There was sudden laughter from the elder in front of Guinevere, her icy laugh echoed through the room. The princess had not send anything remotely interesting to warrant such a reaction from the ancient being but the manner in which she responded to her words made them all uncomfortable. As though a parent were watching their child attempt to carry themselves as greater than they were. It was impossible to know her thoughts. Not only did her robe obscure her face and body, but it seemed to also obscure her mind too. The Elders, they were truly beyond the reach of this world.

  "Good child, very good. I can see why they say you take after him so much," teased the elder.

  Guinevere shot her a quizzical look, but before she could ask who 'they' and 'him' were, Daimion spoke.

  "Well that is all well and fine sister," he began. "It does not change the fact Antares is an exile, who broke the code of the Lords of War," he reminded them.

  He glanced over at Cirella looking for any kind of support and he got it from his wife. This bolstered him, it filled him with the necessary confidence to keep going, to keep pushing. What he sought was within reach. Even if his own twin sister did not see him fit to rule he did not care. He would show them he was the only possible option. He took a step forward.

  "We have all heard the rumors of escapades while in exile. The monikers he is known by such as 'The Earl of Lavender'. Even in exile he still embarrasses the throne. He embarrasses the royal family! He is not fit for it. My brother is nothing more than another disappointment that could not live up to what my father wanted. "

  Daimion could not tell if there was silence or not over the blood rushing through his ears. Five years he had, five years to position himself on a pedestal. When his father had gotten too weak to rule, he was made Lord Regent and ruled in his stead. He believed the elders would not take it away from him, especially because of his efforts to return Iliad to the old ways. He needed to make up their minds for them. Daimion took the opportunity to deliver his final barrage.

  "Is this who we want to see sit on the throne? Have we forgotten the reason for his exile so quickly, have we forgotten that it is him, Antares, who slaughtered Nykolas Xerxes-."

  A shockwave reverberated throughout the entire throne room. The glassed windows rattled and cracks began to form on the marble walls. People shuddered under the overwhelming intensity that was being displayed. A sharp current flowed through the room threatening to harm anyone in its path. People covered and braced their faces. A deep low hum was building beneath their feet from one direction. Casspien was not foolish enough to bear his bloodlust, his actions alone were enough to shame him and his family branch, but if his bloodlust had leaked out even just a single drop, he could have lost his life. Even though his ire was directed at Daimion for speaking Nykos' name so freely, the elders would take it as an attack. Just as quickly as he released his pressure he suppressed himself completely.

  "Insolent child. You would bare your fangs at me? When I was your age I drank more blood than wine. Have I ascended so far, you cannot see me anymore?" bellowed the elder.

  Casspien began to bow, "Forgive me great one, I forgot myself for a moment."

  "You think that is satisfactory-" continued the elder.

  "Now, now, it is alright, the boy did not aim such bloodlust at you. And he apologized," interjected the elder in the middle.

  "Nevertheless-"

  "Enough." The elder in the middle did not allow room for a response.

  The room fell oddly quiet, it was not that the elder said it in any kind of voice, nor did he raise his voice. But the manner in which he uttered the words, the way a king would speak. It felt like it influenced the very particles in the air. His words held no power and yet affected everything the same. His words, his power, was simply enough. The elder turned to Antares.

  "Prince Daimion speaks the truth. Your actions years ago were grave to say the least. The penalty for killing a fellow Lord of War is death. Yet that was avoided because your father exiled you before a tribunal could be held. There are those who believe you have yet to pay for your crimes. Some of them are in this very room," finished the elder.

  Antares glanced over to where the rest of his family were standing, many of them unable to look at him. Despite being expressionless he could see how they felt. Casspien included. It had been five years since that fateful day. Try as he might he was unable to move past it, move past what he did. The memories flooding back to him, his face coming back into his mind. His chest burned slightly, he could feel the overwhelming sadness begin to bubble its way to the surface. Antares knew he did his duty that day, but that wasn't enough to absolve him of the guilt that chained his heart. In the end all that mattered was that Antares killed his dearest friend five years ago and for that, he was exiled by his father.

  "I do not deny anything that my little brother says." Antares gestured towards Daimion. "Frankly, I have no right to rule. Not after what I did, a point I made to my father."

  Daimion began nodding his head in approval.

  "With that being said, " he continued. "My father was still adamant I rule, that I do my duty to Aurum and her people. He said if I was so against it I could look at it as some kind of punishment for my actions," he chuckled.

  Antares slowly walked past the elders towards the throne. Memories of his time here when he was a child. At the time all he ever wanted to do was sit and look out imagining thousands praising him. It truly was a beautiful throne, it glimmered slightly in the light. It was large enough for one to completely lie across its smooth obsidian surface. Hundreds had sat on this throne before Antares, their actions and decisions affecting the lives of so many across not only this realm but others too. He wondered how they could live with the sins of the things they did. Antares had barely had that much responsibility and what little he experienced sent him on a near endless spiral.

  He was a drunk and a coward in his eyes. A disgrace of a son, brother and most importantly a warrior. He had only seen twenty-six years and yet barely survived them. He ran his hands across the throne. He did not remember much of his mother, but what he did remember of her was that she was kind, and most of all she would always tell him that he was destined for more than anyone. Was this what his mother meant, thought Antares.

  "I always found it hard to refuse my father while he lived." Antares said turning to the elders, a strong look of determination in his eyes. "So Elders of Uruk, I say this here to you today. I will serve my punishment. I will be king. Serve in my fathers place and save my people. For as long as I need to, until Hyperion returns. After... we will let the Ancestors decide my fate."

  The elder in the middle chuckled. The elders looked at each other. There was no way of discerning what they were thinking. All waited with baited breath to hear what they would say. A look of utter shock came across Daimion's face.

  "We had long since decided you would be the next ruler of Iliad, but there were some who still had reservations." The elder in the middle said, looking to the elder near Daimion who scoffed. "But I am sure those concerns have long since been dispelled, we are pleased," he concluded.

  There were murmurs in the group, everyone sported a confused and bewildered appearance. The events of the day were sure to reverberate throughout Iliad and most importantly Aurum. There were those in the group who had been supporters of Antares, such as Casspien, Guinevere, Lady Alena and some extended members of the royal family. Their expression first being shock but eventually becoming kinder upon the realization of what had happened. On the other hand, you had those who supported Daimion, or rather supported anyone but Antares, that being Anastasia, Cirella and various other members of house Xerxes who were in attendance as observers for those who could not make the funeral of King Barranagan.

  Though, of all who were present it was Daimion whose reaction was most expressive. The young prince had over the last five years cultivated various allies with different factions within house Xerxes for power. His father made it a point to raise him in the art of diplomacy and he used his considerable skills and ways with words to garner support. Although there were those who believed the direction he was leading Iliad in was one of ruin, many Stygians still believed what he was doing was right. His goal was a simple one, despite the ramifications it would mean on relations with other realms, specifically their allies. Daimion wished to return Iliad to the days where Stygian rule was absolute, he wished to further elevate his people beyond their status, in a way to return things to the way they were thousands of years ago. This style of thinking was popular with the older generation of Stygians, as many of them felt in the last ten thousand years there had been more focus on helping and supporting humans at the cost of many Stygian lives. There had been a shift and Daimion was adept at realizing this and used it to his advantage.

  Yet despite all of his careful planning, his bowing and offering of tribute to various factions within his house, all of it was undone in a matter of seconds. An overwhelming rage began to boil inside of him, his ire turning towards his failure of an elder brother. Were it not for his return, for their father choosing to reinstate Antares as heir and eventual king, the throne would be his. To him it was unfair, he had done everything required of him, while his brother indulged in the pleasures of the flesh, it was he who stayed up night after night, scheming and finding ways to better his people, to actualize their true goal. He would not let it end, not like this.

  "This is absurd, I refuse to accept this!" Daimion blurted out.

  Everyone turned to look at him, he looked at Cirella for support but all she could do was shake her head in disapproval. No matter he thought, he did not need his wife's support, he could very well do this by himself, just like his father had done during his various battles, he had his blood in him, he could not be stopped.

  "You will make him king? After everything he has done? You are going to reward him with the most powerful throne in Aurum. Forgive me elders but I cannot accept this!" barked Daimion.

  "Oh? Insolent child, know when you are defeated," scoffed the elder closest to him.

  "Daimion-." began Antares.

  Before Antares could speak the great doors to the throne room were forcibly swung open. A gust of wind blew through the room and made everyone save for the elders to brace themselves. With the wind, came a fiery pressure, overwhelming in its intensity, threatening to consume everything and everyone. Where this kind of power originated from was from the impossibly large Stygian man who stood at the door sporting a large grin across his face.

  "Uncle Typhon!" shouted Samara and Loukas in unison.

  Before Cirella could chastise them for speaking out of line they both ran towards their hulking uncle and embraced him.

  "C'mere you little rascals, it has been too long. I hope you are not giving your mother more trouble than she can handle?" Typhon said, picking them and swinging them around. His laughter reverberated throughout the entire room. Yet his presence seemed to calm things, as though this would be the end to an eventful morning. As the children clung to his large frame, Typhon locked eyes with Antares for the first time in five years and approached the would-be-king.

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  Antares was by no means a small man, he confidently stood at six feet two inches, but as Typhon finally stood before him, his old friend, no, his brother in many ways, towered over him. Typhon stood at seven feet nine inches tall. A true giant of a man. His large well built frame was proportionally distributed throughout his body. His stygian attire was one worn by those of the Stygian royal family, and yet the fabrics could barely contain his muscular figure. Yet despite all of this what stood out first when one looked at Typhon was not his height per say, but it was the uncontainable red hair that he had similar to Guinevere. For just like Guinevere, Typhon inherited not only the blood of the Fire Giants but their hair and height. His red hair shone vibrantly, as did his beard too. Despite his considerable list of accomplishments on the battlefield, he still had the visage of a young man full of life and hope. To some his burly features made him handsome, while to others it made him intimidating, yet all could agree his jovial and reckless nature were genuine.

  Neither of them spoke for some time, just staring at each other, analyzing each other. Neither men had seen each other in a long time, they took the moment to study what changes had occurred and what still remained the same. But the truth was far simpler than that, neither men just did not know what to say to each other after so long. They both cautioned against saying the wrong thing, and yet in the end it was Typhon that broke the stalemate.

  "You need a haircut," stated Typhon plainly.

  "I should be telling you that, when was the last time you cut your hair?" responded Antares.

  "You are just jealous you can not grow hair this long." Typhon said, shaking his head.

  Both men began to grin and eventually broke out into laughter, they grasped each other's hand triumphantly and embraced. Despite the morning's events with the funeral and now this meeting about succession, he was glad he was home. There were so many faces he had not seen in so long, although he would never admit it, he was thankful Casspien managed to bring him back against his will, he missed his family dearly.

  "You are late," the elder next to Guinevere interrupted.

  "Elders!" Typhon boomed. "I welcome you to our lands south. As for being late, it is neither here nor there, the king is dead and we are all in mourning but what matters is that my brother is home! It is time to celebrate!" he said, placing an arm on Antares' shoulder.

  "Hmph! Do as you like, the ceremony is still some days away." The elder next to Daimion scolded.

  "Haha very well lets-" Typhon began before being interrupted.

  "No! I have still not accepted this-" Daimion demanded.

  "Huh? You are still going on about this?" Typhon bemoaned.

  "What do you mean 'still going on about this'? We are dealing with the fate of Iliad, I will not back down."

  Typhon sighed.

  "You sure are persistent for someone so...lacking." Typhon replied unamused.

  "What do you mean?"

  Typhon put down the children and walked towards Daimion. Which made Daimion take steps back. Fear began to permeate throughout his body.

  "T-Typhon what are you doing? Stop it!" Daimion commanded.

  Yet Typhon ignored his words and continued his march, Daimion did not even notice when Typhon had grabbed both his shoulders. The strength Typhon possessed was said to be beyond understanding, even among Stygians who were naturally strong, the strength of the giant was far greater and Daimion would attest to it. He could not move an inch, it felt as though he were wedged in between two mountains unable to move, he looked on at his cousin, helplessly.

  "If you are so against Antares becoming king, then raise your blade."

  "T-that would be treason." Daimion responded softly.

  A grin came across Typhon's face, and it sent a chill down Daimion's spine. He moved his face closer to the terrified prince, almost as though he wished to whisper what he wanted to say. Such beast-like aura clung on to Typhon. His twilight eyes glowed deeply, to Daimion he was in the jaws of a great monster.

  "We may have all these fancy rules and laws," Typhon began. "But despite it all we can not hide what we are. Our people have gotten this far not because of words but because of steel, ice and blood. If your words aren't enough to help you reach the heights of those around you, then pick up a sword and cut them all down until you're the only one with your head held high."

  Daimion had all but held his breath while Typhon spoke, absorbing every word he said. He felt he would be swept up in the moment. He was right, as much as Stygian culture today was viewed as the pinnacle of civility, there was a time, a darker time where it was difficult to distinguish monsters from Stygians, a time where Stygian blood flowed freely through these halls. Although he did not say it, Typhon was alluding to the Trial of Two.

  A custom long buried in Stygian tradition and culture that allowed those who believed the king to be unworthy of the throne to take it for their own. It was a crude way of transferring power but it was effective. Many viewed it as a gamble as more often than not the heir to the throne was considered to be one of, if not the strongest at the time. Thus only one with equal or comparable power could challenge for the throne. Even so as they were now, Antares and Daimion were not comparable. An ocean's worth of power separated the two brothers, even in Antares weakened state Daimion could not ever dream to compete. No one knew this better than Daimion himself, despite his feelings for his brother, he acknowledged him as a warrior once. And not enough time had passed for it not to be true. But there was another option Daimion could use. Rather than fighting Antares himself, he could have another fight in his stead. All he would need to do is choose someone as strong as his brother, perhaps Anastasia, or maybe one of the many knights in his service. He shook the thought from his mind, he knew he couldn't do it. To have another fight in his stead would simply announce to everyone that he did not have the power to take what was his, instead another would have to for him. He had no options left, he had nowhere to turn. He looked into Typhon's eyes, they urged Daimion to ask for the duel, to prove his Will was equal to his brothers.

  "I-I can not. I would not win." Daimion said, falling to his knees.

  He felt like he held his breath for an eternity and was gasping for air. He looked at the floor ashamed with himself, his hands adorned with various gold and silver rings. Yet what he noticed was not the jewelry he was wearing but rather how soft his hands were. Hands that had never seen battle a day in their lives, incapable of properly wielding a blade, they felt nothing like Typhons hands that gripped him, hard and full of vigor, hands that had killed hundreds if not thousands. Hands capable of changing fate. Daimion suddenly hated his hands. He did not care how others perceived him at this moment, his focus was on Typhon and he raised his gaze to meet his eyes. For the first time in a long time Daimion felt a feeling he had forgotten, a feeling that he forced himself to forget all these years. He felt small. Typhon gave him a look of utter contempt, something he had only seen once before when it was his own father King Barranagan who had the same look at him once before. Daimion quickly lowered his head in shame.

  "Well that settles that! Let us go drink to the new king !" A burning smile crossed the giant Stygians face.

  He grabbed Antares and Guinevere by the arm and began to lead them away before they could protest. Both turned to look at the elders and they nodded in approval. Everyone began to make their way out of the room, it would not be long before the events of the meeting were made public throughout the entire castle and eventually the entire realm. As the last of them trickled out only the elders remained. The throne room was now empty and its doors sealed. They each took off their hoods, and with that their bodies returned to their original sizes. Each of the elders carried themselves with rarified air. There was no mistaking it, they were all once royalty in their respective eras.

  "Alecto," called the elder in the middle.

  Alecto Xerxes a name that had not been said in thousands of years. A name of a powerful woman, mother, daughter, a name of a queen. Her reign was like no other during her time. She was forced to prove herself time and time again, against Stygians and forces far greater. But regardless of what those would say about Alecto none would argue that she was the strongest during her time. As she was the one who brought about an end to the Age of Evil. A time of unimaginable violence. Yet she was not the only one, the other two, Aragon and Amon Xerxes. Their legends were well known by Stygians and humans alike. Their rule, long and stabilizing. Just as Alecto brought about the end of the Age of Evil, Amon and Aragon brought about the ends of the Age of Gods and Monsters and the Age of Heroes, respectively. They had lived long and interesting lives, but their stories were long forgotten, as was the way of the elders. The focus was no longer on the individuality of the person, but rather what the person could do for the whole. The elders were there to guide the Stygians on a path, a path that they have been walking for a hundred thousand years and a path that was soon nearing its end, depending on which of the elders you asked, that is.

  Alecto turned her head towards Aragon and frowned.

  "What is it?" She asked.

  Aragon paused slightly and rubbed his beard. He took another look at Alecto before talking. The millennia had been good to her. Despite aging quite considerably over the last five thousand years, he still remembered her as the feisty queen who always demanded an explanation for every action the elders took. She was not easy to deal with back then, her temper being just as short as her patience. And yet not much could've surprised him than her eventually becoming an elder. He was proud of her, all these years later he was still so proud of her.

  "Are you truly fine with Guinevere's decision?" Aragon asked quizzically.

  Before Alecto could respond Amon spoke up.

  "Hmph! It matters not, we have made the necessary choice," Amon stated plainly.

  Aragon turned towards Amon. Amon cut a thin build, unlike Aragon and Alecto, his age was far more apparent on his face. Among the three of them he was the eldest being some thirty thousand years old. He had watched over his people for a long time and helped guide them. A lifetime spent in service of the past for the future. There could be no greater reward for attaining as much power as he had through his life. Even Aragon, as old as he was, remembered stories of Amon Xerxes and how he was the one to kill the mad god Apollyon Xerxes. He was a legend back then and today he was nothing but a lost memory.

  The elders had experienced so much already, but even Aragon knew this was only the beginning. The other elders could not see what was coming or perhaps they did not want to, but still the three of them saw it clearly. And this was their only response to what they saw.

  "Amon is right," Aragon responded.

  Alecto rolled her eyes.

  "This is the only path we can take to ensure the survival of our people. He must be the answer to the question."

  "And you really think he is the answer?" asked Alecto.

  Aragon took a moment to think about it, to think about Antares.

  "Truth be told I do not know. I have so many questions and doubts about him and about what he could be. He is not Hyperion."

  "None of them could be Hyperion," scoffed Amon. "He was perfect."

  "...That being said, Antares will put his people before everything, including himself. The death of Nykos is enough proof."

  "And that does not concern you?" began Alecto. "Perhaps he is too ready to put everything before himself."

  There was a moment of silence, they all had doubts and it was difficult to hide them. They were the only three of the thirteen who believed this a viable solution, while the others simply sat on their hands and waited for their ancestors' guidance. The three of them acted. But still, Aragon could not fully believe Antares was the one they were looking for, and yet he could not forsake him either. For the first time in millennia, Aragon would choose to believe in someone again. And he chose Antares.

  "Perhaps you are right," he acknowledged. "But Barranagan chose him. And Barranagan was many things... but he was never wrong," concluded Aragon.

  "It is with great displeasure that I must agree with you on that." Amon said making sure his disdain was known. " Come, let us return home, I grow tired of the air here."

  Aragon smiled and nodded in approval. Unknowingly they all stole a glance of the throne before putting on their hoods and turning away. At one point in time or another, they all sat on the obsidian throne and ruled the masses. The power they commanded from realm to realm, they might have been kings or queens but in truth they were more than that. They were Gods. They were feared, they were worshiped, they were hated. All they did was in the pursuit of power, overwhelming power to make their dreams a reality. They were the ones who ended ages, they were the guardians of peace, and here they were setting a boy on a path of destruction. They were aware of what would follow in the life of Antares as he took the crown. They did not want forgiveness or mercy, all they wanted was the protection of their people by any means. There would be those centuries from now, they thought, that would wonder when the new age began. What moment when everything shifted into one direction. None of them would ever get it right, because unlike other ages, there would only be three there to witness the beginning of this one. As they left the throne room the three elders, Alecto, Amon and Aragon Xerxes had understood what they had done. They ushered in the Age of Erosion, and with it, oceans of blood would flow, and a God would be born.