When her father still lived, he was fond of game hunting. Iliad was blessed to be bountiful with many wild animals that grazed the countryside. It was a representation of how rich the land was in nutrients for those to harvest. The animals were the caretakers of the land in their own right. And as she journeyed with her father on his hunts, he would often inform her of the relationship formed between all life. Her eyes would glaze over when he would talk of such things. Now she would do anything to return to such a time. But as she thought of him and his hunts, her mind went much further back. To the days where he would force a bow and arrow into her hands and tell her to seek prey.

  Of all the lessons she learned during that time with him, the lesson she most carried with herself was observation. Through observation much could be gleaned of anyone and anything. And so she observed and harnessed the skill and ability, it made her a keen judge of character. Quickly she could ascertain the truth behind things simply by watching everything around her. So as she sat on her dining table, wine glass in hand. She observed the boy with sandy-curled hair with intense curiosity. Everything about him from his bruised face to his dusk born eyes to ebony skin seem plain. The boy was a Stygian, of that she had no doubts, but compared to the elegance and ethereal nature of someone like Antares he was severely lacking in so many aspects. So it drove her nearly mad, why Antares would have any kind of relation with this boy and why he would thrust him upon her lap.

  “My father used to say it's rude to stare.” Cyrus said, between mouthfuls of moon cakes.

  “Did he also teach you it is rude to eat with your mouth open?” she shot back, taking a sip from her wine.

  “I sense perhaps you don’t like me.” The boy said, wiping cake from his lips.

  “What gave it away?” the young princess rolled her eyes.

  Cyrus lowered his head slightly and Cirella quickly regretted her mistake. Regardless of what she thought about Cyrus, he was someone important to Antares and that meant he was someone important to the king. And there was weight to that. Her somewhat laidback attitude had shifted slightly to one of panic. What if the boy relayed to Antares how she treated him. Her mind began to race, she was not only in charge of the boy's care but also his mood. And if it soured before he returned to Antares, she shuddered at the thought of what he would say, or do.

  “Look, boy,” she began.

  “Cyrus,” he corrected.

  Cirella sighed.

  “Cyrus,” she acknowledged. “I have no quarrel with you. It is just Antares and I are at… odds.”

  She did not know how much she could talk with the child. She wondered if Antares shared with him their conflict, or his avoidance of her. Cirella had to tread carefully, to treat Cyrus as just an ordinary child was a mistake waiting to be punished, instead as the boy raised an eyebrow ready to respond, she quickly looked to change the conversation.

  “That drawing,” she pried a finger from the wine glass. “Is that of the Church of Multitude?”

  Cyrus embarrassingly reached over to cover the drawings, but to his surprise Cirella was nimble, overwhelming so. In one moment she had swiped the drawing before he could react and it was in her hand. He had forgotten that a Stygian did not need to be a warrior to show otherworldly feats. In that moment, Cyrus realized that Cirella was far stronger than him.

  “Hey, give it back!” he tried getting up.

  Cirella uncrossed her legs and pointed her right toe at him. “Sit. I am in charge, remember? King's orders. Now let us take a look,” she said triumphantly.

  She examined the drawing made on paper. Immediately she was taken aback by the penmanship. For a boy who was so young, he had a very detailed and elegant hand when it came to drawing. It was only a rough sketch but still so much detail was still retained. This was not the work of a child, but of a budding artisan, whose works would be famous across the realms. Not once did Cirella take her eyes off the drawing. Completely absorbed by it. She studied the way the towers stood almost like pedestals. Even though there were no words, she could understand how Cyrus saw the church as this ancient monolithic structure shrouded in great mystery. Much like her own people.

  “This is beautiful,” she said. Almost whispering it to herself.

  Cyrus blushed, “T-Thank you.”

  Cirella smiled, he was far cuter when he behaved with manners.

  “You have a true talent for the arts.” She handed the drawing back to him. “You should have Antares sponsor you. You seek the wrong thing from him.”

  Cyrus' demeanor changed slightly, "I don’t need to be sponsored. I need to be strong.”

  Cirella cocked her head to the side, “You seek Antares to make you strong?” She asked, pointing to his bruises, “I take it those wounds are the reason.”

  Cyrus looked at his wounds, half forgotten he was once heavily injured some two days ago. So much had happened for the young boy since the passing of his father. And yet, not much had changed. Him in tattered and old clothes, sat across from a beautiful woman. He felt reminiscent of his early days being taught by Her. He wondered how she was and where she had gone to and if she ever thought of him and their time together.

  Cirella rose off the table heading to the curtains opposite them. “You know Lord of Wars are not known to be very good teachers.”

  “That’s fine,” Cyrus said. Half convincing himself. “He’s really strong, everyone here keeps saying it.” He said, wolfing down the last of the cakes. “That's all that matters.”

  Cirella pulled the curtains back, bathing the room in the wonderful afternoon light. “ It.” she chuckled to herself.

  Cyrus turned to her, “It?”

  “You referred to the Lord of War as a ‘he’.” The bright sun covered her in a glowing shadow, leaving her eyes swimming in an ocean sunset. “A Lord of War is not a person. It is an object.” She motioned for him to meet her in the large sitting area.

  Cyrus obliged, following. “I don’t understand. What exactly is a Lord of War?”

  For a moment Cirella recalled another time with her father, soon before she was meant to wed Daimion. Living still in her family castle. Such were the days where all she had to worry about was what gossip her and her sisters would soon talk about. So much was to be said about what went on in the capital of Akkad. But so little of it ever traveled to her home. But for Cirella that day would be memorable for reasons she still had yet to fully understand. To the young duchess at the time, much of the day was a blur. All except the afternoon when she gathered with her family for a feast out in the fields.

  Lilac flowers and red roses dotted the scenery in a complexity of color that reflected the summer days. Her home was beautiful, and with such blistering heat. The sun never bothered her, but that day she remembered it being near unbearable. She could not recall the conversations she had with her sisters, in fact she could not even remember her sisters faces at the time. But what she did remember was how suddenly on the scorching summer day, her sister’s breath turned ice cold. And soon after so did hers. Not once in Cirella’s young life at the time, did the thought of being cold ever cross her mind. She was Stygian, they did not feel cold. Where others succumbed to the unbearable nature of winter, her people thrived. Where most died within minutes of exposure, they could walk naked unperturbed by the elements.

  So the sensation she felt was more than foreign to her. It was inescapable terror. It shook her to her very core. Unable to stop herself from shivering, she turned to her sisters for help. But all she saw when she looked at them was their frozen face in abject horror, staring behind her. Every fiber of her being told her not to turn around. That it was to be her end, lest her not see it. Let her be granted that mercy. But the soft purring of a horse calmed her just enough to regain some control of her senses. And so she turned around.

  The first thing she noticed was how beautiful frozen flowers looked in the sunlight. Trapped forever in a moment in time at their most absolute. The reflection of the light off the frozen flowers danced across the fields in an array of various blinding lights. Cirella did not have time to be blown away by such an incredible scene before her. Her attention shifted to the two beings who sat atop snow white horses. She could not see their faces, they wore a smooth ivory mask. The same color as the moon. There were features of a face on the mask but she could not tell whose face it was. It seemed to be the face of every Stygian that had ever lived, and yet the face of a Stygian she did not know. But even that was not what unsettled her the most about these beings. It was their hair. The serenity in which it flowed was like the deepest currents in the ocean floor. Such long hair that she was sure reached passed their shoulders, suspended in the air. The color, suppressing black, an eater of light. The stars within the beings' hair, sparse and far in-between. They looked trapped suffocating in the abyss. Such unimaginable dread gripped her and she looked away. Back into its eyes.

  Cirella was a duchess, not just any ordinary duchess but one who was to wed one of the princes of Iliad. All her life she had only ever known what it was like to feel wanted, sought after and desired. She stood above many, and there were millions who would wish to take her place. But in the eyes of this being, of this thing. She had never felt so insignificant. The way it looked at her as though she were no different than a blade of grass in a field, or a leaf in the wind. There was no love, there was no hate, there was no life as she understood it. There was only suffocating indifference. A lack of something to reason to. It held her in its eyes for some time, she never could quite recall how long. But long enough for her to lose all feeling in her limbs. She remembered her father sluggishly moving towards them. His head bowed so low she thought he would drag his face across the floor. At that moment she watched her father speak to them. She knew at that moment no one could ever tell her, her father was not brave. To Cirella. Her father was the bravest man she would ever know. And as they all watched in stunned silence as the beings followed her father’s direction and headed on their way. She forced herself to crawl to her father and fell in his arms. With what little resolve she had left, she asked him what those things were. When he found the strength to speak, she never forgot what he said.

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  “A Lord of War is not a person like you or me.” She began, reciting from memory. “It is a thing. It is a carefully hand crafted weapon across many years of refined battle. It is designed for one single purpose and that purpose it excels at. A blade does not love, and so a Lord of War does not. A blade does not hate, and so a Lord of War does not. A blade does not hesitate, and so a Lord of War does not.”

  Cirella allowed the first half of her words to hang in the air, she wanted Cyrus to understand, to feel the fear in her voice. The pinnacle of strength he sought was occupied by beings who seldom saw anyone else as an equal.

  “Across the battlefield warriors alike, use incantations and sacred techniques to command legendary power.” Cirella continued after a large drink of her wine. “But it has no need for such things, its very presence is enough to will mana to form itself into whatever it requires. It is perfection given corporeal form. It is divine proof that the blood of Gods flows through our veins. It is the Avatar of our people's Will to live.”

  The sound of her words seemed to chill the room. Silence hung in the air like a thick cloud. She looked at Cyrus, half hoping to see him beside himself. But to her surprise, the determinism in his eye was unwavering. Almost like such a being is who he sought. Who or what could command such an emotion out of a boy filled Cirella with a mixture of unease and curiosity. And still there was some jealousy at his steadfastness. Something she wished she had. But she quickly dismissed it as the boy not fully understanding the danger of what a Lord of War represented. But before she could attempt to dissuade him further, there was a knock on the door. They both turned towards it.

  “Who is it?” Cirella asked, slightly annoyed.

  “It is I, Halford, my lady. I have come as you requested.” A burly voice spoke from behind the door.

  “Ah wonderful. One moment!” Cirella responded, rising to her feet and heading to her private chamber.

  “Who is that? And Where are we going?” Cyrus asked, standing up.

  “You ask too many questions,” Cirella said. Closing the door.

  “You don’t give enough answers,” Cyrus grumbled underneath his breath.

  “I heard that!” Cirella yelled from the other side of the door.

  Cyrus backed away, no longer feeling safe as the loud banging continued. He moved back to the center of the room and gazed around the chamber. It was far larger than where he and his father called home. Such a spacious room was something he could only imagine in his wildest dreams and even then they did not compare. The castle of the Stygian King was such an interesting and complex structure. It still continued to amaze him and he was glad he had such a wealth of inspiration. In the corner he saw toys laid about. He knew Cirella had children, but he was still surprised to see it himself. She only looked a few years older than him and she could certainly pass as Lady Alena’s sister too. He wondered if he would continue to look as he was when he was her age or even Antares and an uncomfortable thought entered his mind. Before it could fester the door to Cirella’s private chamber opened.

  “What do you think?” Cirella emerged, covered in a golden shawl.

  Cyrus considered himself to be well read enough to carry conversation. As young as he was he thought he understood beauty and how many things could contain beauty. But as he looked at Cirella who twirled around in a golden shimmer, the vibrant color of her royal clothes dancing along with her, he understood how true beauty often looked like a painting. The capture of a single moment. This image of her that he saw, he would hold in his mind for some time. For surely he had to draw her. He would be restless until he did.

  “Well?” Cirella asked again, approaching him.

  Cyrus looked away blushing, “Presentable.”

  “Just presentable?” she pouted, “I did not know such low born boys had such high standards.” Princess Cirella said, brushing past him.

  Before he could respond to her insult, Cirella opened the main door. And in stepped a knight that Cyrus had never seen before. The man was big, even wearing his armor you could tell. Each step he took, his footsteps seemed to make no noise. Such a careful walk, filled Cyrus with unease. The grey armor of the man was carved with various markings of House Xerxes. As clean as the armor looked, it could not hide the markings of battle. Dents, cracks and sword lines dominated many corners of it. Cyrus wondered why the man had chosen to still use such an old set of armor. Even the purple cloth wrapped around his waist showed signs of age.

  The boy looked up to meet the blazing eyes of sir Halford Robin, son of the Lord of Coin Quellem Robin. Such an intimidating look, forced Cyrus to move a few steps back. Prior to meeting Guinevere and her friends, he had never seen a knight before. They were kind and welcoming even if they looked scary when he first met them. But Halford Robin was different, he could feel such intense pressure coming from him. His long brown hair tied behind his head, revealed such a hard face. Cyrus was surprised that someone that young could look like that. His brown sunken eyes looked tired, youth was the only thing keeping him young. He was handsome once, Cyrus thought. Perhaps before he became a knight, but now battle robbed of much of that softness. Cyrus had not known any true warriors. But in sir Halford Robin he saw one.

  “Halford, stop intimidating the boy.” Cirella slapped his armor, making a loud clanking noise.

  Halford recoiled slightly ashamed of himself. He bowed deeply towards Cyrus, startling the boy even more. “Forgive me princess. Young lord, it is an honor to meet you. I am Halford.” He stretched out a large hand that eclipsed Cyrus’, when they shook hands.

  “That is Sir Halford Robin to you, young lord.” Cirella said, pointing to Cyrus. “Anyways, I am ready, let us go.”

  “Where are we going?” Cyrus asked, confused.

  “Into the city young lord.” Halford interjected.

  “Why?” Cyrus asked, turning to Cirella.

  She looked slightly taken aback by his words as though the reasoning were not obvious, “Look at how you are dressed. If you are going to start living here, you must look the part.”

  “And we need an escort?” responded Cyrus.

  “ I am under orders from King Antares to… accompany Princess Cirella whenever she wishes to leave the castle.” Halford glanced at Cirella only for a moment, doing his best to move the situation along.

  Cyrus seemed unconvinced but he did not press the matter further, he could tell neither of them wanted to talk about it. The boy knew that there seemed to be something going on between Antares and Cirella. But he knew it was not his place to ask such questions, his manners extended that far. Instead he was curious about returning to the city so soon. His last journey there with Antares brought him so much pain and also happiness. He wondered what another excursion would bring him, especially with these two before him.

  “Is everything to your liking majesty? May we leave now?” Cirella said mockingly.

  Cyrus annoyed, nodded begrudgingly and all three of them left the room together. And along they went as an odd group of three, through the castle and out the gate into the great sun that shone above. The walk to the city below was an awkward one. It was one that was made in silence. None of them knew what to say or whether anything needed to be said. Cyrus was still enamored by Cirella’s story of her encounter with a Lord of War. Such a tale did nothing but reinforce the boy’s desire to learn from Antares. He knew it would not be easy, he knew what he asked for was dangerous but he did not care. He wanted strength, he wanted power to live as he saw fit. He would not wilt away and die like his father did. Nor will he abandon those he cared for like the woman who birthed him. He would do whatever it took.

  While Cyrus was lost in his own head, so too was Cirella. She glanced back only for a moment to see Sir Halford looking off into the city, his sword catching the reflection of the sun. She had already gotten accustomed to the embarrassment that she was not allowed to leave the castle without an escort. A decree by Antares himself. One she did not fight much against. It offered her and her family protection, no matter how little it was. The further removed they came from the castle the less shame seemed to hold her. And now she walked into a city that lived and breathed gossip. She wondered how many of them would talk about her as she passed. None of them dared to look her in the face. Cirella looked at Cyrus’ glum expression and calmed her worries. Now was not the time for that, instead she would enjoy the day.

  They made it to the base of the castle path. “Do you like sweets?” Cirella asked Cyrus.

  “Yeah, but I don’t have any money.” Remembering he used the last of it to send his father off.

  Cirella rolled her eyes, “Have you forgotten who I am already? Lead the way, sir Halford will pay!” The princess exclaimed.

  “My princess King Antares only gave me enough coin to buy cl-” began the young knight, but it was too late. Both Cirella and Cyrus had begun walking away.

  And thus their outing began, into the glorious city that was known as Akkad. Cyrus who just days earlier had struggled to navigate it, now found himself accustomed to how the magic worked. With the assistance of Cirella and Halford he found himself at home. Such a large city that housed millions. Bustling with life and energy, they took him all over. That day the young boy ate as much sweets as he could muster. Cirella also made him wear so many clothes he had never known it was possible. Whatever he wanted he was allowed to have. For a day Cirella did not allow Cyrus to live as the boy he once was, she would give him joy. The freedom and liberties that came with being a part of royalty.

  She showed him a different side of Akkad, one that he had never seen before. One that enamored him. And Sir Halford, who had become their personal bank, was far more worried with how he would explain the gross misuse of coin that those placed under his care took part in. But even still he found himself enjoying the occasion. For a long time he wondered why King Antares would have asked him to do this. But the longer he spent time with them the more he seemed to understand. This was a reminder, a reminder of what he fought for, for whom. Their people, their home. His efforts were not in vain. The last five years meant something and with Antares' return and his own father as the new Lord of Coin, things would change for the better. Halford was often tired, but today he found himself full of life. And he was thankful.

  Each of them would remember that day for different reasons. To step outside the shadow of their lives and live amongst the people. It was a freeing feeling that they enjoyed. For Cyrus, it was the first time in a long time he smiled a true smile. He liked how the fancy clothes made him feel. He liked making Cirella smile. He liked the tales Halford told of the battlefield. He felt the burden of his past come off his shoulders, if only for a minute. To Cirella, she saw the day as proof that she was not broken. That joy could still happen in her life. She had pushed her children away, scared that her suffering would transfer to them. But here she was, enjoying herself and her only thought to share this moment with Samara and Loukas. Like they once did. This was all she had ever wanted to do, and to experience this with Cyrus, a boy she some few hours ago did not trust embarrassed her. But she did not care. She liked the young boy, for all she had learned about him today. His honest nature spoke far more about him than anything else.