Antares did not like this, he felt at the very least house Robin, Nuthatch and Bunting deserved to remain. They had been his people's closest and oldest allies. At least one member of each of those houses had been present when a new king was selected. This tradition dated back some fifty thousand years. As the last of them shuffled out of the room all that remained were those of the royal family numbering some 30 people. In this room the next ruler of Iliad would be decided.

  "With that done, we can finally begin!" exclaimed the middle elder.

  Without missing a beat. "Elders! I welcome you to Akkad, the second greatest city in all the lands. I see you have come to right the wrongs." exclaimed Daimion.

  "And what wrongs are those, little boy." asked the elder on the left, cocking his head slightly.

  Daimion took a step back and tried to gather himself. "T-that is of course the line of succession for the throne."

  "So you presume to know our purpose?" retorted the elder.

  "What no-" began Daimion before he was cut off.

  "Insolent brat, I have slaughtered thousands for less." threatened the elder approaching Daimion.

  Tensions were rising, Antares began to take a step towards his younger brother. He would not let anything happen to him, not in front of his wife and children. The elders were on edge, even by their standards, he could sense something was bothering them. He turned to Casspien and without a word he knew he could feel it too. They exchanged words with their eyes and were prepared to intervene if the situation demanded it. In that moment the elder in the middle raised his hand and the elder that was advancing stopped.

  "Enough of these games. He may lack understanding, but he is right. We are here for one reason only, to choose the next ruler of Iliad." finished the elder in the middle.

  There was an audible silence in the group, all knew there were really only two candidates, despite once being four. Antares and Daimion exchanged looks, and Daimion's eyes were filled with nothing but contempt for his brother. Antares looked away with sadness.

  "Princess Guinevere, step forward." Spoke the elder on the right, for the first time. Her voice, an icy steel.

  Guinevere jolted up. The group looked amongst themselves and to her and yet her eyes were only looking at the floor. The elder on the right, motioned her forward. Guinevere moved through the group, her attire one of mourning. She wore a dress that was adorned with several Stygian symbols of death and loss. Despite the occasion, it was a beautiful dress. It hugged her body and carefully displayed her features. Her exposed shoulders gave way to a figure that had both a harsh and soft touch to it. Standing at six feet, six inches she towered over many as she made her way through. Given her large size many would be forgiven for thinking that was her defining feature, but it was not. It was her wild red hair. Antares had always known how it bothered her, and yet he loved it anyway. The burning look of it almost as though it was alive. As she reached the front she moved some of her hair from her face exposing a beautiful dark-skinned face. She had the eyes of someone in a pain one can only experience in losing a parent. She knelt down.

  "I am at your service, great elder." Guinevere said submissively.

  Even with her kneeling, Guinevere towered over the elder like a giant. The elder chuckled to herself, it was not lost on her the sight she was seeing. Guinevere gave a quizzical look and the elder waved her hand dismissively.

  "Forgive me child, the ancestors whispered an amusing tale in my ear just now." began the elder, "Are you aware of why I have summoned you?"

  Guinevere hesitated, looking for the right words.

  "I am aware today is not a day for these things, given what you have lost, what you have all lost. But the fate of our home is at stake." she finished.

  Guinevere took a deep breath, "I am one of the chosen next in line for the throne."

  She had always known but not once in the five years since Antares exile had she ever uttered it out loud. Saying it now, in front of her family overwhelmed her. She cursed herself for feeling so helpless. Someone of her status should not waver as she had in front of the elders, especially not in front of Antares. She could not bring herself to meet his eyes.

  "That you are." began the elder. "But I am told you have rescinded your candidacy despite having plenty of support and instead choose to support another name. I would argue you are the worthiest amongst them here, but I would like to know why?"

  Silence filled the massive room. All focus was on Guinevere and her response. Many would say that despite her fame both on the battlefield and off it, Guinevere was never a talkative person. Even by Stygian standards. That was one of two traits she inherited from her father, the other being is otherworldly strength and durability. Being only twenty years old, Guinevere was extremely young by both human and Stygian standards, yet many would argue she held the most important decision in Stygian history here today, dating back at least ten thousand years to the Age of Conquest; of the time of Xerxia Xerxes and her kin. Guinevere was not misguided in this, the pressure of what she needed to say seemed to lodge itself in her throat. She wanted to speak but could not seem to find the words.

  "It is alright child, tell us what you wished to say." The elder said, resting a hand on her shoulder.

  No one had noticed the elder cross the distance between them so effortlessly, let alone Guinevere who felt her icy touch on her shoulder. Regardless, she filled her with a sense of power and agency, it seemed she finally found the strength to say what she wanted to say. She took a deep breath.

  "For as long as I can remember, my father has only ever talked of one person sitting on the throne and it was not himself." She began. "He hated being king, he despised every meeting, every inconvenience that came with ruling over people. And the truth is, my father did not die today, he died decades ago. And as such the land and her people have been dying too. But despite all of this, he knew who could save our people, who could lead us anywhere but here. I do not care what happened five years ago, I do not care about your disdain for my father. Do not let your feelings cloud what you already know to be true, there is no better ruler of Iliad than my brother, prince Antares Xerxes." concluded Guinevere.

  The air was heavy, many had been waiting for this day but none of them could have quite guessed how it would have happened. For many months now, perhaps spanning two years. There was talk of a faction slowly growing for an outcast prince to assume the throne as he was once destined. At the time it was only small embers in the palace shadows. But now, what Guinevere had done after two years of preparation was finally to ignite the raging fire. And she had done so beautifully. Those who supported Antares led by Casspien could not hide their smiles. Although Casspien was not foolish enough to relax, this was only half the battle won. His gaze shifted to his left and rested upon Daimion. How he would respond would be telling.

  There was sudden laughter from the elder in front of Guinevere, her icy laugh echoed through the room. It was impossible to know her thoughts. Not only did her robe obscure her face and body, but it seemed to also obscure her mind too. The elders, they were truly beyond the reach of this world.

  "Good child, very good. I can see why they say you take after him so much." teased the elder.

  Guinevere shot her a quizzical look, but before she could ask who 'they' and 'him' were, Daimion spoke.

  "Well that is all well and fine." He began, "It does not change the fact Antares is an exile, who broke the code of the Lords of War." Daimion said.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  He glanced over at Cirella looking for any kind of support and he got it from his wife. This bolstered him, it filled him with the necessary confidence to keep going, to keep pushing. What he sought was within reach. Even if his own twin sister did not see him fit to rule he did not care. He would show them he was the only possible option. He took a step forward.

  "We have all heard the rumors of escapades while in exile. The monikers he is known by such as 'The Earl of Lavender'. Even in exile he still embarrasses the throne. He embarrasses the royal family! He is not fit for it. My brother is nothing more than another disappointment that could not live up to what my father wanted. "

  Daimion could not tell if there was silence or not over the blood rushing through his ears. 5 years he had. five years to position himself on a pedestal. When his father had gotten too weak to rule, he was made Lord Regent and ruled in his stead. He believed the elders would not take it away from him, especially because of his efforts to return Iliad to the old ways. He needed to make up their minds for them. Daimion took the opportunity to deliver his final barrage.

  "Is this who we want to see sit on the throne? Have we forgotten the reason for his exile so quickly, have we forgotten that it is him, Antares, who slaughtered Nykos Xerxes-."

  A shockwave reverberated throughout the entire throne room. The glassed windows rattled and cracks began to form on the marble walls. People shuddered under the overwhelming intensity that was being displayed. A sharp current flowed through the room threatening to harm anyone in its path. People covered and braced their faces. A deep low hum was building beneath their feet from one direction. Casspien was not foolish enough to bear his bloodlust, his actions alone were enough to shame him and his family branch, but if his bloodlust had leaked out even just a single drop, he could have lost his life. Even though his ire was directed at Daimion for speaking Nykos' name so freely, the elders would take it as an attack. Just as quickly as he released his pressure he suppressed himself completely.

  "Insolent Child. You would bare your fangs at me? When I was your age I drank more blood than wine. Have I ascended so far, you cannot see me anymore?" Bellowed the elder.

  Casspien began to bow, "Forgive me great one, I forgot myself for a moment."

  "You think that is satisfactory-" began the elder.

  "Now, now, it's alright, the boy did not aim it at you, and he apologized." Interjected the elder in the middle.

  "Nevertheless-"

  "Enough." The elder said.

  The room fell oddly quiet, it was not that the elder said it in any kind of voice, nor did he raise his voice. But the manner in which he uttered the words, the way a king would speak. It felt like it influenced the very particles in the air. His words held no power and yet affected everything the same. His words, his power, was simply enough. The elder turned to Antares.

  "Prince Daimion speaks the truth. Your actions years ago were grave to say the least. The penalty for killing a fellow Lord of War is death. Yet that was avoided because your father exiled you before a tribunal could be held. There are those who believe you have yet to pay for your crimes. Some of them are in this very room." finished the elder.

  Antares glanced over to where the rest of his family were standing, many of them unable to look at him. Despite being expressionless he could see how they felt. Casspien included. It had been five years since that fateful day. Try as he might he was unable to move past it, move past what he did. The memories flooding back to him, his face coming back into his mind. His chest burned slightly, he could feel the overwhelming sadness begin to bubble its way to the surface. Antares knew he did his duty that day, but that wasn't enough to absolve him of the guilt that chained his heart. In the end all that mattered was that Antares killed his dearest friend five years ago and for that, he was exiled by his father.

  "I do not deny anything that my little brother says." said Antares, gesturing to Daimion. "Frankly, I have no right to rule. Not after what I did, a point I made to my father."

  Daimion began nodding his head in approval.

  "With that being said." began Antares " My father was still adamant I rule, that I do my duty to Aurum and her people. He said if I was so against it I could look at it as some kind of punishment for my actions." he chuckled.

  Antares slowly walked past the elders towards the throne. Memories of his time here when he was a child. At the time all he ever wanted to do was sit and look out imagining thousands praising him. It truly was a beautiful throne, it glimmered slightly in the light. It was large enough for one to completely lie across its smooth Obsidian surface. Hundreds had sat on this throne before Antares, their actions and decisions affecting the lives of so many across not only this realm but others too. He wondered how they could live with the sins of the things they did. Antares had barely had that much responsibility and what little he experienced sent him on a near endless spiral.

  He was a drunk and a coward in his eyes. A disgrace of a son, brother and most importantly a warrior. He had only seen twenty-six years and yet barely survived them. He ran his hands across the throne. He did not remember much of his mother, but what he did remember of her was that she was kind, and most of all she would always tell him that he was destined for more than anyone. Was this what his mother meant, thought Antares.

  "I always found it hard to refuse my father while he lived." Antares said turning to the elders, a strong look of determination in his eyes. "So Elders of Uruk, I say this here to you today. I will serve my punishment. I will be king. Serve in my fathers place and save my people. For as long as I need to, until Hyperion returns. After... We'll let the Ancestors decide my fate."

  The elder in the middle chuckled. The elders looked at each other. There was no way of discerning what they were thinking. All waited with baited breath to hear what they would say. A look of utter shock came across Daimion's face.

  "We had long since decided you would be the next ruler of Iliad, but there were some who still had reservations." The elder in the middle said, looking to the elder near Daimion who scoffed. "But I am sure those concerns have long since been dispelled, we are pleased," he concluded.

  There were murmurs in the group, everyone sported a confused and bewildered appearance. The events of the day were sure to reverberate throughout Iliad and most importantly Aurum. There were those in the group who had been supporters of Antares, such as Casspien, Guinevere, Lady Alena and some extended members of the royal family. Their expression first being shock but eventually becoming kinder upon the realization of what had happened. On the other hand, you had those who supported Daimion, or rather supported anyone but Antares, that being Anastasia, Cirella and various other members of House Xerxes who were in attendance as observers for those who could not make the funeral of king Barranagan.

  Though, of all who were present it was Daimion whose reaction was most expressive. The young prince had over the last five years cultivated various allies with different factions within house Xerxes for power. His father made it a point to raise him in the art of diplomacy and he used his considerable skills and ways with words to garner support. Although there were those who believed the direction he was leading Iliad in was one of ruin, many Stygians still believed what he was doing was right. His goal was a simple one, despite the ramifications it would mean on relations with other realms, specifically their allies. Daimion wished to return Iliad to the days where Stygian rule was absolute, he wished to further elevate his people beyond their status, in a way to return things to the way they were thousands of years ago. This style of thinking was popular with the older generation of Stygians, as many of them felt in the last ten thousand years there had been more focus on helping and supporting humans at the cost of many Stygian lives. There had been a shift and Daimion was adept at realizing this and used it to his advantage.

  Yet despite all of his careful planning, his bowing and offering of tribute to various factions within his house, all of it was undone in a matter of seconds. An overwhelming rage began to boil inside of him, his ire turning towards his failure of an elder brother. Were it not for his return, for their father choosing to reinstate Antares as heir and eventual king, the throne would be his. To him it was unfair, he had done everything required of him, while his brother indulged in the pleasures of the flesh, it was he who stayed up night after night, scheming and finding ways to better his people, to actualize their true goal. He would not let it end, not like this.

  "This is absurd, I refuse to accept this!" Daimion blurted out.

  Everyone turned to look at him, he looked at Cirella for support but all she could do was shake her head in disapproval. No matter he thought, he did not need his wife's support, he could very well do this by himself, just like his father had done during his various battles, he had his blood in him, he could not be stopped.

  "You will make him king? After everything he's done? You're going to reward him with the most powerful throne in Aurum. Forgive me elders but I cannot accept this!" barked Daimion.

  "Oh? Insolent child, know when you are defeated." scoffed the elder closest to him.

  "Daimion-." began Antares.

  Before Antares could speak the great doors to the throne room were forcibly swung open. A gust of wind blew through the room and made everyone save for the elders to brace themselves. With the wind, came a fiery pressure, overwhelming in its intensity, threatening to consume everything and everyone. Where this kind of power originated from was from the impossibly large Stygian man who stood at the door sporting a large grin across his face.

  "Uncle Typhon!" shouted Samara and Loukas in unison.

  Before Cirella could chastise them for speaking out of line they both ran towards their hulking uncle and embraced him.

  "C'mere you little rascals, it's been too long. I hope you're not giving your mother more trouble than she can handle?" Typhon said, picking them and swinging them around. His laughter reverberated throughout the entire room. Yet his presence seemed to calm things, as though this would be the end to an eventful morning. As the children clung to his large frame, Typhon locked eyes with Antares for the first time in five years and approached the would-be-king.

  Antares was by no means a small man, he confidently stood at six feet two inches, but as Typhon finally stood before him, his old friend, no, his brother in many ways, towered over him. Typhon stood at seven feet nine inches tall. A true giant of a man. His large well built frame was proportionally distributed throughout his body. His stygian attire was one worn by those of the Stygian royal family, and yet the fabrics could barely contain his muscular figure. Yet despite all of this what stood out first when one looked at Typhon was not his height per say, but it was the uncontainable red hair that he had similar to Guinevere. For just like Guinevere, Typhon inherited not only the blood of the Fire Giants but their hair and height. His red hair shone vibrantly, as did his beard too. Despite his considerable list of accomplishments on the battlefield, he still had the visage of a young man full of life and hope. To some his burly features made him handsome, while to others it made him intimidating, yet all could agree his jovial and reckless nature were genuine.

  Neither of them spoke for some time, just staring at each other, analyzing each other. Neither men had seen each other in a long time, they took the moment to study what changes had occurred and what still remained the same. But the truth was far simpler than that, neither men just did not know what to say to each other after so long. They both cautioned against saying the wrong thing, and yet in the end it was Typhon that broke the stalemate.

  "You need a haircut." stated Typhon plainly.

  "I should be telling you that, when's the last time you cut your hair?" responded Antares.

  "You're just jealous you can't grow hair this long." Typhon said, shaking his head.

  Both men began to grin and eventually broke out into laughter, they grasped each other's hand triumphantly and embraced. Despite the morning's events with the funeral and now this meeting about succession, he was glad he was home. There were so many faces he had not seen in so long, although he would never admit it, he was thankful Casspien managed to bring him back against his will, he missed his family dearly.

  "You're late." The elder next to Guinevere interrupted.

  "Elders!" Typhon boomed. "I welcome you to our lands south. As for being late, it is neither here nor there, the king is dead and we are all in mourning but what matters is that my brother is home! It is time to celebrate!" he said, placing an arm on Antares' shoulder.

  "Hmph! Do as you like, the ceremony is still some days away." The elder next to Daimion scolded.

  "Haha very well lets-" Typhon began before being interrupted.

  "No! I have still not accepted this-" Daimion demanded.

  "Huh? You're still going on about this?" Typhon bemoaned.

  "What do you mean 'still going on about this'. We are dealing with the fate of Iliad here, I will not back down."

  Typhon sighed.

  "You sure are persistent for someone so...lacking." Typhon replied unamused.

  "What do you mean?"

  Typhon put down the children and walked towards Daimion. Which made Daimion take steps back. Fear began to permeate throughout his body.

  "T-Typhon what are you doing? Stop it!" Daimion commanded.

  Yet Typhon ignored his words and continued his march, Daimion did not even notice when Typhon had grabbed both his shoulders. The strength Typhon possessed was said to be beyond understanding, even among Stygians who were naturally strong, the strength of the giant was far greater and Daimion would attest to it. He could not move an inch, it felt as though he were wedged in between two mountains unable to move, he looked on at his cousin, helplessly.

  "If you are so against Antares becoming king, then raise your blade."

  "T-that would be treason." Daimion responded softly.

  A grin came across Typhon's face, and it sent a chill down Daimion's spine. He moved his face closer to the terrified prince, almost as though he wished to whisper what he wanted to say. Such beast-like aura clung on to Typhon. His twilight eyes glowed deeply, to Daimion he was in the jaws of a great monster.

  "We may have all these fancy rules and laws." Typhon began, "But despite it all we can't hide what we are. Our people have gotten this far not because of words but because of steel, ice and blood. If your words aren't enough to help you reach the heights of those around you, then pick up a sword and cut them all down until you're the only one with your head held high."

  Daimion had all but held his breath while Typhon spoke, absorbing every word he said. He felt he would be swept up in the moment. He was right, as much as Stygian culture today was viewed as the pinnacle of civility, there was a time, a darker time where it was difficult to distinguish monsters from Stygians, a time where Stygian blood flowed freely through these halls. Although he did not say it, Typhon was alluding to the Trial of Two.

  A custom long buried in Stygian tradition and culture that allowed those who believed the king to be unworthy of the throne to take it for their own. It was a crude way of transferring power but it was effective. Many viewed it as a gamble as more often than not the heir to the throne was considered to be one of, if not the strongest at the time. Thus only one with equal or comparable power could challenge for the throne. Even so as they were now, Antares and Daimion were not comparable. An ocean's worth of power separated the two brothers, even in Antares weakened state Daimion could not ever dream to compete. No one knew this better than Daimion himself, despite his feelings for his brother, he acknowledged him as a warrior once. And not enough time had passed for it not to be true. But there was another option Daimion could use. Rather than fighting Antares himself, he could have another fight in his stead. All he would need to do is choose someone as strong as his brother, perhaps Anastasia, or maybe one of the many knights in his service. He shook the thought from his mind, he knew he couldn't do it. To have another fight in his stead would simply announce to everyone that he did not have the power to take what was his, instead another would have to for him. He had no options left, he had nowhere to turn. He looked into Typhon's eyes, they urged Daimion to ask for the duel, to prove his Will was equal to his brothers.

  "I-I can't. I won't win." Daimion said, falling to his knees.

  He felt like he held his breath for an eternity and was gasping for air. He looked at the floor ashamed with himself, his hands adorned with various gold and silver rings. Yet what he noticed was not the jewelry he was wearing but rather how soft his hands were. Hands that had never seen battle a day in their lives, incapable of properly wielding a blade, they felt nothing like Typhons hands that gripped him, hard and full of vigor, hands that had killed hundreds if not thousands. Hands capable of changing fate. Daimion suddenly hated his hands. He did not care how others perceived him at this moment, his focus was on Typhon and he raised his gaze to meet his eyes. For the first time in a long time Daimion felt a feeling he had forgotten, a feeling that he forced himself to forget all these years. He felt small. Typhon gave him a look of utter contempt, something he had only seen once before when it was his own father King Barranagan who had the same look at him once before. Daimion quickly lowered his head in shame.

  "Well that settles that! Let's go drink to the new king !" Typhon said with a brimming smile.

  He grabbed Antares and Guinevere by the arm and began to lead them away before they could protest. Both turned to look at the elders and they nodded in approval. Everyone began to make their way out of the room, it would not be long before the events of the meeting were made public throughout the entire castle and eventually the entire realm. As the last of them trickled out only the elders remained. The throne room was now empty and its doors sealed. They each took off their hoods, and with that their bodies returned to their original sizes. Each of the elders carried themselves with rarified air. There was no mistaking it, they were all once royalty in their respective eras.

  "Alecto." called the elder in the middle.

  Alecto Xerxes a name that had not been said in thousands of years. A name of a powerful woman, mother, daughter, a name of a queen. Her reign was like no other during her time. She was forced to prove herself time and time again, against Stygians and forces far greater. But regardless of what those would say about Alecto none would argue that she was the strongest during her time. As she was the one who brought about an end to the Age of Evil. A time of unimaginable violence. Yet she was not the only one, the other two, Aragon and Amon Xerxes. Their legends were well known by Stygians and humans alike. Their rule, long and stabilizing. Just as Alecto brought about the end of the Age of Evil, Amon and Aragon brought about the ends of the Age of Gods and Monsters and the Age of Heroes, respectively. They had lived long and interesting lives, but their stories were long forgotten, as was the way of the elders. The focus was no longer on the individuality of the person, but rather what the person could do for the whole. The elders were there to guide the Stygians on a path, a path that they have been walking for a hundred thousand years and a path that was soon nearing its end, depending on which of the elders you asked, that is.

  Alecto turned her head towards Aragon and frowned.

  "What is it?" She asked.

  Aragon paused slightly and rubbed his beard. He took another look at Alecto before talking. The millennia had been good to her. Despite aging quite considerably over the last five thousand years, he still remembered her as the feisty queen who always demanded an explanation for every action the elders took. She was not easy to deal with back then, her temper being just as short as her patience. And yet not much could've surprised him than her eventually becoming an elder. He was proud of her, all these years later he was still so proud of her.

  "Are you truly fine with Guinevere's decision?" Aragon asked quizzically.

  Before Alecto could respond Amon spoke up.

  "Hmph! It matters not, we have made the necessary choice." Amon stated plainly.

  Aragon turned towards Amon. Amon cut a thin build, unlike Aragon and Alecto, his age was far more apparent on his face. Among the three of them he was the eldest being some thirty thousand years old. He had watched over his people for a long time and helped guide them. A lifetime spent in service of the past for the future. There could be no greater reward for attaining as much power as he had through his life. Even Aragon, as old as he was, remembered stories of Amon Xerxes and how he was the one to kill the mad god Apollyon Xerxes. He was a legend back then and today he was nothing but a lost memory.

  The elders had experienced so much already, but even Aragon knew this was only the beginning. The other elders could not see what was coming or perhaps they did not want to, but still the three of them saw it clearly. And this was their only response to what they saw.

  "Amon is right." Aragon responded.

  Alecto rolled her eyes.

  "This is the only path we can take to ensure the survival of our people. He must be the answer to the question."

  "And you really think he is the answer?" asked Alecto.

  Aragon took a moment to think about it, to think about Antares.

  "Truth be told I do not know. I have so many questions and doubts about him and about what he could be. He is not Hyperion."

  "None of them could be Hyperion." Scoffed Amon. "He was perfect."

  "...That being said, Antares will put his people before everything, including himself. The death of Nykos is enough proof."

  "And that does not concern you?" began Alecto "Perhaps he is too ready to put everything before himself."

  There was a moment of silence, they all had doubts and it was difficult to hide them. They were the only three of the thirteen who believed this a viable solution, while the others simply sat on their hands and waited for their ancestors' guidance. The three of them acted. But still, Aragon could not fully believe Antares was the one they were looking for, and yet he could not forsake him either. For the first time in millennia, Aragon would choose to believe in someone again. And he chose Antares.

  "Perhaps you're right." he began, " But Barranagan chose him. And Barranagan was many things... but he was never wrong." concluded Aragon.

  "It is with great displeasure that I must agree with you on that." Amon said, making sure his disdain was known, " Come, let us return home, I grow tired of the air here."

  Aragon smiled and nodded in approval. Unknowingly they all stole a glance of the throne before putting on their hoods and turning away. At one point in time or another, they all sat on the obsidian throne and ruled the masses. The power they commanded from realm to realm, they might have been kings or queens but in truth they were more than that. They were Gods. They were feared, they were worshiped, they were hated. All they did was in the pursuit of power, overwhelming power to make their dreams a reality. They were the ones who ended ages, they were the guardians of peace, and here they were setting a boy on a path of destruction. They were aware of what would follow in the life of Antares as he took the crown. They did not want forgiveness or mercy, all they wanted was the protection of their people by any means. There would be those centuries from now, they thought, that would wonder when the new age began. What moment when everything shifted into one direction. None of them would ever get it right, because unlike other ages, there would only be three there to witness the beginning of this one. As they left the throne room the three elders, Alecto, Amon and Aragon Xerxes had understood what they had done. They ushered in the Age of Erosion, and with it, oceans of blood would flow, and a God would be born.