This was a really fun chapter to write. Really sad, of course, but I truly enjoyed this chapter.
It really showcases the Kydrian Royalties and their characteristics, how they cope with the death of Percy.
None of them are wrong, of course. Each way is justified and understandable.
Although one thing you should note before reading this is that time is nonexistent here. Which means that it could take place a couple days after Percy's death, or a few months. It depends, really.
Not very important but it might confuse some readers, so I'm just putting it here.
Happy reading :)
After Percy's death, it was as if time slowed down.
Before, six centuries could pass without Hazel realising.
Now, barely a week passes and Hazel would feel like it's been a year.
Her art studio buzzed with activity. She spent the majority of her time there, painting, crafting, weaving. Doing anything to capture Percy's image again, to be able to see her dear sister one more time. Yet each time, she is driven to the edge of insanity. The look of life reflected in Percy's eyes grew duller and duller with each artwork, her smile growing smaller and smaller every time. Hazel could no longer make statues of Percy, the last one shattering into pieces as Hazel lost her temper and threw it across the room. She could not bear it, the lack of details in her hair, her eyes. The lifelessness, reminding Hazel of her deepest regret and mistake. It was her punishment, and she bore it everyday.
Despite Hecate confirming that Percy was dead, Hazel could not bear to bury her. Instead, when Frank woke up three years later, they had a magnificent coffin built, made of crystals and sapphires, in Ethearos. So that everyone could see her and remember their true goddess.
Everyday, the couple would go to her. Everyday, they would mourn for their sister. Their family.
Frank, despite having taken so long to wake up, made a speedy recovery. Hazel was tempted to thank the fates, but they put him there in the first place.
These days, there is no one left to thank. So she thanked Percy, who she hoped was looking after them wherever she was.
She just knew it wasn't the Underworld. She knew even in death, Percy would not succumb to the will of the Gods.
Kydria suffered the worst. It was revealed to the world, though still blinded to the Gods.
Without Percy, the dimension it once existed in vanished. It was once a floating island, but it is now anchored.
Not to mention, the empire did not have a protector anymore. Each year, the number of deaths increased as they perished due to natural causes.
Hazel and Frank were trying, but their powers were weakened.
Their grief weighed them down.
Hazel placed her cup down, her head still throbbing. Nothing was helping, not even herbal tea.
She could do little but stare at the canvas blankly, the pristine white mocking her. The paint on her brush had dried about an hour ago, still she was unsure where to start.
A knock on the door. Hazel was tempted to refuse, but she has never once done that to Anysia. She wasn't going to start now.
The door creaked open by an inch, and Anysia stepped in all her glory.
She was dressed for a council meeting, her hair braided simply in a loop waterfall braid, her crown on her head. Her eyes, a cool, dark, obsidian, observed her queen for a moment.
Anysia knew how Aiónia's death had affected her queen. She knew that Queen Hazel struggled, even now. And oh, what she would give to get a hint on how to comfort her queen.
Even if she did not know how to, it did not mean she could not try.
Shutting the door behind her, Anysia approached the still queen, kneeling at her feet. Hazel made a sound of acknowledgment, her hand resting on Anysia's shoulder. A sign that Hazel was present. That Anysia could talk and Hazel would listen.
And talk she did.
"My Queen, please. I beg of you. Your people are worried for you, it has been two decades since you last participated in an event. No one in public has ever seen you since Goddess Aiónia…" She faltered, cursing herself for bringing Aiónia up.
Hazel smiled bitterly, not offended by Anysia's words. "You can say it, Ani. Since she died."
"She could come back, my Queen." Although it was doubtful, Anysia had to hold the morals up. There was no one else to do it. Her family in Kydria, they were all descending into sadness and grief at their own leader's death.
Anysia knew, if it had been Hazel who died, she would not have been so optimistic. No Elacian would be happy.
They all loved their royalties, but they worshipped the true queen of Elacia.
They all held the same title, but everyone knew, unspoken, who the actual person who held the title was.
"The Τελευταία are extraordinary, your powers exceed what is reality. She might be sleeping. You said it yourself that you did not sense her passing into the Underworld."
A sharp, brittle laugh leapt from Hazel's throat. Anysia held back a wince as the hand on her shoulder tightened, fingernails digging in. "Oh, Anysia, that really doesn't mean anything. Not when the Fates are playing this game."
Anysia scowled at the mention of them. " They are foul beings, cruel creatures that only care about themselves. But my Queen-"
"I don't wish to talk anymore, Ani. It's really not a big deal. This was my mistake, and I will fix it."
After so long, she still blamed herself. "… no one blames you."
"I blame myself."
"Hazel, we do not want to see you in pain. Perhaps I should call Frank. He always cheers you up."
"Frank should not be bothered. He has his duties, and now that Sephie is dead, we have to take care of things ourselves."
Anysia bit her lip, at a loss on how to comfort Hazel. "I am your friend, Hazel. Before we became goddess and worshipper, we were friends first. I respect you and I will always worship you, but I will put our friendship first. As your friend, let me help you. It hurts when I see you in pain. It hurts when you blame yourself when it is not your fault. No one blames you, Hazel, not when you were only trying to look out for us. You were right, you know. Massacia knows that you were right. Your power was limited as it is. Even before the Fates intervened, none of you were in the position to directly take on the Gods. Not even Goddess Aiónia…"
"She never cared, you know. She never cared, even when everyone she cares about was against it. She never cares about herself, only the safety and happiness of everyone around her. I knew it would be the death of her but I didn't-"
A tear slid down the side of her face. Anysia let out a whine from the back of her throat, visibly distressed.
"My Queen."
"Stay, Anysia. But please. Let me mourn for my cousin in silence."
Would tear herself apart if Hazel gave the signal, Anysia nodded obediently, resting her head on Hazel's thigh. They sat there silently, their minds occupied.
Hazel couldn't help wonder what Percy would say if she was here.
Meanwhile Anysia was making a silent oath. I'm here, Hazel. You can't chase me away.
—
Frank also had a conversation with Hyllus, king of Mygeneia.
Although Hyllus was, in the face of public, a stoic, strong man, he was Frank's lieutenant for a reason. He was a good warrior, yes, but before that, he was a friend.
His best friend, outside of the Τελευταία.
"Aiónia is strong. She will return. We will be stronger than ever, and we will defeat the Gods." Hyllus said, standing in front of Frank's throne, his arms crossed behind his back.
They will never show their close bonds like Hazel does with Anysia, or Percy does with her council. They were both commanders, more willing to stay in the background and not draw unwanted attention.
Still, they knew, and everyone else knew.
Hyllus is Frank's favourite. He adores his council, as the Τελευταία obviously did, but Frank will always go to Hyllus first.
Everyone knew, and no one said anything to try challenge that.
Yet now… even Hyllus could not help his mourning king.
"She is dead, Hyllus, there's no point of denying the truth."
"You are beyond death. The Fates may have created your power, but you rise even stronger than them. She will return."
"Do not." Frank waved a hand, sharply blocking out the opening.
Hyllus stayed quiet, waiting for his king to continue.
"Do not try to comfort me. Do not try to raise my hopes. She is dead, and I must accept that."
"We are all hoping for her return, lord."
"Do not call me that."
It does not matter. Every time, Frank asks Hyllus to call him by his name. Every time, Hyllus refuses.
"… her death is a tragedy. We must not let our tragedies shape us, that is what you have always told us."
Frank paused, looking his friend in the eye for the first time throughout the entire conversation. On the armrest, his hand tightened its grip, but not too much that he would dent the throne. "So I did. Alas, Hyllus, you will find that in the world, very few people listen to the advice they give out and unfortunately, I am not so special so as to not be included."
—
Recovery was slow. Some days, they didn't bother making an effort.
Although their friends were by them through every step, it wasn't easy moving forward.
Months could go by, and Hazel would still feel reluctant to go to Myliraki.
It's been years since Hazel and Frank were alone together.
Everything between them was stilted. Awkward. They got used to it being the three of them. It had always been Hazel and Frank and Percy. The love between them was different, but it was a love not many could rival.
Usually, the only times Hazel and Frank could bear to be near each other, was when they were in Kydria.
Hazel would spend her time gazing wistfully at her boyfriend, wondering how things could have been. Then, she would turn away, self-loathing and grief driving her to keep quiet when it was Frank's turn to look at her.
Frank took up the responsibilities Percy once had. It wasn't easy, balancing two empires, but he did so, knowing that his love could not do so.
He wasn't blind to the hatred she carried close to her heart. He knew she constantly blamed herself for Percy's death. But for once, he was at a loss at how to address it, how to comfort her.
This carried on for years. Decades, even. If Percy was there, she would be tearing her hair out before forcing the lovesick couple into a room to talk things out. Alas, she was not here. The silence continued.
—
While the remains of the Τελευταία struggled with the loss of one of their own, things in Kydria weren't any better.
Even with Frank, without their goddess, the empire spiralled.
"Shut up! Shut up, all of you! I am your ruler, you will listen to me!"
From the shadows, Thyia frowned, shaking her head as her daughter continued screaming at the poor family, who had done nothing but tried to ease her pain. Alas, Aura did not want to be comforted, she just wanted her saviour back.
She wanted her sister.
—
Olivia is the daughter of King Marcus's advisor and the head of strategies. Hence, she knew from childhood that it was her responsibility to advise the ruler of Charí, her home, and guide him to make the best choice.
She was quite young: only seventeen by the end of the year. Yet she knew grief. She never personally experienced it, but she sees it even now, in the eyes of Marcus.
Beautiful blue eyes, as blue as the sky on a warm, summer day, were haunted. Around his eyes, his skin was purple and black, the only physical show that he lacked sleep. Even during meetings, when Olivia was with her parents, learning what she would someday be doing, she could clearly see what most ignore—blue eyes that seem foggy and unfocused, always listening but never once looking at someone directly. He was like Kydria, and they were Earth—existing but unreachable.
With each year, with each month, he only grew progressively worse. That's when Olivia decided to step in. That was when she decided she couldn't stand at the side anymore.
"My king," She curtsied to him.
It was right after a meeting with her parents. Olivia waited for them to leave before sneaking back into Marcus's study, where she was alone.
…
Marcus stared at the girl. Or rather, he didn't look at her more so than he looked through her. It was like Olivia was Kydria, and Marcus was the world before the death of their Aiónia.
"King Marcus!" She tried again.
Still nothing. Just silence.
"Marcus!" Oh, if her parents were here, they would be aghast at the show of disrespect.
Olivia knew from personal experience that Marcus would laugh it off (usually), but it did not stop her from cringing.
Still nothing. Olivia started to wonder if Marcus had learned how to fall asleep with his eyes closed. However, she attempted one last time.
"Marc?"
Marcus jolted up with a start. The barest flicker of life in his eyes.
"Aónia- oh. Olivia. Can I help you? Your parents are in the west wing." Marcus instantly deflated. His arm propped up on his desk, and he rested his face on his arm. The most improper position Olivia had ever seen on him, but it was clear Marcus no longer bothered about appearances. Besides, she couldn't exactly point that out, could she? She called him by a dam nickname.
"No, my king, I wish to talk to you."
A frown, a small wrinkle on his forehead. His nose scrunched up, as he tried to come up with a response to get her to leave without sounding too rude. Olivia was simply happy that she got a reaction out of him.
"Well, I am quite busy. If you could talk to your father about it, he could help you." His table was clean.
Ignoring the obvious, Olivia simply smiled charmingly, daring to approach Marcus. "I am afraid… this is quite personal."
"He is your father."
"It is about you!" She burst out, patience ran thin.
Marcus frowned, perplexed. "… I beg your pardon?"
"My king, we are all very worried for you. Ever since Goddess Aiónia per-"
His hand slammed onto the wooden table. Olivia jumped, faltering in her speech. Anger danced across his face, the only true emotion he has ever shown with Olivia present. Her heart skipped a beat and she licked her lips. Was it her, or did the room just become much warmer? "Do not finish the sentence, Olivia. You will not finish the sentence if you know what is best for you."
Her previous emotions forgotten, Olivia scowled at the discreet insult. "With all due respect, lord, I am not someone you can threaten and intimidate. I understand how you feel, so let me help you."
Something akin to interest flickered alive in his gaze.
For once, since Percy had died, Marcus felt something. He felt alive. It's been a feeling he has missed for decades.
—
Laurel hummed, her fingers a blur as they weaved in and out of the silk gown. It had been a long time since she had gotten a gift from Anysia, ruler of this realm. For the love of their gods, she could not figure out how this dress worked.
A knock on the door. Two figures appeared as the door swung open. One of them had her arms held out. "How is my baby doing?"
Immediately, Laurel leapt up, smiling. "Mama! Oh, I have missed you."
Abandoning her work, Laurel rushed to her door, where Mimira was waiting, smiling ever so gently at the girl she blood-adopted. Delta, her wife, held Mimira's hand as they watched the girl they raised cross the room and into their waiting arms.
"Mama, what brings you here today?" It has been so long, Laurel misses her parents.
Embracing her daughter, Mimira said softly, "We know, baby. Elacia has kept us busy."
"Not that we are complaining." Delta pitched in. "Have you been well?"
Laurel untangled herself from Mimira to give Delta a hug. "Yes, Ma. My studies have gone very well."
"We do not care about that, although it is nice to hear."
Laurel giggled. "Mama, I have been well. My friends are all happy. I am happy."
"That is good to hear."
Laurel frowned, sensing something changing in the atmosphere. "It does not seem like you are happy, though. What ails you, Mama?"
"We have gotten news from Myliraki today. King Frank has fallen."
She did not understand. "Ill?"
"No. In an attempt to stop the Gods from doing something foolish yet again. He was successful, and with Queen Hazel's help, the Gods have moved past it but we have suffered…" Mimira sniffed, unable to finish her sentence. Laurel had never seen her mother so distraught. Something terrible has happened, she knew as much. But she did not know what it was.
"I do not understand. Has something happened to our lord?"
"He is making a steadfast recovery, and Queen Hazel is by his side through everything."
Suddenly, Laurel knew who was missing. "… Mama. What about our goddess?"
…
Her heart plummeted to her stomach. Her hands grew cold.
"She is dead, baby. She was the one who interfered with the timeline the most, and the Fates have punished her for it."
"No. No, no, no. This cannot be. Tell me you are lying, Ma."
Silence enveloped the room. The atmosphere was sombre. Nothing like it was just minutes ago.
Laurel pushed herself away from her parents, looking them in the eye. She didn't need a mirror to know how horrified she must appear to them.
"Mama?"
"I am so, so sorry."
No, no, no, no, no.
This wasn't what was supposed to happen.
Laurel was supposed to be happy. She was supposed to have a wonderful childhood in Massacia. Then, she was supposed to return to Kydria. She made plans. So, so many plans.
"I was supposed to return to Kydria! I was supposed to be crowned queen! No…"
"Come here, baby."
Mimira managed to reach her daughter just as Laurel's knees failed her. Her entire body crumpled to the ground, racked with sobs.
—
Isadora received the news from Myliraki, breaking down instantaneously.
She was having a wonderful day.
Aura had made plans with her to visit her in Myliraki. They were going to have a picnic, catch up with one another.
Isadora had seen her Vasilissa the day prior, and she had promised Isadora to take them out to Europe to give Aristorine a surprise.
But Vasilissa was late. Aura had written a very brief and vague message, telling Isadora that their plans were cancelled. There was no explanation.
The explanation came in the form of a servant, sent by Hyllus, whom Isadora grew close to on day 1.
"No, no, no, no. You cannot take her from me. No, no, no."
"Lady Isad-"
"Shut up! There must be some mistake. Go back! Only return when you have checked your sources, Vasilissa can not be dead." She knew how cruel she was being to the servant, but she was barely hanging on. The last thing on her mind was him.
"This land's king was on the brink of death but a few months ago, is it that hard to believe it?"
"You will not speak to me this way! Just go! She cannot be dead."
"My condolences to you, Lady Isadora. I shall go now."
Her sister personally came, leaving the Lissanthun throne to visit Isadora. That was how bad Isadora was, that her little sister had to come and soothe her.
"What is this I hear of you screaming at the servant, Isa?"
"Not you too, Qil." She was too tired to deal with Qilin's disappointment.
"I am your sister, it is my responsibility to watch out for you."
Isadora scoffed, looking out the window. From the glass reflection, she could see her sister, all dolled up by her handmaidens. "Vasilissa cannot be dead. She cannot. I forbid it."
"The servant was wrong."
"I- wait, what?" Of all things Isadora expected, this was not one of them.
"How can our Vasilissa ever be dead? No, she was wrong. Vasilissa is merely asleep at the moment. She will return to us."
It was so easy to hope, and so easy for the hope to shatter. "… promise me, Qil."
"I swear it. It is okay, adelphi, it is okay. We are okay. She will be okay. I promise."
—
"My lady! News from Myliraki."
Heaving a sigh of relief as the silence finally broke, Regina stood up from her throne, signalling the messenger to come closer.
"At last. Tell me, do they know where Aiónia is? Hali has gone silent. I cannot draw power from her anymore."
Obliging her ruler's wishes, the messenger rose from his kneeling position, approaching the dias. "My lady, we do know what happened to Aiónia but…"
Regina frowned, hating when her citizens feel restraint when talking to her. It made her feel like she failed her job as their sovereign. "Speak up. What is wrong?"
"HE has gone insane."
It was not so hard to guess who the messenger was talking about. Not while using that voice of contempt. "This is not new information."
He wasn't done talking. "Aiónia went to stop him, but she has affected the timeline. Greatly."
"What do you mean? Are you saying what I think you are saying?" Cold fingers latched onto Regina's heart. Her legs failed her. She had to sit back down again.
"I am sorry, Lady Regina, but Aiónia is dead."
"…"
"My lady?" The messenger called out apprehensively.
"Leave." She said quietly.
"But-"
"I said leave." This time, it was spoken louder. The guards that stood in position next to the walls of the room immediately turned away, knowing that she wanted to be alone. In unison, they marched out.
The messenger was the last to leave, closing the door with a "I am sorry."
Regina waited for the doors to close, for the sound of footsteps to gradually leave, before she slouched down, too tired to hold herself up to the royal standards. She glanced over at the tall portrait hung in her throne room, of her being crowned queen of Theodoskopeia.
If she was being honest, she never wanted to be queen.
She had been quite happy being Okina's lieutenant.
Then, when Okina left to pursue the path of magic, Aiónia had approached her.
I sense greatness in you. She had said, her eyes glittering in a way that made her seem far older than she physically was. You are doing great as a lieutenant but you will thrive as a ruler.
Here she was, centuries later, ruling on a throne Aiónia had given her, but the goddess nowhere in sight. "So am I."
—
Dorian hastened his footsteps, almost flying up the stairs to his wife's chamber. He knew, after she received the news, nothing good would be coming out of it.
Iphianna looked up smiling as he barged into her room.
"My darling husband. How are you?"
Dorian could only stare at his wife. His sweet, beautiful wife, who he had known for the majority of their lives. They had been together, dating, even before Prodosia invaded their village.
Prodosia had been all but ready to kill him. After centuries, Dorian did not blame her. They had been strangers after all, and his goddess was not going to kill him now. However back then, Iphianna had all but thrown herself in front of the masked princess, not to beg for his life, but to challenge her.
Impressed by the strength she had shown, Prodosia spared his life, later on making Iphianna in charge of the proud state they call Imbreion.
Iphianna during her early years had been wary of the masked princess, soured that she tried to kill her boyfriend. However later on as decades turned to centuries, and the masked princess turned to her queen and then her goddess, they had grown close and Iphianna was just as worshipful to Aiónia as the other Royals of Kydria.
That had been why Dorian was concerned about his wife upon hearing the death of their goddess. He knew she would be mourning, that she would be upset.
… he just did not expect this.
"I am alright, agape. And you?"
"Perfectly fine. I was just trying something out."
"Yes… I can see that. Iphi, love, pass me the knife."
"No."
"Iphi."
She pretended not to hear him, turning back to the mirror, admiring her reflection. "She loves my hair, you know."
He knows. He knows of so many nights where Prodosia would tell stories of the outside war to Iphianna, and the newly made ruler would nervously sit facing the mirror as Prodosia braided her hair into beautiful braids that framed her face. He knew of the reluctance Iphianna faced each time she had to undo them. He knew of her stubbornness not to let her handmaidens braids that same hairstyle, for it was something she shared with their goddess.
He knew she adores her hair, luscious silver-white hair that was so, so unique.
So he did not understand why half of that said hair laid on Iphianna's hand, severed from her head, as Iphianna looked at him proudly and unbothered.
"I know, love."
"It looks wrong." Iphianna said like she knew what he was thinking of. "It looks wrong when she isn't the one who does them. So I cut them. Now it does not look odd."
"She would have wanted you to keep your hair."
"I learned a long time ago that the dead do not tend to want things, dear husband." Iphianna retorted without looking back.
Cautiously, Dorian approached his wife, placing his hand on her arm, taking the dagger before she got any other ideas. "Iphianna, it is okay to mourn. I am here, I will not judge you. I love you."
"… I want Vasilissa." She said in a hushed whisper, as if she was admitting a shameful secret.
Dorian nodded. "I know."
"I want her here. The gods cannot have her. I want her."
"I know. I am so sorry."
Her bottom lip trembled, showing her distress. "I need her…"
—
Aristorine hummed, strolling through the busy streets of San Marino, Europe.
Barely anyone gave her a second glance, all captivated in their own work. Why would they look at Aristorine?
She knew, if she revealed herself for who she truly was, men would be fighting themselves, competing to see who could get her into their bed first.
No, she thought humorlessly. They would not even wait that long. They would probably drag me to the nearest bush. With or without consent.
Aristorine knew all about these kinds of men, of course. Before the existence of Ephicca, her mother was prey to them. She lost count of how many times her mother, sweet and pure, had forced Aristorine into their cellar, the only room in their house that did not allow sound through, before some man grabbed her roughly. Aristorine lost count of how many times she saw pieces of clothing being shed before the door was locked.
Perhaps it was the only reason she had laughed instead of cried when her mother died, killed by her own hands, a few days before Prodosia had set her eyes on their village, ready to be their saving grace. A few days before Aristorine changed from being the village trophy to the empire's majesty.
She had gained her mother's beauty. The stunning crystal blue eyes, different from Hali. Where Hali was the deep blue ocean, her eyes were the clear seas on a summer day. She had luscious brunette hair, smooth and wavy that fell to her naval. Indeed, she was a trophy. Not anymore.
Not that anyone could see that right now.
Her eyes were hidden by a strong curtain of Mist as her hair was bundled up and hidden under the cloth she hung around her head. Her body was covered in clothings far larger than her.
Being a spy had its thrills. This was one of its frustrations. Having to travel an hour on foot to get a simple message from her dearest friends.
It was usually Aura who sent her messages. Other times, it would be Isa, wanting to exchange notes. Or Iphi, who adores banters and debates. Or it could be Dorian, asking her for advice on what jewellery to get his wife for her birthday.
It might even be Marcus, with his short, not-very-encouraging-but-encouraging-in-its-own-way messages.
Whatever it was, Aristorine refused to miss it, hence her days were spent with an hour of walking towards and walking back. Everyday, regardless of the weather.
She could not wait to get out of Europe and go to Africa.
When she got to her destination, the man on duty nodded to her. Aristorine nodded back, out of respect. He was one of the few she got along with. One of the only men she could tolerate.
"Mornin'." She greeted him.
He looked up with a smile. "Ah, Tori. Lots of mail t'day. Got a bag?"
She showed it to him. "Right here. Thank you."
He did quick work, helping her to put the mail in her bag. "No need, no need. Safe travels back. Stay away from alleyways."
"I know, thanks for the reminder. 'Ave a nice day." She waved goodbye.
There were eleven messages. Aristorine noted that two of them shared the same handwriting. Aura then.
There was one from Queen Hazel, with notes to accompany her previous letter to the Τελευταία. How odd. It was usually Aiónia who did that. Aristorine wondered if something was wrong.
She got her answer soon, as she walked the narrow road back to her residence, tearing open Aura's letter first.
Ari, she is gone. The Gods… they did this. She is gone, Ari. I am so sorry. Ari, I am so sorry.
Each apology was accompanied with a drop of tears.
Aristorine froze, standing awkwardly by herself, all alone on a winding path.
No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.
—
A knock on her door. Melissa paused, her crown placed slightly towards the left of her head as she called out, "come in!"
A mass of black curls. Dark chocolate skin.
Melissa hurriedly placed her crown—the crown belonging to the ruler of Chalárosi¡rosi—on the marghany dresser, and curtsied to Hazel. One of the only three she would show respect to.
"Greetings, Queen Hazel."
Hazel stared down at her silently for a moment. Melissa straightened up, giving the queen a gentle smile to which Hazel returned. "Melissa. Are you sure about this? I will not judge you, but I feel I should advise you on this matter."
It was not spoken out of spite, but Melissa could hear the disapproval. Her frown showed it all. "It is my decision, and I have chosen this."
"Lysander is young. He is young and inexperienced. Not made for the throne. He grew up thinking he will be an advisor. Not king."
Melissa bristled. "He agreed to it."
Hazel arched one finely made eyebrow. "Out of duty and obligation. Lysander has not been prepared for this. I wish that Seph would return just like you do, but this? Is this not too much?"
Swallowing, Melissa looked away. "… I cannot sit on a throne that Aiónia gave me, knowing that she is gone."
"It hurts, I know, but this is not the only solution."
She met Hazel's gaze. They stood there for a moment, in a battle of strength. Neither looked away.
"It is the only solution that slightly soothes me." Melissa admitted.
Hazel's lips twisted. Not in a smile, not in a grimace either. "You have my blessings."
—
Perhaps Aisha was the only one of the Proélefsi, the Origins, to not be locked away in the safety of their chambers, overwhelmed by grief. Maybe, she was not sure.
That was not to say she was not bothered by Aiónia's death. Of course she was.
She had been lucky to be born into a household belonging to a wealthy man. She had been raised to be married away but before that, she had a better childhood than most of her fellow sisters. (It would not be mentioned, of course, that she did not hesitate to cut her father's neck when given the choice, not before she denounced him in front of everyone to hear)
However, it did mean the word mourning was foreign to her. Even when her mother, Kyomi, died three years after Aiónia was made self-proclaimed queen of the nation she built, she did not shed a single tear. She blamed it all on her father, who beat the tears out of her.
How she wished she could cry, to show the world and herself that Aiónia is and will always be an important figure in her life. But she could not, no matter how many times her heart broke when she recalled the kind goddess and how she no longer breathed life. How she wished.
But for now, all she could do was sit in her throne, wearing the crown of Idissa—a silver crown with the rarest sapphire, second only to Hali—and be the ruler Aiónia was so proud of.
—
Yuna remembered the death of her sister, Elpis very vividly.
That had been a strong sting in her heart, like a permanent arrow that could never be fully removed, not even by the best healers in the world.
Even when her mother died, leaving Yuna to be the last of their family standing, it had not been as painful. Perhaps it was because Yuna had long expected Amey to give out. Amey was strong, but she has had to face too much. It was bound to happen, and Yuna had long expected it to happen. Elpis, on the other hand, she had always hoped.
Elpis was like a candle. A candle left on a hillside and expected to battle against a great hurricane. For a few brilliant years, she had burned bright, lighting the room with her light. Then, she was gone.
Oh yes, Yuna remembered her death well.
She compares it now, to the pain of losing Aiónia.
You were supposed to be the one I live for. Who am I supposed to stay for now that you are gone?