Crowning rituals differed throughout the nine realms. In Avalon one could only be crowned King if they managed to retrieve the One Sword from the Lake of Tears. In Ichika the King was selected through several trials, each meant to discern the worthy from the unworthy. All nine realms approached the search for a true monarch differently. Even for the Storm Islands, where rituals were carved into their very way of life, succession was not a simple task. To be crowned was to be accepted as the singular force capable of willing an entire nation to action, to stand unopposed in the face of any threat. At least in most instances. It was no simple feat, perhaps why the rituals themselves all served to be large spectacles. But of all the crowning rituals that dominated Aurum, both those still carried out today and those forgotten in the halls of time. Even the southern realms would have to admit, no crowning ritual came close to the utter magnitude that was Iliad's.

  They had gathered long before the sun rose. It was meant to be a cool day but as they packed together so tightly, each one was able to feel the hot breath of the other. Beads of sweat poured down their faces. It was still dark outside and not much was discernable. Further towards the castle road people pushed and pulled their way, each of them wanting to get a good look. Akkad was a large city holding room for two million inhabitants, but on a day like this her size doubled. People from all corners of the realm made their way to the holy city. Many trekked for days on end without stopping in hopes of merely gazing upon Akkad during such a holy time. Stygian and human alike stood together in anticipation, full of bated breath. The last seven days were filled with unending celebrations. The praise and worship of Antares and good fortune for their people rang out for nearly a fortnight. Homes were decorated with the Stygian colors, and markings. There was no room to differentiate the divergent parts of Akkad for they were swarmed by millions of people. And they were all here for him.

  He exited the carriage at the end of the city. He examined all around as even this far removed from the city hundreds of thousands had still gathered. They studied him fearfully, some with desperation, many with reverence. Whenever he looked at them they prostrated themselves in great worship. Several Nightsisters exited the carriage after him. Their ceremonial garb completely masking their features. The various robes were bound tightly to their body, shades of black seeped in and out of their clothes. They spoke to him even though their mouths did not move. They told him to undress and he did so, throwing away the large blanket he wrapped himself in.

  He stood there nude, as the Nightsisters gazed upon his naked flesh. Each one approached him carefully. Their words were intelligible and still they reached him. Each Nightsister took to mark his body with various symbols and words. Their fingers were cold enough that even he could feel the biting frost. Energy surged through his body, he felt the magics written upon him begin to stir, he felt the ritual begin. They caressed his face, rubbed their hand over his body and threw themselves on him. Each time they touched him tiny explosions occurred across his flesh. The magics from the substance they rubbed on him took root. The first rays of the sun began to poke out behind him and Antares walked.

  It is said every action takes power, and all power is born from a desire to take action. A ritual repeated at a specific time heightens the level of potency of the energy created. No matter how inconsequential a ritual may look or seem. One that is maintained over ages will generate energy. That is one of the absolute laws of their world. A crowning ritual was no different. The power accumulated in the air was intoxicating. As Antares walked through the crowd tens of thousands of people reached for him. In him they saw their future, their survival, their God. For many this would be a journey they would never make again, they would return to their towns and villages with tales that would last centuries. As many looked upon Antares they shed tears of adoration. Hands reached out for him, none ever reaching him. In this moment surrounded by millions he felt the cold embrace of loneliness.

  He watched as the people around him no longer looked at him as an equal but instead as something greater than any of them. They called out to him, in different tongues. They used his name as a prayer, as mercy and as sacrifice. Such unquenchable desire was suffocating. Millions cleared a path for him, he walked unobstructed through the city streets. At every step he took, thousands gathered to pray at it. They were enchanted with his very presence. As the sun continued to rise he cut an elegant figure through the streets. There was no cause for embarrassment because his naked form did not bother him. His bared flesh was revered, even his genitals as it hung free. Sculptors and artists alike did well to remember the proportions and size of his manhood.

  As he reached the castle he looked up at the road ahead. Those who looked at him saw the somber face of a king, but within he felt a thousand emotions. Barely able to contain himself. Passing through the crowd he could hear all of their pleas and prayers. Thousands prayed to him for deliverance from suffering, and millions more did so with their hearts. The entire realm on its knees, save for Antares. He drowned in the image of a sea of corpses all dragging him below. Such intense magic he had not felt in ages. Blood dripped from his nose. He continued to walk as the tormenting was unrelenting. He had long lost sensation throughout his body by the time he reached the steps of the castle. Will power moved him alone. The voices of millions deafened him, robbing him of his sight. The only thought he clung to was that he could not stop. He could never stop. Each step he climbed, the heavier his feet felt. Although they could not see them, he was not alone. For within the crowds he alone could see the faces of those who did not belong. Long had they followed him from the city center whispering half truths and complete lies. They saw his reign in its entirety and they tried to lead him astray with what they knew.

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  He doesn't know how he got there but he stands before a large room. On either side stand Casspien, Guinevere and the others. They look at him with worry and stoic apprehension. The innermost chambers of the castle, is where the ritual takes place. As he walks through his home, now foreign to him, it moves and changes to bring him to the sacred room. He places a hand on the marble doors. The symbol of his people frozen into it. Reacting to his touch, the doors open. He pulls himself through the doors as they close behind him. In the center of the room a large black pool, on the edges of it his language carved crudely. Every step he takes weighs him down significantly, as he reaches the shores of the black ooze. He cannot bear it anymore, the weight of countless souls, no mortal could do so. He screams internally but he dares not make a sound. Millions begging for salvation unable to escape the horrors they suffer. Children burn in the fires of a thousand wars all because of inaction. Ash falls like snow. And water tastes like sulfur. The collective suffering of his people over an innumerable amount of millennia floods his veins. He buckles under the pressure and falls head first into the black pit.

  He was pulled deeper into the black waters, deeper than he thought there was room within it. The crushing weight of numerous souls eased off his back, the pain lessening across his entire body. Eventually he felt nothing. Floating endlessly in the black abyss. And then he fell. He fell long and hard through nothing. The sensation like being pulled by a great force. He slammed hard into the floor. Struggling to pick himself up. There in the nothing surrounded by darkness, alone. Far from his home, from his ancestors. Where none could reach even if they dared. The lonely boy met the World Eater, the first Serpent and its thousand screaming faces. And it spoke to him.

  King Antares burst out of the pool reborn, covered in the darkness. A tar-like substance coated his skin. He looked around gasping for air, unable to recall how long he had been there or what he saw. His thoughts filled with an emptiness growing within him. Voices other than his own roaring for mercy as they faded to nothing but a whisper. Around him they all stood with baited breath, looking at him trying to discern any change. Guinevere looked at him in a way he had never seen before, Casspien too. Even Anastasia who for much of his return looked at him with nothing but hatred. But now in her as well, he could see a hint of lust wrapped in envy. He liked how it made him feel.

  The priestess approached from out of the crowd carrying a gilded crown adorned with crystalline jewels. The crown weaved together like two great serpents intertwining with each other. At various open points sparkled jewels rested softly in them. Both snakes wrapped around each other to rest back in the front ready to attack. Stygian steel folded so carefully the crown felt light in her hands. The eyes of both snakes were obsidian black. She placed the crown atop his head. She spoke of ancient prophecies and rites that are to be honored. She talked of what was to come. All of this she did in the common tongue, so for all to hear. Her words did not reach his ears, no words did anymore. He waited for what only mattered. She grabbed his face in her hand, the oozing tar bathed her fingers and she looked into his eyes. Golden rays hung low covered by purple storms. Screaming faces looked back defiantly.

  You are the one who will devour this mad world.

  Her blue eyes sparkled into his as she spoke to him. She spoke the old tongue, the words of his ancestors. Her words would be heard by only him. She talked about things to come and what this meant for their people. Her words spoke of the glorious future he would usher them to. He would return Aurum to what it once was. And his name would be carried across the oceans, to the furthest lands of new worlds. All of this she foretold and more. But he would not remember what she said. The spell she weaved into her words would make him forget, until the time he would need to remember. Just as She had asked of her. Her sermon went on for some time, but like all things they too ended. And she fell to her hands and knees, she exclaimed that he would never again kneel in front of another. King Antares rose covered in tar and a head of steel. The weight of his people meant nothing to him, the doors on the other side of the room opened. And the early morning sunlight burst through, illuminating the area. He raised his hand to shield himself from the light. The light hit in between his fingers and he studied it. His eyes adjusted to the light and he moved closer to the opened door. His every step calculated and weighted, the doorway was an opening to a large balcony that overlooked a massive courtyard. The backdrop of all of it, Akkad down below. Even those all the way at the bottom could see the balcony area. They all gathered and pushed to get close.

  As he walked through the door, the sun's rays finally passed over the mountain side, hitting his visage completely. The black tar reflected in the sunlight and his eyes burned brightly with power. The sun danced off the Stygian crown and it shimmered with energy. Thunderous applause shook the heavens. Cheers rang out in every direction, it was as though the entire city itself had come alive. The voices shook the very castle itself. Still he did not react. He looked upon his kingdom, his realm, and once more cheers shook the earth. They roared his name over and over. Drunk off the image of their king. Babies were raised towards him, men and women climbed over their shoulders, all to get a glimpse at him, to meet his eyes. Those here gathered would have a story to tell for ages, a holy rebirth unlike any other. The union of two cultures into one. His name rang even louder, their fervor reaching him so high. This intensity would carry on for some time, such energy could not easily be displaced. Pleasure parties would commence over the coming days as people found other ways to celebrate the birth of a new reign. As he breathed in the early air and sun, he studied them as they worshiped him. All of them absorbed in the action. King Antares felt like a God.