Chapter 8 #2
A glimmer of silvery black flickers at the center of the room, no larger than a pinprick. It twitches, pulses, then stretches, widening into a yawning maw.
A portal.
Within is the void. Black and fathomless. So endlessly, impossibly dark that just looking at it feels like falling. Forever.
But the void is only the veil between the realms. It is not where the demons dwell.
Like a tear ripped through the skin of shadow, a city forms in the darkness, its skyline jagged with spires of rock that claw into a sky of endless gray. Winged terrors scream as they circle above, their cries shrill and blood-curdling, sharp enough to rattle bone.
The landscape below is ash and ruin. Barren. Cracked. No place for life to take root.
And at its center stands a fortress, high and grim.
A temple fit for a god of death. Pillars rise into the gloom, endless steps crawling up toward blackened gates, each one flanked by pyres that burn with ceaseless flame.
The stone is etched with the faces of fiends, snarling, shrieking, immortalized in agony.
This is the temple of Gygarth. The city of An’kel.
Here, the demons of the void gather. Here, they kneel. They serve. They worship.
And I stand frozen, powerless to move, breath caught in my throat, forced to watch as Gygarth’s most lethal harbinger steps forth from the abyss.
A heavy, tattered black robe drapes over him, the hood drawn low, concealing most of his face.
The sleeves hang long enough to shroud his hands, the fabric pooling and shifting as if darkness itself clings to him.
He does not walk, nor step, he glides, soundless and unburdened by weight, an eerie movement that sends unease crawling down my spine.
Then, his head lifts.
Two stark-white eyes glow beneath the hood, casting sickly illumination across his face.
His skin is blackened and dry, stretched taut over the bones like ancient, desiccated leather.
Torn flesh mars his cheeks and brow, revealing glimpses of the skull beneath and below his mouth, writhing and twisting with a mind of their own, dangle several grayish tentacles, curling and shifting around his throat like sentient, grasping limbs.
The air thickens, pressing down on my lungs, filling me with dread.
A name forms at the edge of my mind, crawling through my skull like a whisper from the void.
Emranth. Lord of the Void. Envoy of Gygarth. Harbinger of the unseen abyss.
He moves among us, untouched by the sluggish pull of time, for time itself bends to his will. As he passes me, his presence thickens the air like tar, cloying, suffocating.
“Favored one,” he whispers, his voice layered with a thousand echoes, as if countless souls speak through him. He inhales slowly, as if tasting the air between us. “You look well. Strong. If only the same could be said for your master.”
The tentacles beneath his chin writhe with a slick, wet sound, twisting restlessly.
“You rule this land by his generosity, and yet you ignore the bargain that placed the crown upon your head. The pact that holds your kingdom in place. If you wish to keep your power, your master demands his taste.” He leans forward, his voice dropping. “He hungers. He starves. He must be fed.”
I try to speak, but even the smallest movement feels impossible, as though my body has been bound in invisible chains. Emranth does not require my response.
“If his hunger is not sated, then you and all who know you will fill his belly instead. Do you understand, little prince?”
Even if I wished to resist, I know there is no answer he would accept but obedience.
“Good.” His satisfaction slithers through the air. “But be mindful. Time is not on your side.”
With that, Emranth drifts backward, smooth and spectral, retreating into the void. The portal contracts around him, shrinking to a single silver speck before vanishing entirely. The moment he is gone, time snaps back into motion, and I stumble forward, gasping for breath.
I hear the ragged inhalations of my father and the queen. They slump weakly against their thrones, drained, their power meaningless against a force like Emranth. My father clenches his fists so tightly his knuckles are bone white, his gaze fixed on the floor.
“What have we done?” His voice is barely a breath.
“I’ve had enough of this,” I snarl through gritted teeth. “What use is this power, this sacrifice, if I’m to live my life as some puppet to Gygarth and his dog?”
“Watch your tongue, Daedalus,” the queen snaps. Her gaze flicks toward the darkened corners of the throne room. “You do not want to anger the Father Below.”
“Why? Because he’ll kill me? Take control of me? Tear away what’s left of my will, twist my mind until I wake with blood on my hands and no memory of how it got there?”
“Consider that a blessing, son,” my father says, voice grim and hollow.
I bark a laugh, sharp and bitter. “A blessing? Then you take it. You offer yourself to the void. You become something worse than the monsters.”
A flash of thought rips through me, and my jaw clenches tight.
“We could end this,” I mutter, half to myself, half to them. “Take the Blades. Rally the armies of Mordorin. Unite the Fae houses. March on An’kel and bring the war to them. To the gates of the abyss.”
The queen’s hands clutch the arms of her throne, nails scraping hard stone. “Silence, Daedalus.”
But I don’t stop. I can’t.
“We could be free. All of us. We don’t have to live like this.”
And then, just for a breath, I see something stir in my father. A flicker of light in those frostbitten eyes. A spark of the warrior he once was, before time and terror turned him to stone.
“Walking the void is one thing, Daedalus,” he says quietly. “But opening a portal to An’kel… that is something else entirely. It is beyond even your power.”
“There is no time for regrets, Kaelus,” the queen snaps, her chest rising and falling in rapid, furious bursts.
Then she turns to me. “If the word of your father and I is not enough to move you, Daedalus, then heed the warning of the void’s warden.
If you do not wed, if you do not produce an heir, if you do not give Gygarth what was promised, then you risk the lives of all Mordorin. ”
I turn away, but her voice cuts through the air like a lash.
“Do you hear me? You will bring ruin to your house! You must choose Daedalus, or we will choose for you. Do you understand?”
I inhale, steadying my breath, then roll my shoulders back, straightening beneath the weight of their demands. My gaze locks onto the queen, my stepmother, the thing I despise most in this world, second only to myself.
“I understand,” I say, voice low and seething, before turning my back on them and leaving the throne room.
After her. We find a local inn. Small, filthy, cheap. The kind of place where, if we’re lucky, the patrons are too drunk or too stupid to recognize what we are, let alone care enough to tell someone.
The Ithranor male comes with us. Or rather, Zyphoro keeps him with us. She toys with him like a cat batting around a stunned mouse, and I honestly can’t tell if the poor bastard is in love or scared shitless.
Tonight, we’ve got the dining hall to ourselves.
Low ceilings, smoky air, the faint stink of mildew in the walls.
It’s as tight and claustrophobic as the ship’s cabin.
We’re gathered around a table as filthy as my boots, its surface sticky with gods-know-what.
The hunched innkeeper shuffles out from the kitchen, arms full of plates.
Bread and cheese, a chunk of charred meat still speckled with burnt hair.
I don’t ask what animal it came from. I don’t care.
My eyes are on the jugs of wine he drops on the table with a heavy thud, dark liquid sloshing over the edge and dripping through the cracks into the floorboards below.
I pour myself a cup before he’s barely let go of the handle.
“Will there be anything else?” he croaks, coughing into his hand, barely catching the spittle.
I don’t look at him. “That’s all. Leave us.”
He grumbles something under his breath, but Reon is already pulling a gold coin from his vest. He flicks it into the air.
“For your trouble.”
The old human may be stooped and shriveled, but he’s fast enough to snatch that coin midair and bite it with the few teeth he has left. He nods, grunts, and hobbles away.
I bring the cup of wine to my lips and drink deep.
Over the rim, I watch Zyphoro across from me, curled around the Ithranor male.
Tamis, I think his name is, from what I could make out between the stammering and stuttering.
She’s wrapped around him like smoke, fingers trailing through his long hair, dragging slow and lazy.
His throat bobs with a nervous swallow. His hands tremble.
He looks absolutely fucking terrified, but I’d wager a small fortune that he’s hard beneath this table.
“What was your name again?” I ask for clarity, lowering my cup.
“Tamis,” he confirms.
“Such a pretty name,” Zyphoro purrs, draping a leg over his lap. “Did your mother give you that name?”
He nods, hesitant. “Yes.”
“How fortunate,” she sighs, casting a glance at me. “Our mother didn’t get the chance to name us, did she, Daedalus?”
I roll my tongue across my teeth. “No, she did not, Zyphoro.”
She snaps her attention back to Tamis, voice all poison and silk. “I’d like to meet your mother. Maybe she’ll braid my hair. Read me bedtime stories. Tell me what a good little girl I am.”
A low, mocking laugh cuts through the room.
Zyphoro’s gaze sharpens, snapping to Solena sitting in the shadows beside Orios, who’s the only one brave or dumb enough to be chewing the fuzzy meat.
“Something funny, maid?” Zyphoro spits.
Solena doesn’t flinch. She just smirks, sliding one hand across Orios’ broad shoulder, while the fingers on her other idly trace circles on his forearm.