Prologue #3
“You know by whom,” Lucian growls in warning.
“Panthas was made by the same creature, a Genesis, who made us. They will welcome us.” Erevan argues.
“Panthas’s maker is different.” Lucian disputes, “She and our father have parted ways. Attkris is our world. Panthas is hers. I do not wish to anger one of the Genesis, Erevan.”
“The Genesis made us! They have to help us. Our ways are about to be erased.” Erevan’s voice rises.
“We have no other option. We can worry about the consequences, if there are any, later. Unlike our enemies, we can leave these lands. What I am suggesting is that we retreat and fall back. We hide in the other world and regroup. We build a new army.”
“With what?” Lucian barks, shaking his head in disdain. “Our discovery of Panthas revealed only those who called each other human. They have no magic; they would be ants killed quickly under elvish boots. You’d doom another species to death.”
“So we change them,” Erevan counters. “As the God of Enchantment, I will give them magic.”
“Erevan!” I gasp as I drop his hand. “That’s forbidden…” Yet my words slowly die as realization hits home. He’s right. Our old laws, etched in stone, no longer exist; our enemy has broken the rock.
War erases morality. But if we expunge it from our minds, we’re no better than the enemy.
“Let’s say we consider this,” Lucian suggests, sitting taller.
The mound of rocks behind him look like a throne.
It’s what our empire resembles now: rubble.
“If humans can accept our magic and learn to wield it, and that is a huge if, who’s to say they can stand a chance against the enemy who has inherited magic? You are condemning more to die.”
“I have considered this. They will stand a chance; in the years to come, their magic will grow, and in time, they will master it as our enemy has. Humans would become new creatures. Our magic will transform them, but we will leave some untouched, so that their history is not erased. That seems fair.” Erevan looks down and rubs invisible dust off his gold clothing.
“I also recommend we don’t just make an army of these magic-born humans. ”
“You sound insane,” I whisper. I look to the scalding fire; the heat presses into my eyes, pulling water forth.
Erevan turns my face back to his, then twirls a lock of my fire-kissed golden hair around his finger.
“Sometimes, one must be mad in order to see what the enemy doesn’t.
I am suggesting…” He pauses; his inhale is a lifetime long.
His eyes fill with regret and a turbulence of pain I have never seen upon his brow.
“I am suggesting the three of us have children.”
“What?” Lucian and I both reply in shock.
“We cannot have children,” I murmur. Thus, we’ll never have the numbers our enemy has.
“Gods can’t have children together.” Erevan’s gulp unlocks a terrible secret. “But we can have them with humans,” he adds, voice quieter this time.
I flinch. “That is blasphemous.”
He dips his fingers into the sandy floor, pinching a grain before he flicks it away. “The truth often is.”
Lucian leans forward. Fury turns his brows into an archer’s bow. “Have you—”
“No!” Erevan replies quickly. “Not I, but another has laid with a human and had a child. That child is alive, thriving, and possesses magic.”
“How do you know this?” Lucian presses.
Erevan’s jaw stiffens. “I am bound by an oath not to reveal which one of us has broken the old laws; all that matters is that we can have children with humans. These offspring have magic. We mate with these humans, produce offspring, create demigods.”
His eyes cast downward, too ashamed to meet mine now. His hand reaches out for mine, taking it.
“It’s the only way I can see survival. It is not what I want,” he murmurs to me. “Deny me, and I will fight to the death here, my love.”
My throat swells. “You’d bring innocents into this war.”
“War does not distinguish between innocent and guilty,” Erevan replies solemnly. “Think of it as a way to ensure our survival. If we had children, then isn’t that a hope that a piece of us survives?”
I cover my mouth with my dirty hands. The more I try to fix what I’ve done, the muddier it seems to become.
“In time,” Erevan voices softly, “we will have enough demigods and new creatures, these humans made with magic, to come back here and claim Attkris again. We can restore what we have lost.”
Children. With others…
I look at Erevan and Lucian; their eyes sense mine. We all would have to sleep with others, with humans.
“Say something,” Erevan whispers. When neither Lucian nor I do, Erevan continues, “What is the use of fighting to the death if our history will be erased? The winner writes the outcome; they plot the story. If we run, then at least we get to write our side of the story. Perhaps in centuries, we can return with an army, or remain hidden. At least our memories will not be erased.”
Ding! Ding!
We all jerk at the sound of the bells. No!” I choke. I stand but slip. Lucian and Erevan grab me, locking eyes with one another.
As we were sitting and trying to find a way to bring peace back into our lives, the enemy found a way inside the inner walls.
Lucian looks down at me, his eyes are those of a painter admiring the next subject he will paint. But he’s a piss-poor artist who has no canvas, brushes, or paints. So, I will live in his memory as his greatest unseen masterpiece.
“Get her out of here. Take her to Panthas,” he orders Erevan.
“No!” I reach for him, but the dirt on my fingers causes my grip to slip free. Erevan slams me back into his chest, caging his arms around me.
Ding! Ding!
A new melody has been added. Death. Screams and cries that will forever haunt me. And then it happens… a horrendous, abrupt yank causes us all to stumble.
Another god is no more.
Shock holds us firm in its shackles. We sway, becoming soulless bodies held only by flesh, chained by bones. No hearts to give us strength or minds to seduce us with endurance. Just puppets.
“Who was it?” I manage to rasp.
“Go!” Lucian shouts. He opens his hands and two swords rage to life, one of pure light and the other of utter darkness. “I will find the last of us and try to take them to this world.” He looks at me, lips parted in desperation.
I know he wants to kiss me, but he doesn’t. It’s a silent promise he will find me again; he will deliver his kiss when we are safe, hidden away from the mess I have created.
“I will find you, Amariel. In this life or the next. You. Are. Mine.”
“She is ours,” Erevan retorts with a dip of his chin.
Lucian locks eyes with him. “Then you better keep her safe. For us.”
“For us,” Erevan agrees.