TRYST WITH TYRANNY//ANCHOR XIII
A gasp. His eyes flew open, terrified- shaken- in pain. No.. no- nooo, his mind stuttered with baited horror, a part of his vision was black, unfeeling and blind. So it happened. Well and truly happened.
Tis was no dream, no delusion or foul nightmare in the deepest of sleep. Nay. It was truth, cold and bitter; truth often was hard to swallow. His hand ghosted over the remains of his empty socket, there was nothing– nothing but a certain numbness that one ought to feel after being incapacitated in such a manner.
Either that, or it was Pleiades’ design to keep the raging pain behind him; Rage, the word, it sung to him, oh so sweetly that he should embrace it and never let go. But he couldn't, you cannot, something whispered to him. Rage was.. was an addiction that once indulged, would claw itself into the very reaches of one's soul; raving and twisting, anything in it's path. Few could stomach it, then again those few were not all pure either.
It took a few hours– mere seconds, in reality– for his remaining eye to adjust; the glare from the sun was vengefully blinding. Although, that might have been for the lack of another eye to aid.
What greeted him was a sight of magnificent beauty; a glade of verdant grass, stretching into the far horizon- the sun at its peak, warming the fresh dew on the grass, as if drying it from a long and restful bath. Thin clouds, likely having shed rain, passed leisurely by. It was a relaxing harmony of nature. A primordial picture of perfection in it's purest form. Birds, of the strangest and absurd kind, flew lazily above, in rhythm to a silent tune– one that eclipsed all, but those which it wished to grace–, every now and then, they would break rhythm and sing in the sweetest of tones; perhaps to conjoin with this.. mute orchestra.
Strangely, he could hear the playful barks of dogs and prideful mewing of cats, yet he could see none. If he strained himself, further, his ears could make out the pitter-patter of raindrops yet even them, he could not see. Mayhaps, they too remained elusive to his humane gaze.
In the distance, far yet closer than far, was a single tree– the only in this springful glade. To curiosity’s pleasure, he walked towards it, briskly, for he remembered all too well the machinations of Viktoria.
He should have stayed away.
Even more alien than the lonesome tree, was the deafening silence of his mind; not a word nor jab, had been made by Pleiades yet. And, while, yes, he appreciated these rare periods of silence– lately, they had been heralds of much trouble. Now, I am certain that I, jinxed myself, with a mournful sigh, he paused.
He ran his gaze through the tree, trying and, pathetically, failing at spotting any anomaly. It was an unremarkably distinct tree; none too affected by the lonesome exil that it had chosen, perhaps, seeing it as naught more than another day of solitude normality. Mayhaps, it regarded him as an intruder, as an anomaly.
Truthfully, he would too.
A bent yet upright, twisting and turning tree of oak– it gazed upon the green pastures of undeniable divinity with such grace that one ought to regard it as the shepherd of this lonely glade. Then again, for something so alien, the tree might've been for all he knew; certainly, things far more outlandish hath existed on this world. And, if mine suspicions are correct, this is just the tip, his mind ruminated. It was right, honestly. Of course, it was. Everything in this strange glade of solitude, stank of Viktoria and her… divinely foul sweetness. His body shuddered at the thought– to think, someone who claimed to be God, could be so revolting. While, no, she was not ugly or uneasy on the eyes; to the contrary, she was extremely easy on the eyes– if naught a nonpareil.
But, but, there are certain other things that make or break one's beauty and for her, the scales were rightly balanced. Vainful beauty, she had in spades; humbling flaws, she too had in excess. Yet, somehow, somewhere within her countenance, rested an alien deformity that his mortal eyes couldn't have possibly seen; Yet, his immortal soul could feel– mayhaps, that is what one would call, ‘A hideous soul.’ But, that would imply she had one in the first place.
A chill crawled up his spine, a ghostly sensation of her nails tiptoeing upon his back. He swerved around, sword nearly drawn. There was nothing.
He sighed, paranoia- of course.
His eye returned to the ardous task of sating his paranoia. An ouroborosian cycle of perpetual stagnation.
Surprisingly, and thankfully, there were none– wait— there, there was something.
Hand tight around the pommel of his sword, he stalked towards the side of the tree; there was something on it, a silhouette.
A relieved sigh, it wasn't as worse as I thought.
His hand ghosted over the etchings in the tree, most, nonsensical and alien to his mind; alien, for the language they portrayed– because, the symbols and icons and runes could be naught but words– was unknown to him. Not even his forgotten yet starkly clear memories of Viktoria could bring forth any revelations.
Except one.
Betwixt multiple runes and unintelligible words, rested a certain iconography that he recognised most starkly.
A basilisk with a crown atop it's brow.
The Basilisk Queen, something whispered.
Your debt is her ascension, another voice intoned into his mind.
Something compels him, a seduction of the faculties of the mind, it shudders in vice and his hand ghosts over the icon. Something- someone shifts around him– a blanket of homely warmth replaced by a chill of existential fear replaced by an embrace of certain divinity, exuding selfless warmth.
Realisation struck him, as painfully as his eye being gouged out; unsheathing his blade, he turned round poised to strike.
Before, his blade could find its destination, however, it was halted.
The sound of metal striking over hard flesh, resounded throughout the glade; just as unholy as the sight before his eye.
Viktoria, the voice within his mind shuddered- whether in primal fear or carnal pleasure, he could not pinpoint. Either, however, was equally sickening.
“Oh? Remember me, now, do we?~” She grinned, engagingly- indulgently, as she swatted the sword away; it went swirling through the air, crashing onto a bed of soft grass.
“Charles! Charles! Wake up!-” Pleiades shrieked, only to be silenced. An unnatural calm descended, heralding another mute silence.
“Well, well, now that, that's dealt with. I believe, we need to talk; You and I, a long primal talk,” Viktoria leaned into him, fingers tracing his jaw– the very touch inflamed his body, he.. he felt rightly drunk, but, at the same time, there was a certain sobriety within him that was all too alien to his senses.
“Wha.. what- what are you doing?” He stammered; his brain was dulling.
His soul hadn't ever been this alive!
“I'm making certain, that we are not disturbed,” flashing a cheshire grin, she continued, “My eifriger champion, listen to me, listen well,” she spoke into his ear, his mind felt warm, warmer than the most strongest of fires, “Basiliscus reginae, The Basilisk Queen, my champion– she must rule. Do you understand?”
He found his head moving before the meaning of her words could even be deciphered by him.
She pecked his cheek, hiding a smile, “The Queen of winter, yes. She must slay, the Bride of Schnee, yes? Yes, she must. Only then and then only, when souls who are dead yet live, wander amongst thine kind. Then and only then, must your blade be true, understand?”
His mind was numb. His soul was on fire. Yet, his head nodded.
Her nails dug into his neck, she pecked him again, “The Imperator of Madness and his beasts of Ice will defy your blade, but, worry not; For the Basilisk Queen shall find her aim to be true,” She kissed him, the very taste of her sent his mind spiraling into living death, “Now, go and fulfill your indebted destiny. A life for a life,”
She kissed him again and pushed him. He fell into a pool of water yet not water, a liquid yet it resisted much like a solid– and as he drowned ever deeper into this abomination, she smiled triumphantly, having won a battle that only she knew of.
It was to the thoughts of Viktoria, that his mind fell.
________________________________________
His eyes fluttered open, akin to a man awakening from a pleasant day-dream of bountiful lands and serene gardens of flowers in fresh bloom; akin to a man who had dared dream of a faceless lover, beckoning him into a fantastical symphony of imagined love.
Unlike this man, however, his body was drenched in cold sweat, the bed and it's sheets watery– as if, Viktoria had attempted to drown him in reality and not some fictional piece of a malformed dream. Then again, from whatever, meager, knowledge he had glanced of Viktoria in their brief stint together, she was a vindictive woman; in other words, such an attempt wasn't too far off of her hubris.
But, she would not have failed, a part of him whispered, it's ethereal voice drowning in fear and cowardice; a feeling that encompassed him whole– like Viktoria, herself, had said those words.
He shook his head, I am being silly, that was true, he was being a moron. Viktoria– and, no, the theory of her being a dream was far too outlandish; dreams could never be so vivid or so nightmarish that one would beg for the sweet release of death– was clearly, in some form, a deity and he doubted that a deity would fail so spectacularly in murdering a mere mortal; that statement was discounting the existence of Pleiades, yes, but it stood firm.
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Afterall, she had demonstrated her prowess. She had silenced Pleiades; temporarily in the previous dream, but permanently in this one. Suffice to say, the temporary nature of the former was intentional; it was no lapse in control, for without Pleiades, Charles would have died– she wouldn't have accepted it.
So, of course, it was intentional.
A hopeful man would dispute this, alas, he was hardly optimistic. A woman who could slay a God, hardly breaking a sweat, could never make such a lapse occur in her power. Besides, what has optimism brought him? Nothing. Except failure and even more, failure.
And now, he muses trailing his gaze ‘round the room, perhaps, it has finally brought me into captivity. What a joy!
For a second, his mind diverted; where was he? Matter of fact, where was Elena?! Actually, forget that, how in the fuck was a Cardinal there in the clearing?!
Had the thing been trailing him? Highly possible, especially after the fiasco in Lucaria. He sighed in remembrance, having almost forgotten about that shitshow. But, alas, it seemed everything turbulent in life had to stem from Lucaria.
The Apostle, 2 apostles actually, and Viktoria. He shuddered, even the very name inspires disconcerting emotions within him.
She mentioned a debt, did she not? Wonder, what that was about– Charles certainly knew none by the name or title of the Basilisk Queen. Factually, he knew no Bride of Schnee, either.
He did, thankfully, know of a Winter Queen. In particular, The Queen of Winter– Willow von Celeste.
Thus, he did have a flimsy lead on the supposed debt; what was he indebted for, again? Viktoria was not quite forthcoming about that. Then again, she never was.
“I see that thou hast met with the abomination,” A voice stated.
“Pleiades?!”
“Who else, would I be, if not mineself? Unless… thineself has made the pact with the abomination?” An edge of uneasy hostility bled into his tone.
Charles was quick to denial, “No! Not at all, I- I- I would never, never, ever do that. I would rather keep her at- at any measure of length that I, possibly, can– that being, preferably in another plane of existence. And, I will assure you that a deal with Viktori–”
“Silence!” The abrupt admonishment made his mouth seal up. A maelstrom brewing within his thoughts, suggesting all sorts of awful reasons for the outburst.
Pleiades sighed, “That.. that- forgive me for mine outburst. But, but, please for the sake of thine own peace; never, utter Her name in our talks– She can hear it, feel it, see it but most of all, She can heed it. Mineself is already too great a burden for any mortal. But, someone such as Her, will be even moreso.”
“Oh, ohhh. Thank- thank you, old man,” Charles replied in snark; an amateur attempt at lightening the intensity in the atmosphere. But one that worked, as Pleiades bit back, “Ungrateful brat!” The words lacked their usual heat.
“Speaking of abominations, the.. thing in the forest, with the Apostle, was a Cardinal, was it not?”
“Ah, yes, yes, it was. And, it clearly knew what the opponent was; although that knowledge could have been gleaned off of your mind,”
“Meaning?”
Pleiades sighed in thinly veiled annoyance, “The Cardinal’s can gleam into your surface thoughts. Considering thine thoughts revolved entirely about the Apostle; it isn't an improbable claim.”
“Wait, let's forget about the mind reading for a second– how did it even find us?” Charles questioned and felt an even bigger burst of annoyance and… shock? It felt like shock but, but that couldn't be. Pleiades was, well is, a god or a godling at the least; He possibly can't be shocked. Not at all, not if this world still is borne of sense and normalcy. Even if, such concepts are becoming more and more obsolete.
He knew Pleiades could sense his thoughts– he did so regularly– but, strangely he did not comment on them, instead, “It was never following us. It was following another with us. We were never its goal. It was another, it stepped in to save her, not us, never us, Charles.”
Charles sputtered, thoughts coming to a screeching halt– and, boy, hadn't that been happening so often–, “Her?-- her?.. surely not, you- you, you possibly couldn't mean her? Couldn't mean Elena? Surely?--”
Ordained by God, as everything is, right at the moment of her name's utterance, bound to a question that had plagued him since their initial meeting– the grand opulently studded doors to the, otherwise meager and bland, room swung open and like a mistress inspecting the wellbeing of her possessions, Elena came through.
Seeing him awake and well, Elena paused. A loving smile bloomed upon her face, lighting it like fireflies in a field of verdant flowers, and with the swiftness of a doe, she rushed towards him and crashed her lips onto his.
They stayed like this, utterly lost in their own world of sweet romance and heartening indulgence; verily, they would have stayed longer, bound to eachother, as they were. However, a light cough from the doorway broke them apart.
Elena’s eyes widened comically, and she leaped off of him into the chair beside the bed. Had it been there, before?
Silly musings aside, Elena had composed herself into an elegant picture and were it not for the creases in her dress and the disarrayed hair, one would have found naught amiss. Their eyes met, raven black on pearly blue; she smiled a dazzling smile and, instinctively, so did he.
Clearing her throat– even a task, so mundane was done with an air of elegance; he ignored the droning of Pleiades–, she spoke, “Yes?”
The guard’s gaze fluttered between the two of them, an odd pair they made, eventually satisfying whatever curiosity held him, he replied with a bow, “My Queen… once you are done, the council requests an urgent meeting; there is news from the Port of Anchorage,”
An acknowledging nod and the man was off.
All the while, as Pleiades droned on and on in the background about deception and false truths, Charles stewed in his own maelstrom.
Elena, if that was even her name, sensed his discomfort; a wince, her eyes tearing, she reached for his hand– a part of him wanted to flinch, to deny her the chance. But, he couldn't. Shamefully, he needed it, just as she did– his heart desired the comfort of her warmth, just as she did now.
Besides, their love had a certain depth to it, a depth that would not allow one to ignore the words of their lover; that much was true. He knew it to be. Years of love and devotion, mutually given willingly onto one-another, deserved this in return.
He allowed her to thread and loop her fingers through his; sharing an unspoken love, a comforting warmth to replace the freezing cold of lies. She smiled, rueful, and the smile reflected a certain relief in her eyes, a certain intensity leeching off of her body into his. Unfortunate.
However, the unease was justified, completely. All he had ever known of her were the lies; And, No Pleiades, she isn't a demoness. He thought of her as a mere handmaiden, in all the years, he'd known her– Then again, how long had he even known her? 2 years, at most; even in those 2 years, their meetings had been dispersed thinly across the wheel of time. Matter of fact, the quantity of their meetings increased only this year– when they became more than friends.
It certainly felt longer than two, that might've been because of the depth to which their love had progressed and grown. A miracle, really. Their dispositions differed at times, vastly.
Inspite of that, they had grown closer, they had fallen in love. And, well, now, here they are! At a crossroads of truth and revelations. There have been many, these few days, he thinks to himself in part amusement and part annoyance at fate; A destiny of tranquil peace and certain serenity, were out of his fate, that was certain now.
Breaking him from his musings, Elena began to speak, “I.. I realise, what- what I've done. I.. haven't been truthful; not entirely, no, there are things which you know and none other. But there also things, which you know not. Things.. that, that I'd hoped, would never play in our love.” She sighed, her sharp eyes gaining a certain tranquil softness, “I was– I am a fool; And, no Charles, do not make that face, we both know that I'm at fault here,”
He tried to interrupt– Pleiades screamed at him not to, to not show any measure of loving sympathy– but she covered his lips with her hand, “No, no, Charles, love; let me speak, just- just hear me out, alright?” At his nod, she smiled, though it was subdued, and continued, “You were my comfort in this cold and drab life of mine, a permanent fixture of warmth, a sun that shines only upon me, someone upon whom I could see fondness greater than mine own for him, someone who would love me with all my faults, someone who would see me and only me. And, and you were that person– you still are and, matter of fact, always will be. Even if, after.. after this, you claim to never love me, I still will because, love, without- without you, I'm afraid life will lose its splendor; each time, I feel hard pressed by life, I think of you, always you. Not a moment goes where my mind and soul, do not miss you, do not love you, do not think of you. And- it is with this love that I bear so greatly for you, and if it's intensity is just as great within you, please.. just please listen to me,”
Her pleading hits him harder than he would admit, something about it was just wrong, unfitting to the spitfire of a woman that he knew her to be; he hesitated for but a moment– Pleiades anger influencing him–, that hesitation withered as soon as he glimpsed tears shedding from her eyes.
He pressed a chaste kiss on her knuckles and nodded. I love you, her eyes seemed to whisper and he hoped that his eyes did the same.
A smile blossoming on her face, she began to speak but he intruded, “Before.. before you begin, what- what is your name? Actual name?”
“Oh! I'm- I am sorry for that, in my haste, I kind of forgot about that. Well, it is Ishtar,”
“Ishtar?”
“Yes! Ishtar von Celeste,” Oh, he thought to himself in shock– an emotion reciprocated by Pleiades whose rant was frozen midspeech at the revelation. “This- this is worse than mine expectations!” Pleiades roared, “This is diabolical!”
He knew the reason for his anger, for his disgust; Elena– Ishtar, he would have to get used to that, was a descendant of Celeste. And, he was Pleiades; the two’s rivalry was something of infamy and much renown, mentioned even in the holy texts as a battle of ‘spiteful and spurned gods’. He does not know of spurned, but there is much surety about spitefulness.
Pleiades is nothing, if not spiteful.
Something that for others would have been their downfall, but, for Pleiades, it was his greatest strength.
Nevertheless, Pleiades would have to endure. Charles' love was too hard to be broken by such omissions; a mere lie would not dissipate anything he felt for her, not now, not ever. A feeling of burning rage arose within him, he squashed it down.
Having taken his silence as permission, Ele- Ishtar began, “You see, love, when my father perished and my sister– Willow, that is– was to inherit the Throne, much chaos had taken our realm and things.. things just fell out of control. It wasn't just a rebellion nor a mere revolt. It was a war within the House; the crescent was shattered, piece by piece. First Yang, then Blake, then Willow just spiraled; I was the last to break off, and, not a day goes by that I think it might've been wrong but I had no choice. It was this or death. Willow had been changed by the War in the North, you see. She had been changed…..”
Thus, as Charles lay on the bed– Pleiades’ harsh words resounding, again and again, within his mind– Ishtar regaled him with a tale that changed the lives of a great many and, if fickle fate had anything to say about it, the tale would still change many more.