Hermera


    The 3^rd of Skirophorion


    The Year 4631 in the Era of Mortals


    Word spread through Myriatos like wildfire. Arche wasn’t sure how long he had lost consciousness for, but the sun was low in the western sky when he woke. He was in his bed, the only light was a sliver of sun reflecting off the clouds through the window. Wiping his face, he sat up, the blanket sliding off his bare chest. Movement in the corner of the room startled him.


    “Take it easy, don’t try to get up too quickly,” Tess said, leaning forward on her chair.


    “What happened?”


    “You’ve been out of it for a few hours. Blood loss. Odelia says you’ll be fine, just need some rest.”


    Arche shifted, then frowned.


    “Where are my pants?”


    “They were filthy. I removed them for cleaning.”


    “How generous of you.” He coughed. “Don’t suppose you could throw me an extra pair from the dresser?”


    Tess stood and did as he asked. A few moments later, a pair of dark brown pants flew toward his head. He grabbed them and a moment later he was covered. He swung his legs out the side of the bed and felt the wooden floorboards beneath his feet.


    “How long have you been sitting here?”


    “Since you lost consciousness.” Tess seemed utterly preoccupied with the view from the window.


    Arche looked at her more closely. There were faint lines running down her cheeks and a slight tremble to her hand as she clasped them together.


    “Tess, what’s wrong?”


    Her eyes dropped to the windowsill.


    “I didn’t know what we were up against. Not really.” She hesitated. “I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. Then it was like I was back in every fight I’ve ever been in, just as terrified and alone as I’ve always been. I…”


    Her voice crumbled away, but Arche didn’t need her to finish to know where she was going.


    “You looked at him and you remembered what it felt like to die. To feel yourself slipping away.”


    Tess shuddered and nodded.


    “I felt it, too. One look at him and all I could think about was that axe pushing into my chest. I wasn’t angry or determined, I was fucking terrified. That’s what he is, Tess. He’s every bad fight. He’s every soldier’s fear. He doesn’t care about the sides, he just wants the conflict, the bloodier the better.”


    “I don’t…How are we supposed to stand against something like that? How am I?”


    “I don’t know, but we’ll find a way.”


    “How many of us will die along that way?”


    Arche stayed silent. He’d been wondering that same question. Tess shuddered again and looked back out the window. The sky was a brilliant orange, the rainclouds of that morning having faded away.


    “I don’t know how we’ll win,” Arche said. “But I have to try. He’s planning something, I can feel it, and whatever it is, it’s bigger than Myriatos. He wanted me for something.”


    “Why did it have to be you?” she murmured.


    Arche snorted. Ares had plucked him out of a horrible life and set him off in Tartarus with no direction. Everything that had happened since had been luck, both good and bad. Why him? Why, indeed.


    Tess moved from the window to sit on the bed. She was very close to him, now, staring right into his soul with those beautiful, brown eyes. Arche opened his mouth to speak but found his tongue had no interest in forming words.


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    She kissed him.


    Arche drowned in the touch of her, the taste. Strawberries and mint. His hands found their way to her waist and held her like she was smoke, liable to slip away at any moment. Heat blossomed in his chest and spread to the tips of his fingers and toes. He wanted to hold her close. He wanted to tear her clothes off. He wanted to take her far away from everyone and everything.


    Tess’s hand pressed against his chest, pushing him down onto the bed. Then she straddled his waist.


    “Thank you for being patient with me,” she said. “I’ve made up my mind.”


    Arche looked up at her, scarcely able to string two thoughts together, let alone make a sentence. What came out was not entirely what he meant to say, but he did mean it, nonetheless.


    “Are you sure this is what you want?”


    She bent and kissed him again, so full of tenderness and honesty that tears pricked his eyes.


    “All I want is you, Arche.”


    <hr>


    Lyssa wrapped her cloak about her more tightly, trying to shut out the chill mountain air. She stood on a ledge near the top of Mount Hyperion, just below the clouds, and looked out over the horizon. To the north-east, in the far distance, she could just barely make out the distant sea, and that was only because she had placed so many points into Perception.


    To the west and south lay only forest. Much of the Sylv was unmapped, unexplored. Perhaps there were other elven communes deep in the recesses, but there was no way to know. The sun dipped toward the west, almost lost behind the trees. The mountain was the only thing left in light, the rest of the world below already plunged into the early darkness of night. Lyssa took in a deep breath, then stepped out over the ledge.


    Light formed beneath her foot and she pushed off, running higher and higher into the sky. The air was thin but she was fine so long as she took long, steady breaths. Hair tickling a cloud, she stopped, shifting her weight between her feet as she summoned new steps to keep her in place. She couldn’t hold them for very long but it was worth the effort for the view.


    Myriatos was tiny, from up there. Torches and lanterns lit up the palisade walls, pinpricks of light. From this height, it looked like an inconsequential defense. She had proved several times over that she could vault it with ease using the very skill she used now. They would need to train for foes that could fly or otherwise leap across their defenses. With the number of mages they’d been able to make, it shouldn’t be difficult. Once the new arrivals were settled, that would add to their numbers. They would need all the help they could get in the coming war.


    The thought made her fists clench.


    She hadn’t wanted this for her people, but she knew better than to bemoan the fact. This was Tartarus. Conflict was part of life – or afterlife, if Arche was to be believed. She didn’t doubt his word, but that didn’t mean he was right. How could they all be dead? People didn’t go anywhere after they died. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be the whole story. There was something missing. But there was also something strangely comforting about the thought. If death wasn’t the end, then perhaps, somewhere, her brother still lived.


    Lyssa’s eyes followed the river that ran west of Myriatos, flowing south from the mountain to disappear back into the Sylv. Without that river providing fresh water, it was possible Myriatos might never have been founded. The discovery of the Mana-dense water reservoir deep below ground could provide some redundancy, should anything block the flow from the mountain. She would have to talk to their builders if there would be some way to tap into it as a source. They also needed someone to study what effects Mana-infused water would have on the environment and the people. Was it even safe to drink?


    As her Mana dipped below half, she saw something near the southern treeline. A shadow moved across the ground, bleeding out from the rich wood of the forest. Lyssa tapped the harness over her chest and huge, red wings extended from her back, over her cloak. They caught the wind and she soared through the sky.


    Lyssa squinted, trying to make out what was happening in the south. The shadow pulsed and lurched, moving slowly across the ground, then it was gone. Nothing moved at all where it had been.


    Almost nothing.


    Lyssa brought herself into a shallow dive, moving to investigate. A lone figure walked along the river, toward Myriatos. The distance between them was too great to see anything in detail. She increased the angle of her descent, crossing the entire distance of the valley in a couple short minutes, then came up just before hitting the ground, activating Titan Body to shield herself from the impact.


    The figure stood thirty meters away. It was a knight adorned in darksteel. The armor was old, centuries at least, and bore the signs of dozens of pitched battles. It covered the figure’s entire body and the helmet had a faceguard stylized into a skull. They were tall, whoever they were, even taller than Arche, who stood a half head taller than Lyssa. Across the figure’s back was a massive sword, far larger than any Lyssa had ever seen. The blade was long and straight with a double edge. A cross-guard separated the darksteel blade from the metal handle, each intricately designed with small details.


    Lyssa frowned at the stranger, wishing she had the Mana left to cast Identify. Their every step reeked of death. Lyssa took hold of her bow, Iliofotia, with her right hand and stood, drawing an arrow down on the stranger.


    “Who are you?”


    The figure stopped, the tilt of their helmet lifting toward her. No answer came. She felt the bite of her string press against her fingers.


    “This is my territory, stranger. Answer my question or be gone.”


    For a long moment, the world stood still as the two of them stared at each other. Then the stranger pulsed with dark power.


    Death washed over the valley of Myriatos.


    The End of Project Tartarus: Anamnesis (Book 2)