Chapter 553: Family Part 1
Even now the scent of smoke and blood was thick in the air. A quarter of the Commoner District had burned to the ground during the siege, and another half had been ransacked or reduced to rubble by the trebuchet bombardments. By the time Stryg and his sisters had made it past the bridge and into the Trade District, he could practically taste the ash and blood on his tongue.
The faint voices of the mourning carried on the wind and Stryg’s sharp ears picked it up. From the grim looks on Melantha and Holo, so had they.
“This was the sort of thing we wanted to avoid when we founded the Mortem Order, needless violence,” said Holo.
“Wasn’t the Mortem Order found in the Realm of War?” recalled Stryg.
“Precisely. It was one of the reasons he chose the Scarlet Realm.”
“But the Mortem Order was feared by all?”
“Sometimes fear is the best tool to end wars. Fear of losing what you love. Fear of death. You’d be surprised how quickly angry warlords calm down when they realize they are about to die.”
Stryg nodded in understanding. “The power of mages and the family of Death. It must have been terrifying. Not to mention the army of beastkin.”
“The beastkin weren’t an army, they weren’t warriors,” Holo said with an edge to her voice.
“Have you ever seen a beastkin?” he laughed. “I mean, even Rhiannon, who never had any formal combat training before could easily crush any of this city’s guards without much effort.”
“And you think that makes them warriors? You think they’re just weapons to be thrown at your enemies so casually?” Holo hissed. “I spoke to your centaur friend at the Gale manor. She calls herself the Spear of the Ebon Tribe. Why is that?”
Stryg stopped in his steps, confused at her sudden change in attitude. “No, I mean, Rhian is my friend.”
“Friend—?” Holo stopped herself and shook her head. “You know what? Nevermind. I don’t even care. Ride into her battle and get her killed. It’s the only thing they’re good for.” She turned on her heel and marched on ahead of them.
Stryg frowned. “...I’ve never seen her angry before.”
“Don’t take it personally,” Melantha said quietly. “The beastkin are a sensitive topic with her.”
“Why? One second she is saying they aren't weapons and the next she’s saying all they’re good for is dying in battle. I don’t get it.”
Melantha held up a ring on her forefinger. The bronze gemstone flickered with light and a faint shimmering bubble formed around Stryg and her.
“What was that?” he glanced around warily.
“It’ll keep our voices from escaping.”
“Silencing wards…? I didn’t know you could move these kinds of enchantments.”
“Most people don’t. But it tends to be quite useful when dealing with those who can hear whispers from a hundred paces away.”
“Right…” Stryg muttered. He was still getting used to the fact that they were titans, himself included. “So why the wards?”
Melantha sighed. “I suppose I should explain some things to you before you cause more problems with Holo. …You’ll find out sooner or later anyway.”
“Find out what exactly?” he asked suspiciously.
“Bit of advice, try not to bring up the beastkin with Holo. She doesn’t handle it well.”
“She hates them because they betrayed the Mortem Order,” Stryg guessed.
Melantha scoffed. “No, quite the opposite. The Order is known to have created the beastkin, but it was Death and Holo that actually created them. It was Holo’s designs and Death’s power. If it hadn’t been for her, our Father would never have succeeded.”
“Holo is the creator of the beastkin…?” he whispered, surprised.
“She was much more than that. The first beastkin were created in specialized, enchanted glass chambers, filled with a hundred different liquids each with unique properties. At first, the beastkin were no larger than your nail, but after a year they were the size of ordinary babies. And when they came out from the chambers it was Holo who took care of them.”
Stryg’s eyes widened in understanding. “She was their Mother.”
Melantha nodded. “She raised them as her own. She taught them how to walk, how to speak… how to live. The first generation called her mother, and the others called her grandmother. Holo loved them more than anyone.”
“Then why…?”
Melantha’s expression grew sad. “One day, an orc warlord by the name of Agrin ordered his army to raid a pair of innocent villages at the border of another local lord. Agrin had broken a peace treaty that had stood for over two decades, but he didn’t care. He wanted the rich lands of others. Death went with Holo and a small battalion of beastkin to speak with the warlord. The beastkin were only for show, an intimidation tactic. Or so Holo thought.”
Melantha clenched her fists. “But the truth was Death wanted to test the beastkin’s capabilities. He knew the warlord wasn’t going to back down, Agrin had grown drunk with power and without knowing the true identity of Death, he defied our Father without hesitation. Father could have simply revealed himself or deposed Agrin, but he did something no one could have guessed.”
“You see, unbeknownst to others, Death had weaved his own spells into Holo’s designs. He had cursed them with ancient spells of obedience. And with a single word in the elder tongue, he awakened the curse. Holo watched as her children’s personalities disappeared entirely and they became tools of battle.”
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Melantha closed her eyes in bitter memory. “At first, the beastkin dispatched Agrin’s guards and then the warlord himself. But they didn’t stop. The beastkin killed everyone in his castle, soldiers, servants, anyone they could find. …Then the beastkin turned on the surrounding city. Holo pleaded with them to stop, but she may as well have been talking to statues. Whoever her children were before was gone. They were apathetic weapons of war now. All Holo could do was watch in horror as they slaughtered thousands of innocents, men, women, children.”
“Our Father called it a success. ‘One moment of pain to show the entire Realm what they were capable of. A true deterrent,’ he said. But that wasn’t what Holo saw. Even if it was only for a few hours, he had turned her children into weapons. The light in their eyes was gone. …They were hollow shells of their former selves.”
Stryg furrowed his brow. “Hollow…?”
Melantha stared at her sister’s back in the distance, her eyes full of sympathy. “Seren chooses to bear the name Holo as penance, to remind herself of the part she played in the bloodshed that ensued… When I started the rebellion I believed it was the only way to stop all of it… but the Realm burned anyway. Holo wanted nothing to do with the war, she is a scholar at heart, but I forced her hand. She joined the rebellion to save me… She was forced to fight her own children, to kill them on the battlefield. The beastkin don’t have true souls, they are not reborn when they die. They’re gone forever.”
Melantha stared Stryg in the eyes. “Do you have any idea what that does to a person? To have to kill the ones that you call your own? To remember what it was like to hold them in your arms as they slept, while you drive your blade into their chest?”
Stryg cast his gaze to the ground. He thought of Kamilo. The child wasn’t his, but he would fight the entire world before he let anyone hurt him. “I… How does one go on living like that?”
“You harden your heart. You tell yourself that you don’t care about them, that the beastkin are just weapons waiting to be awakened into monsters of slaughter. You treat them harshly, because one moment of kindness might break you.” Melantha’s shoulders sagged and she sighed deeply. “And yet… Holo always found ways to help. Even now she still searches for a way to undo the curse on the beastkin. You think Holo hates the beastkin? She is the mother of all beastkin. No one loves them more. You’d do well to remember that before you casually mention them in her presence.”
With a flick of the wrist, Melantha dispelled the silence wards and continued on her way. Stryg stayed in place, watching his sisters disappear down the street. There was so much he didn’t know about them. He had made assumptions about them, about what it meant to be a titan, about how they saw others. Now he wondered how many things he was wrong about them.
Whatever mixed feelings he held for Holo in his hearts was now interlaced with somberness and sympathy. What had she gone through in the thousand years she had lived? What pain had she witnessed? How did one go on after losing so much?
Stryg didn’t know. But he was determined to find out. He ran down the street and followed after the two women.
~~~
The familiar black gates of the Noir manor were the last place Stryg thought he would end up. “What are we doing here?”
“Meeting our family,” said Holo.
“Who exactly are we meeting?”
“You’ll see.”
The guards noticed her approach and opened the gates. Stryg pulled his cloak up to hide his face as they walked into the grounds. No one bothered to stop them as the trio walked up to the front doors. Holo swung the door open without hesitation.
Despite the late hour, the main hall was filled with soft blue light from magestones lanterns hanging on the walls.
“Why is the meeting place here?” whispered Stryg uncertainly.
“Because I happen to be staying here. House Noir and I have had close relations since their founding. ‘Noir I’ was my student,” said Holo somewhat proudly.
“I almost forgot you’re super old,” said Stryg dryly.
“Depends who you ask.”
“Right…” It was difficult to wrap his mind around how old she really was.
“The older you grow, the more time holds less weight over you,” said an unknown deep voice.
Stryg turned to see the largest drow he had ever met walk into the hall. The giant of a drow had to dip his head underneath the doorway just to get by. His shoulders were broader than Krall and even with the loose tunic he wore, Stryg could see the muscles rippling underneath with every step.
His skin was a light grey with hues of blue mixed in. Mirthful eyes as blue as ice watched Stryg. The giant drow smiled, “At least, that’s how time feels for our kind.”
“Our kind? Then you’re—?”
He bowed deeply. “I am Atlas Holoson-Thorn. A pleasure to meet you, uncle.”
“Uncle?” Stryg blinked and looked the giant up and down. “Wait, wait. Did you just say, Thorn?”
“My father was a Thorn, yes, though I left behind my House almost two centuries ago. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Melantha smiled wide, reached up and grabbed the giant by his arms. “Look at you! My little Altas is all grown up.”
Atlas looked at her, confusion crossing his face as he noticed her lilac eyes. “You must be Lady Nel. Have we met before?”
Melantha’s smile fell. “We met when you were just a babe. I spent time at your home. You used to follow me around and cry whenever I put you down. I know we haven’t had a chance to meet in all these years, time passes differently for us. It feels like you blink for one moment and decades have passed.” She glared at her sister, “I thought your mother would have told you about me.”
“My mother respects you too much to divulge your secrets. She tells me you are a very private individual,” said Atlas.
“You could have at least told him a little about me,” said Melantha.
Holo shrugged. “Well, you could have visited me in my city at least once in the last two centuries.”
Melantha crossed her arms, “I visited you in other places.”
“No, I visited you all across the Realms. Which was quite the task seeing you as you never stay in the same place for more than a week.”
“I was searching for Hope and trying to avoid Father, you know that. And last I checked, unlike other gods, Father can enter this city without any trouble. Not that any of that matters anymore thanks to our oh-so-friendly queen!”
“What’s with all the ruckus?” Una stood in the doorway in her nightgown. “Is Lady Holo fighting?”
“I may have not mentioned all the stories my mother used to tell me about my aunt,” said Atlas playfully.
“Wait, so you did talk about me!?” shouted Melantha.
“Of course, I did. You’re my sister!” yelled Holo.
“Are they usually this loud?” asked Stryg curiously.
“They are simply having fun. Though you strike me as different, more quiet,” noticed Atlas curiously.
Una glanced at Stryg and curtsied, “Forgive me for not noticing your presence earlier.”
Stryg bowed in an awkward replication of Gian’s teachings. “H-Hello I’m—”
“Oh, I know who you are, Lord Stryg Stjerneson.”
Stjerneson? It felt odd hearing those words. Stryg cleared his throat, “And you are?”
“I am Lady Una of the Great House of Noir and the wife of your nephew. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“You’re a Noir?” he asked, surprised.
“I carry that honor, yes.”
“…Una, why does that sound familiar?” Stryg muttered.
She smiled sadly. “Elzri was my older brother. Though I believe you have also met our daughter,” she wrapped her arm around Atlas’ waist. “Unalla.”
The memory of the short drow rushing Stryg with a giant sword and an angry warcry on her lips flashed through his mind. His face went blank. “Pardon?”