1 - The Man and the Maker

22nd Year, 4th Month, Summer

In the oldest time, the oldest age, before the sun had shown her wings, and before the moon swallowed the sky, a fair, young maiden sat sewing in the knot of a crystalwood tree. Her needlework as graceful in her hand as a bloodied dagger, she weaved a web as bright and beautiful as the star-laden abyss. The spidersilk was a beautiful coral pink, impossible to mistake against the moonless heavens. And yet, it was with it that she would kill her first man. For she had a talent for death like none of those who had come before her.

Scriptures of the Savage Gods, Verse 17-1

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A splash of cold water washed over my face. The sparkling liquid coated my long, silver hair before flowing down the length of my humanoid half. It ran over my shoulders, cleansing them of all the grime born of my most recent expedition. It didn’t take long for my skin to be freed from the scent of iron, but the fur that covered my waist and legs was not so readily compliant. I needed over twenty buckets to coat my form. And even then, it was difficult to say if I was fully soaked through.

I splashed a little more water over my head, just in case, before finally grabbing the soap off of the top of the stone fountain. Starting with my antlers, I carefully scrubbed myself clean and rinsed off the suds with a splash of holy water.

Fighting back the urge to dry myself with a shake, I carefully wiped my body down with a towel and turned to the giant stone mirror built into the bathroom’s wall. I carefully inspected everything from my massive, feathered white wings to my stumpy tail before grabbing a cloak off the shelf and throwing it over my body.

Though ragged and moth-eaten, the old wooly garment was an important part of the ceremony, provided by the temple immediately upon my return. It almost looked like a beggar's rag, but if anything, I preferred its lack of flair.

Upon exiting the bathroom, I found my uncle standing in the hall. He hovered by one of the many large windows that lined the castle’s stone walls, sipping from a glass of wine as he beckoned me over. He poured another cup as I approached, which I readily accepted and brought to my lips. We might have been close, but not even I could refuse the king of Cadria.

Neither of us said a word as we gazed up at the fractured moon. Slowly, she drifted across the sky, her giant pointed hat billowing all the while.

To the servants, we might have looked like brothers. Our heights were similar, our fur shared a colour, and we both appeared as if we were in our mid twenties. Facial features aside, it was really only our beards that set us apart. His was thick and curly, while mine was freshly shaved.

Alas, there were no such servants to arrive at the conclusion. They were all sound asleep. The witching hour had passed and the moon was more than halfway across the sky.

“Vella’s trial will be tough, Virillius.” He was the first to speak. Swirling his wine around in his glass, he turned away from the window and locked his eyes with mine. “It doesn’t have to be today, or even this week. There’s still plenty of time for you to rest. We still have some leeway before the balance crumbles.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I rested on the way.” It was only half true. My limbs still felt heavy, but the matter at hand was far more pressing. The scuffles on the eastern front were still just that, but there was no telling the point where the cinders would blossom into the flames of war.

I couldn’t allow a clash with Sthenia.

“Don’t push yourself.” He raised his cup to his lips and took another sip. “If you really intend to go, then you must keep your pledge in mind. Do not give your heart the chance to waver. We are the goddess’ spears. Unmarked as we may be, we remain the champions sworn to her servitude, and the mortal agents who carry her will.”

I nodded.

“Many of her greatest warriors are said to lose their faith during her trials. You mustn’t forget that the goddess only does what she thinks is best for us. Stay strong, Virillius. Never forget who it is you’re fighting for. Never forget that everything you do and endure is for the sake of the nation.”

“I won't, Uncle.”

“Good.” He smiled. Warmly, openly, before draining his cup and setting it on the windowsill. “I believe in you, Virillius.” He clasped a hand over my shoulder. “I know you won’t need it, but I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you.”

Finishing my own drink with a swig, I bowed my head to the king, and with his blessing, continued along my way.

My mind began to wander as I stepped out of the castle and into the streets. Had I made the journey during the day, I surely would have found myself swarmed. The people would have made a big deal of my presence and perhaps even thrown an impromptu party in my name. But so late at night, there was nothing, no one to summon the masses.

Silently as I could, I continued through the city, basking in the warmth of the midsummer night, one slow step at a time. I found myself gazing upon the massive stone pillars that supported the local structures. Made of granite, travertine, and concrete, they were every bit as sturdy as aesthetically appealing. Even with only the moonlight to illuminate the city, I could tell that everything was polished, refined, transformed in a way I could have never imagined.

All it took was closing my eyes to recall the tiny village I was once assigned to defend. It had only been a few years since, a tiny speck on the historical scale, and yet, the wooden huts had warped into mighty taverns and grand halls. The town square had turned from a single shop to an entire street full of taverns, ateliers, and specialty stores. During the day, they surely would have been bustling. Valencia was a busy city, a veritable center for commerce and innovation. But it was far from nightless. With the sun just four hours from rising anew, even the inns had closed their doors.

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Most other countries kept their bars open till sunrise, but in Cadria, we were not so lax. Our society was driven by our warrior culture. And though we had long developed the technology to light our rooms, there were many who rose and fell with the sun.

I was proud of what we had done, of everything that we had achieved, but my face remained frozen even as I lost myself in the past. It was intentional, of course. I had no choice but to sculpt the expression while I was out and about. It was impossible to tell who was watching and the last thing I wanted was for our enemies’ spies to catch me with a dopey smile.

Normally, it was a feat I pulled off with ease. But on that particular night, I found that my mask was starting to crumble. I was practically shaking in my hooves. It was a day I had long awaited, the day that I would ascend again. If I could clear the goddess’ trial, if I could reach the same heights as my uncle before me, then together, we could ensure an era of peace and stability.

The era that Violet had always hoped to see.

My mind continued to spin as I crossed the final road and arrived before a mighty temple. Its gate was made of a pair of blades, two massive halberds that crossed almost ten metres off the ground. The building itself was constructed like a chapel, albeit one that was ten times the usual length. The walls were made of a beautiful, metallic stone and the roof was sixty metres off the ground at least. Above its door, a symbol, a spear crossed against a banner. The crest that denoted the goddess of war.

The heavy, iron barrier opened before I took another step. A group of hooded priests and priestesses wandered out from within. Each of the cloaked figures held a lantern in hand, a dim, glowing flame that failed to pierce the night. They lined up in single file, forming a column on each side of the staircase that led up to the temple’s front door.

And there, they remained unmoving. They simply sat where they were and waited for me to pass, congregating in a mob behind me only when I did.

“Virillius Augustus. Duke of the Northern Sky, Conqueror of the Frozen Lands. Mightiest of all cervitaurs, and the general of the standing army.” The only man not in line—a muscular rabbit standing just over a metre tall—spoke as I reached the top of the steps. He greeted me not with the gentle smile that one would expect of a priest, but the sort of hungry look of a veteran itching to test his skills. And perhaps, he was just that. “We have been expecting you.”

The doors swung open as he spoke, revealing the grand cathedral within. Like the world beyond it, it was dim, lit primarily by the moonlight that streamed through its stained glass windows.

The aisles were cleared of the pews that typically lined them for sermons, allowing the reliefs and sculptures to take center stage. They were images of warriors, imitations of the most powerful men to have ever entered the temple’s halls.

With the priest as my guide, I ventured down the red carpet, around the podium, and into the space behind the church. He led me deep underground, past a series of ritual chambers, and showed me to the building’s atrium.

“She has been eagerly awaiting your arrival,” he said. “Do not disappoint her.”

With just that, he left, taking his congregation back down the hall and up the stairs. I was the only one to remain, standing all alone with the door still closed in front of me.

I brought my hand to its knob, but my wrist refused to move.

It was not just the pressure of the task at hand, but the weight of the person assigning it. Pure divine power leaked through the cracks in the doorway.

She stood behind it. Waiting for me in person. The goddess of war.

With a deep breath, I tightened my grip on the knob, twisted it open, and stepped into the blinding light. The world changed as I did. I could feel my spirit leaving my body, finding itself taken astray before my vision was restored. When my eyes finally adjusted, I was standing in a place that I knew all too well.

It was still a cathedral, just not the one that I had entered. It was even larger, grander, more magnificent in every sense of the word. The statues that lined the sides were no statues at all, but true ancient warriors, souls escorted from the land of the living and blessed with honour in death. Standing with their weapons at the ready and their spirits ablaze, they were the goddess’ soldiers, the bravest and mightiest mortals to have fallen in battle, the men who had reached for divinity and immortality, only to see it slip beyond their grasp. The men who had come before me.

Raising my eyes, I looked upon the goddess, the mighty abomination of woman and spider that sat upon the throne at the end of the hall. There was more oil and thunder in her veins than flesh and blood. Her lower half was every bit as mechanical as the wing-like attachment suspended from her back. It was like she was an artificer’s creation, only perfect, honed far beyond any standard that a mortal could ever achieve. Her arachnid legs were tipped with glowing claws, their edges pulsing in the same deep pink otherwise spread throughout her frame. Her shoulders had mounted cannons, magical guns ready to unleash their might, just like the remote weapons—, the tiny spiders built from parts of her body and scattered around the room.

But while her constructs served as artistry incarnate, her flesh was covered in marks, disfigurations, battle scars—phantoms left by the warriors whose blades had dared to reach her.

“Virillius.” She spoke as our eyes met, her lips a wicked smile. “How long has it been since you became my spear?”

“Six years, Goddess,” I said. I took a deep breath. “It was on another warm summer night, six long years ago, that I swore myself into your service.” The words were accompanied by an internal grimace. Of noble blood though I was, I never did enjoy the silly exchange that the goddess had always demanded.

“Six years is no long time, Virillius. Even with a mortal lifespan like yours, it is but a drop in the water.”

“Six years is a long time, goddess. At the very least, long enough to fight in three wars, long enough to conquer the north, and long enough for a boy to become a man.”

“And a fine man you’ve become.” There was a gleam in her eyes, a faint glimmer that sent a shiver down the length of my spine. “Your rise was truly meteoric. There are only a small handful who have accomplished so much so quickly.”

An arid laugh escaped my lips, a dry, self-derisive chuckle backed by no excess of amusement. “I had no choice, Goddess. I never wanted this.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“And yet, here I am.”

“Then let us begin posthaste.” The aisle stretched tenfold with a snap of the goddess’ fingers. With the increase in length came a sudden, explosive growth in the number of her servants. All of a sudden, there was an army in each direction, a veritable wall of warriors, armed to the teeth and thirsting for blood. And yet, they stood silently, with all of the discipline and none of the ardour of a warlord’s chosen. “You have come to this place for power, as had all the others whose steps you now trace.”

She spoke at a distance of over a kilometre, but I could hear her words as clearly as if she were right beside me.

“Yes, Goddess.” They were my words, but not the words that I had chosen.

“You have come to this place knowing well that your hands are stained with the madness of war.”

“Yes, Goddess.” Again, they escaped my lips. Again, without my input.

“I have watched your journey carefully, Virillius Augustus. To rise to level one thousand in just six years is no easy feat. It is often a perilous journey that spans centuries or millennia. Still, before I offer my aid, before I allow you to ascend, and before I allow you to become an aspect of war, I must saddle you with an evaluation.”

“By your will, Goddess.”

“Do not fret, Virillius Augustus. It is a simple test, easily overcome by a man of your calibre.” She smirked. “Win sixteen duels before my throne. For each, I will bestow upon you a divine armament from my collection, and for each, we will delve through time.” She beckoned me with her fingers. “Now come. Let us define together the sort of man you are.”

I stopped and took a breath.

I could reach her in a single leap. The distance was hardly too far to cross, especially if I was to use my wings. But I refrained. I walked and played along.

I was a mere mortal, and she was the goddess who had illuminated my path. Even if I found it ridiculous, her wish was my command.