''My husband can have his thousand whores; it matters not, for each night I ride a god. He hurts most wonderfully. My Pat...''

Empress Valeria to one of her maids, over five centuries ago

''Forming of undersea legions is possible,'' Kali asserts. She sits close and to my right. ''They wouldn't need to slay the foul beast, just try to blind it before it hits solid ground. Or at least delay the behemoth's progress.''

Steropes looks toward Kali. His voice guttural, his skin a rocky texture. Kali's frame seems almost a child next to him, yet she is about twice his strength and much faster. ''No disrespect to the General but Alldora is endless. To patrol the coastal regions and beyond, a rotation system would be needed, and we would need to employ hundreds of thousands of kindred, all armed and trained. And by the time they all converge in significant numbers, the beast will already be long upon us. It is impossible.''

She looks at me. Black velvet ribbon spirals down her long, always slicked-back hair, a divine white striped by bands of night. She is different somehow. ''Anything is possible...Just a question of will and resources.''

The riding breeches of crimson silk velvet she wears are a pleasing match to her bloodsteel cuirass.

I nod at her. ''True. But such soldiers would need to be sentient, capable of breathing underwater, and willing to spend much of their lives patrolling Alldora. Even if I tripled the rate of my Genesis wielding, it would still take many years for such a system to become operational.''

''Well, keep it under consideration, at least.'' She speaks to me in a tone and a way of familiarity that makes other members of the Council tense. They hate it. Their reaction almost makes me laugh.

''You know I will.'' My eyes linger on hers. ''And I somehow doubt you will allow for it to slip my mind.''

The corners of her mouth rise at the words that only her mind has heard.

Sitting down the table of polished, black granite, and next to Steropes, Alexander of Vantium the Sixth, the head priest of Vantium, crosses his arms. ''Over the past decades, our losses to behemoth-kind have been...acceptable.''

Kali leans forward, looks at him in the way I feel about such a statement. No loss will ever be acceptable.

The priest looks to the side, suddenly very uncomfortable in his seat. He respects me deeply, but he fears her utterly.

Max, sitting on my left and alone at that side of the table, looks at the other Council members, saves the priest from melting into his chair. ''There was a petition from Akti. They wish to make a large statue of Maker's likeness.''

Kali smirks, a rare thing to see, although frequent of late.

I look at her a moment longer. ''Glad to see you amused,'' my thoughts wash through her.

I look at Max. ''No.'' The corner of my lips rises. ''Although...for the services to the Realm, both military and bureaucratic, I wish one to be made in Behemoth Slayer's likeness. And send word that the statue's height shall symbolize their love of me.''

''What?'' Kali asks, smirk gone. ''No, I don't want one.''

I turn to face Max. ''Such is my will. Max, I want you personally on it.''

He nods, his dip pen with the handle of Wraith-bone sliding across white paper; dark blue hand hard at work.

Kali narrows her eyes at Max. ''No. Max, If you do so I might accept one of those challenges.''

After learning about Kali's and my little skirmish, Max challenged Kali to a duel...about five or six times, I hear. Maybe he wants to die. Of course, she refused. Rare are those blessed with even the fraction of might that dwells within Kali.

Max smiles, red eyes glazed with joy. ''It is settled then. And stone?''

''Max---'' Kali begins.

I look at her, interrupting. ''Only the best, fine, pure-white marble. To be painted the color of pale purple for skin and purple Wraith crystals to be used for the eyes. The image will depict her wearing a thin, bespoke, silk dress—white. The hair and the dress are not to be painted, of course, let the marble shine.''

She leans back, says nothing, arms crossed, resigns herself to the terrible fate of being immortalized in stone.

Alexander is uncomfortable. ''Creator, forgive my boldness, but I must speak.''

The head priest of Vantium has a human-like body with the head of a goat with long horns.

There are more than a few of his ilk that would see me apotheosized, worshiped like a living god. Such notions I find ridiculous. I have ordered Maeve to quell them, preferably peacefully. From time to time, secret cults would appear in towns far from here where I would be worshiped.

Religions give birth to strife. One is tolerable. Two or more, in the end, mean burnt cities and an Alldora of crystal dust. I will have none of it.

I have given no true temporal power to the clergy.

''Despite our successes in hunting for Wraiths,'' the head priest continues, ''half of which must be due to the efforts of the General and Maeve,''—everyone at the table chuckles in agreement—''the general population, although vast, is close to stagnation. Quarter of the day working is not enough for our miners to extract the crystals efficiently. The current ones should be made to work two times longer. And more kindred should---''

''Certain topics are not debatable,'' I say, my words strong. There is some merit to his reasoning but sentient and far more unsentient miners already toil in harsh conditions so that the number of kindred may rise, and so that Vantium, a beast insatiable, can have its fill of crystal light. Excluding a behemoth, Wraiths often yield the heaviest and biggest of crystals and also of the highest quality, however, it is mining that gives the greatest numbers.

Steropes looks to his right. ''Maybe if some crystals weren't sacrificed to placate the goddesses we would have more.''

The head priest simply glares at him.

Max sighs deeply. ''We've been receiving multiple reports from the south. Maeve exterminated all Wraiths and their spawn that dwelled around Carcassona.''

''Behind the skirt of the goddess,'' Steropes rumbles.

''We believe,'' Max continues, ''there will be no Wraith sightings there for a few months, at least.''

My best scholars, lost to the countryside, my intelligence chief, chasing demons. Is there no one dependable?

Kali leans toward Steropes in a half whisper, ''She is as vicious as she is fair. I taught her daggers myself but she insists on going without. My sweet Maeve.''

Asked and answered.

Steropes laughs, a distant thunder thing. ''Maeve is Maeve. A youngling still.'' While sitting in the Council meetings, Steropes occupies a special chair carved from granite. Located a little down the table, the chair looks like an oversized throne, simple in design but grand. Even the rare, stonewood chairs break from the weight of him.

A youngling...Were Maeve a human, her children would be nearing adulthood. And yet, perhaps, Steropes speaks some truth. Admittedly, she is capable of wisdom or two.

Max looks down, and his mood seemingly following his gaze. He is much fond of Maeve. His hand drawing a concept for a gauntlet on a side piece of paper. He has a large collection of plate armor, many pieces made by himself.

Rising from the top of an inselberg rock formation, the building where the Council meetings are always held is a huge tower-like structure. The Bastion's gown of glass is coated with a special substance that allows the light in, but from the outside, it seems as though the light is hitting many blurry mirrors. My scholars unceasingly build upon the knowledge of the past.

Bastion's largest room, the rotunda, is located at the apex of the structure. The main dome's ceiling is smooth and painted with colorful frescoes. Its center has a large oculus situated directly below the Green Archcrystal. At night a beam of emerald light creates a giant spectral column. Located below the rotunda, and overlooking the Silver Lake, is the Council Chamber.

After two hours of talking governance and familiarities the chamber slowly empties.

After all left she stays. Probably wishing to sway me into expanding the army or to articulate about its endless logistical needs. Another ten thousand hepatizon pauldrons perhaps?

She looks at the five guards in the room. ''Leave us,'' her voice a poised, regal thing; commanding, yet mellifluous.

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Immediately they obey. Each of the five is bigger and wider than her, resplendent in their full armor of alamarium, yet they are ants in her presence. After a small bow they leave the chamber. Of course, their role is more than simply ceremonial. They listen and they learn. One day at least one of the five will sit at the Council table.

Our fighting in the arena was not received well by the kindred. The fight itself was a chaotic thing, and although I was...never in danger of being hurt, many still hold quiet discontent.

She and I have spoken of this.

I barely convinced her to come to the gala last night and interact with her kindred in a grand setting that does not involve fighting or battle.

Other of her kindred wore ermine coats and intricate doublets and vividly yellow pelisses and dusky red and green dresses—often trimmed with pure white miniver; the whole affair was a jumble of silks, brocades, and damask attire.

And while everyone was in their finest of silks and brocades she wore her bloodsteel curias. When I gifted it to her I expected it would be kept in Chambord, her black-gray roofed castle-palace, serving as a sort of centerpiece decoration. Notably because she has no need of armor, not even the one forged from aurichalcum. Yet she wears it devotedly. I could not even begin to imagine her in a froth of pink silk, although her slender frame is finely suited for any attire, formal or not.

I have sent her white and black dresses of best silk. She never wore them. She possesses many such regal habiliments—enough to make a human empress of old crimson with envy. Many a raiment she has is of such fine quality it is almost worthy of her graceful lines.

She has also been given two saber-like, aurichalcum swords of exceptional craftsmanship. Those gifts she had been using when occasionally hunting for Wraiths or practicing in her own gymnasium. Sometimes she hunts them alone and I would scold her for not using hunting squads. There is no Wraith that can kill Kali, but they are often devious creatures and she could end up being hurt.

My largess toward her is well-known but never commented. Officially, all the lavish gifts are bestowed upon her due to her service to our realm. In reality, about a third of them are bestowed because I...favor her greatly. Her and no other.

Despite her attire at the gala, she was the naked sun surrounded by a thousand dots of candlelight.

If there are other kindred present we would often express our disagreements mentally. And especially since I wished to avoid further discord.

We moved away from everyone, ending up behind a giant column.

The loud music and the dancing and the chatter of others were irrelevant. I have always mindspoken to her the most. ''You fused me to a wall of the arena.'' My voice was an anger echoing through her mind.

She crossed her arms. ''You once held behemoth's maws wide open and you fuss about such a trivial thing.''

''I am not the problem. Many see you with rising fear in their eyes and I will tolerate none of it. Talk to your kindred. Mingle.''

''No.'' She smirked.

''You will stay and you will smile.''

She had left the gala after that.

Only later did she briefly came back, told me to meet her after the event but I was still sour at her tone and did not wish to talk to her further.

At this moment, sitting there to my right, she seems anxious. Hides it well.

A few times already she stared at me and then avoided meeting my gaze. She is strange today.

Were there not such vile things as behemoths inhabiting this sublime world we would probably build another city, maybe one closer to the coast. We are, in some way, forced to gradually expand The Five Cities instead, Vantium particularly.

No.

My mind stops as the thought hits: Without a behemoth-crystal she would not be here.

My eyes glide across her cheek.

She's worth more than a thousand cities.

My reverie is broken when I notice Kali's hand on mine.

''I waited for you,'' she tells me, her fingers sliding over mine, her inspecting gaze on my hand.

At first my mind does not comprehend what my eyes see. I do not retrieve my hand back. She does, when she stands up, her armor clacking a little.

She walks behind my chair, embraces me. She never displays such affections.

...She sees me...I never knew.

''Be with me like humans used to join together,'' she whispers.

The world's heartbeat stops, and silence holds me for some time, my eyes forward, my thumb gently caressing her palm.

The truth hurts. And it hurts having to explain this cruel fate, how our union will never be physically possible. ''Kali---''

''I had a special procedure done,'' she cuts me off. She tells me about it, about a daring scholar and a sword of death.

She moves a little away from me. I stand up, following her quick.

I cup her cheek, my eyes on hers. ''You could have died.''

''I can be replaced, the army could continue---''

''I could not!''—I lower my voice—''continue,'' my lips almost touching hers. The view outside, bursting through the Council Chamber's glass wall, is spectacular. The Silver Lake, the granite hills, structures of gleaming white stone rising, patches of rich violet grass thrown in. It is pathetic. This is my first thought when comparing the view to those eyes; to those lips.

''You've always known to put the best kindred in all the right positions. With time---''

I kiss her rough, I kiss her strong.

My arm coils around her waist.

It took decades, but I have learned to manipulate even my senses of taste, smell, and touch. I can feel every minute note of honey, every nuance of roasted meat. My lips almost pulsate pleasantly at the barest touch of her own—a pleasure I amplify to my liking. Her lips make everything, every delicacy I have ever tasted in my long life, comparable to only ashes.

Her long white hair lusters like pure silk. I plunge my fingers into this perfect cascade, pushing the back of her head, pushing her harder against my lips.

For half a heartbeat her scent glazes through me. My blood is ice. My flesh and blood were never human nor do I have the needs or weaknesses of one. Nevertheless, I care for her, want her in every way. For there is an ember of my creators in me, some human spark lost in a thunderstorm of whatever I am. I hold to this speck and my body responds, the last thawing remnants of ice-blood giving way to a boiling cauldron inside my lower torso.

I run my fingers through her hair gentle, then pull it rough, her exposed neck my delight.

She rips up my silk satin, black-and-crimson vest, destroying it completely. Not a moment passes and her lips are jumping all across my chest.

We kiss. Her hands exploring me, mine tearing apart the thick straps of her chest armor—to her mild annoyance. She is strong, barely even moving when I rend them like paper.

She smirks, removing the strips of cloth holding back her pristine white hair, the color of the fairest marble. ''Did you really have to tear my straps...again?''

I remember the arena, her body slicing through the air to slam into the sand. ''Yes.'' I taste her neck, and despite my sense of smell being beyond that of any animal, a fool, only now I realize her scent is the attar of amaranth. It intertwines beautifully with her...natural scent, the rose and chamomile soap that she is so fond of using—most kindred tend to use a scentless one.

I inhale slowly. No verdant gardens lost, or forgotten meadows of the lush spring green, compare.

We kiss again and she removes some of her garments.

I guide her onto the table.

She lies there with her gaze upon mine, unsure what to do.

Slowly, I spread her legs, and pull her closer.

I destroy her gambeson. Her breath quick, her eyes lost in mine.

I undo her strophium, exposing her. The long band of white silk is meant to provide support, to give shape. She does not need the garment, her firmness is undiminished; her skin a swath of pale purple perfection.

Unbound by the limitations of human flesh, her beauty is evernew.

I pause for a moment. Enthralled. She is the forgotten naked sun that I bask in.

''Is something wrong? Are you disappointed?'' she asks.

I chuckle, kissing slowly her breasts and belly and everywhere. I scrape my teeth across her naked shoulder, a thing perfect, fragile-looking, gentle, smooth. Like the shoulder of a human female, yet it is steel. ''So strange to hear...you, so...bizarre.''

She runs her fingers through my hair. ''What...?''

''You, sounding unconfident. It is unusual.''

''I'm sorry about the arena.''

I kiss her belly, my hands exploring a virgin pale purple sea of smooth perfect skin. Her prepossessing abdomen is long like that of a human female at prime age but with no navel—all is taut contours and smooth shadows—an armor luscious, regal and sublime, made of pure muscle and lavender skin. As my fingers caress this sculpted perfection, Kali's breathing intensifies further.

''Are you even listening to me?''

''You brought,''—I kiss her hip—''Dreadhorn to me. I am grateful for that. And after the fight, I was proud of you that day. I always am.'' I kiss her graceful fingers.

Ever since we fought in the arena, each time I perform Genesis agony takes my wrist. I healed fully, I healed quickly, and yet during Genesis it feels as though something colder than ice is carving its path through my wrist. A great pain that even my mind cannot stop or dull. She will never know. I will never tell her this, nor anyone else. I will accept the pain, but not her self-blame.

''He is born of behemoth-crystal like me, isn't he?'' she asks.

My kisses stop. ''Does it matter?''

She scratches her delicate-looking, perfect little nose. ''I don't know. I'm nervous.''

''Were...were you ever kissed or touched like this before?''

''No. I never cared of such things.''

I suspected that. You always preferred to be alone. I keep my thoughts to myself.

''Going from not caring...to this,'' she inhales deliciously when I gently move my finger between her legs, over the line stolen from Empyrean, ''is not a small leap.'' I move up and kiss her neck.

''I care of you. I want you. I always did.''

I move my lips until they are just above hers, hairsbreadth distance between, infinity of distance, and they linger there for a heartbeat, for an eternity. I kiss her hard, I kiss her long.

I kiss her neck. ''Your scent is the first days of spring.''

Kali smiles, a tiny play of lips. ''I don't know what that means.''

''Imagine a pleasant, internal tickling of the nose.''

''I tickle your nose?''

I laugh a little, moving lower, kissing her honeydew breasts. ''You tickle my everything.'' My long midnight-blue hair cascades across my back and shoulders, spreading across her upper body: an expanse of flawless lavender skin.

Kali slams her forehead into my face. Dazing me significantly.

I grab her throat and pin her onto the large table. ''What in the Void, Kali?''

''I thought...'' She now seems more dazed than I was moments ago. ''One old human manuscript said that when a high noble female is to be with a male she should show physical resistance to maintain her virtue.''

A deep breath escapes my nostrils. I release her throat and gently move my fingers across her cheek. ''You are not a high-noble female.'' My bright green eyes gaze into her purple ones. ''You are beyond that.'' I kiss her neck, her cheek. I kiss her just below the throat and then lower. ''A female unrivaled.''

''I know it looks vile, like some deep scar.''

I ignore her words, get down, and then I start kissing her...scar, then slowly licking her new womanhood. My eyebrows rise and eyes flare when a sweet, velvety, and just a touch of salty taste hits my palate.

I lift my head, savoring the taste of her. ''Honey butter?''

''I've pushed half a jar of the creamy thing into me. Some really bizarre human tomes claimed it can help with a union when a male and female human are joining. I can wash in the lake if you don't like it.''

''I do like it.'' My lips land back between her legs. ''You are,'' I kiss her there, ''exceptional.'' My tongue roughly parts her strong lips. Her spine arches, each vertebra a voussoir constructing the elegant arch.

She screams.

I stop.

''Why did you stop?'' she whispers, lowering her toned back.

I say nothing and continue using my tongue for a far higher purpose than making words. The many small inhales she makes are the sounds sweetest, feeding the fervor of my tongue. I devour her womanhood as though it were the sweetest peach.

For six or eight or I-do-not-know-or-care-how-many hours I eat her perfect womanly passageway.

I have often feasted at this table, but never has the tenderloin been so mouthwatering.

Bare-chested I move to stand a little away from her.

I tear my black, loose-fitting breeches away—the cotton ripping with a sharp, intense sound.

Kali inhales quickly. ''How did you do that? Can you grow your arms like that?''

My eyebrows furrow. ''I am not a tree, Kali.''

''Yet you just grew a bough. Can you use it as a weapon?''

''It...is not a tool meant for destruction.''

She looks up, back to holding my eyes. ''I don't know what to do,'' she susurrates.

I approach her, my length extending across her belly—her body trembles for a moment, the look of fascination on her face. After raising her chin to make her focus on my eyes, I roughly move my thumb across her lips. ''You have already done too much...my Theia.''

She smiles a little. ''Why are we whispering?''

I laugh mildly in response. ''I do not know.''

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