The stars looked different tonight. Their usual shine and sparkle dimmed in the ever enveloping darkness. The presence of the full moon reveled in the night. It's brilliant glow, a true celestial of the heavens. With his father, it had looked so large in the night sky, a giant being of such iridescence. And now as he walked along with the King of the Stygians, it seemed unremarkable. A mere afterthought in his presence. Everything seemed to feel like a footnote in his presence. Cyrus looked ahead making sure he did not leave the king's side. Their journey towards the Weeping Chambers was coming along smoothly. The city had moved into a dull hush as many of her inhabitants slept. The road was scarce with travelers, many did not bother to even look their way. The shawls they wrapped around themselves concealed them, their faces hidden in darkness. The fabric was cold to his skin, but he liked the way it smelled. Scents of a cold winter's day filled his lungs, he allowed himself to dream of winter and what that would bring. A stillness rarely seen in the other months. Where the humans would complain of the cold, he welcomed it with all its glory. The coolness of it, wrapping him like he was now.

  "We are here," Antares said.

  Cyrus nearly ran into the king, while lost in thought. "That was quick," he looked at Antares and followed his gaze to the church.

  The Church of Multitude stood shimmering in the night air. A dominating appearance. Akkad was covered with many ancient buildings, many of them created during the early days of the city. Many people considered the church to be the oldest of those buildings. Here in the heart of Iliad. A realm where the Gods ceased to exist and the Stygians allowed the humans the right to build such a temple. The irony of it all was not lost on him. Antares looked across it, from the castle its beauty was splendid, scintillating in the day. But from right in front of it, it was captivating. The base of the church was covered in smooth stone, in it carved tales of the Gods and their lessons. The smooth stone was broken into large stone tablets, each corresponding to one of the seven Gods of the Many Faced God. Like this, the tablets wrapped around the building covering it in thick stone like armor. The church could be mistaken for a forte for not the seven golden pillars that shot out from the ground bathing it in a gold hue. Each pillar sculpted at the top a divine being, and carved into the pillars, the story of the builders of the church and the creation of Akkad. The mystery of the old days was often overlooked for the attention to detail done upon the many works that littered the nine realms. To those of the faith, this was the lynchpin that held it all together. In contrast to Castle Xerxes that stood above all, whose obsidian walls stood in the realm of the divine. The Church of Multitude was rooted into the ground, as though it was part of the very lands they walked. Even in death the Gods were still part of them.

  And yet such beauty paled in comparison to the masterwork that was the colossal glass painting of the Stygian God King, Gilgamesh Xerxes. A being more akin to fable than reality. He who rose above the very heavens itself and proclaimed all of the world as his kingdom. He lay atop radiant clouds. The God King draped in his clothes of luminous gold, twin porcelain serpents Phoebe and Hilaera wrapped around him, coming to rest on his arms. Upon their scales ruby jewels glistened. Their eyes a golden hue. Much like his mural within Castle Xerxes here too his face was covered with the sun. Not even the Gods themselves were worthy of laying eyes on his likeness. Around him treasures from distant lands too many to count, and below him multiple outstretched arms begging for deliverance, salvation. The glory of God King Gilgamesh Xerxes transcended everything and everyone. Antares detested it.

  He pushed open the massive stone doors, a low bellow rang under the weight of the doors moving. Candle lights covered much of the walls illuminating the room. Rows upon rows of benches carried up high in a circle. Tapestry decorated the walls, some of saints long passed, both human and Stygian. There was far more warmth within than without. Antares could not remember the last time he graced these hallowed grounds.

  They made their way to the first altar at the center of the room. A large marble block sat rooted to the ground, around it were flowers. Each of them as fresh as the last. Antares could smell the soft scents they each had. Carved into all sides of the block were various symbols, all relating to the Many Faced God and its teachings. Atop the marble block a crystalline basin. As they approached, it hummed gently. Antares looked around but was disappointed to find no one. From his knowledge he knew someone always tended to the night prayers, and they were soon to start.

  "I would not touch that," a soft voice spoke from behind him.

  He turned to follow the voice and there was the high priestess. Her attire was far less revealing than the one she wore to the castle. She chose soft lavender colored robes, they did well to hide her physique. Her face still remained covered by her veil, but her blonde hair was more visible. Antares then turned his attention to Cyrus and furrowed his brow at the boy's attempt to touch the basin.

  "Sorry," Cyrus said, pulling his finger back.

  Antares returned to the boy's side, and noted he would lecture him later about manners. "Forgive us High Priestess." Antares bowed softly, promptly lowering Cyrus's head too.

  She laughed, "It is quite alright." She too bowed in kind, "I am far more interested in knowing why the King of the Stygians and his little friend are in my church so late."

  Antares put his hand on Cyrus's shoulder. "We are here about the boy."

  The priestess turned her attention toward Cyrus, "And how can I help you little one?"

  Cyrus began to explain the past days events to her from the passing of his father to his meeting with the king, as he spoke the high priestess listened intently, Antares sat away lost in his own thoughts. From the moment he stepped in, old memories weighed heavy on his heart. Much of the time he spent alone he spent it in regret of what had come to pass. Here within the Church of Multitude, surrounded by piety his sins weighed heavy. Perhaps no sin greater than his betrayal of who he was once promised to, of his beloved.

  "You are a very brave boy," the priestess commended him.

  He wiped the tears from his eyes, "T-thank you."

  "I will grant you what was denied." The priestess began walking off towards the side, "Both of you, come."

  Cyrus eagerly marched after her and Antares rose slowly. He would not offer prayer, nor did he care to. No god was listening, his ancestors saw to that. He followed, burying his memories of her further within himself. He was king now, there was much to do.

  Cyrus stayed close to the high priestess, he enjoyed talking to her. She reminded him of the woman who taught him to write, they both soaked their words in kindness and concern. She did not judge nor take his plight as a trifling matter. She looked at him as a man, and for that he was thankful. They continued down the stone steps to the Weeping Chambers, with each step below the air grew colder. Muffled sounds began to echo across the wall, the path below became narrower.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "Young Cyrus," the high priestess called out.

  Her words startled him and he took a moment to compose himself, "Yes high priestess."

  "Do you know of the church's creation?" her words echoed through the spiral steps as they descended. Her tone almost a whisper.

  Cyrus turned around to look for Antares' approval and the king nodded in acknowledgment, "Yes, high priestess. All who live in Akkad know of it."

  Silence passed without interruption and once more she spoke, "Do you know that there is another story? A true story." She let her words hang in the air, "Or so they say."

  Cyrus was not well read, his father seldom had enough to feed them both. Knowledge was reserved only for special occasions by his father and the woman that would visit him. He knew of things, of how the sun rose and set each day and of the seasons and what came of them. But there was still much he did not know, and the history of Akkad was one of it. As the day he had winded to a close, the young boy's appetite for knowledge grew. There was so much he had seen today, so much he still had yet to see and it was not enough. Hearing the words of the high priestess he could not help himself, he wanted to know more.

  "Really?" Cyrus said gleefully.

  She nodded her head, "It is the truth, ask the king."

  Cyrus turned to Antares who carried an expressionless face, "There are... stories." the king left it at that.

  "Quite right," she added. "Quite a lot of stories."

  "Like what?" Cyrus asked, his ears perked up.

  Antares did not approve of where she would be taking the story. He knew there were many ways to the Weeping Chambers from above, much more spacious paths. Instead the high priestess elected to go down an old spiral staircase, a path not used for centuries. He did not need to speak to her, her actions were more than enough of a message. For not only was the high priestess cunning enough to claim her new position, she too was also aware of the many secrets such a position held. Antares knew to be wary of her, and yet he was intrigued by the young humans, gal to threaten him so brazenly.

  And so the high priestess spoke of the many stories upon the creation of the Church of Multitude and how its builders came about. She spoke of the kindness of God King Gilgamesh in granting land for its construction or the tales of how the first humans and Stygians worked together to lay the foundation. Her tales entertained Cyrus, enthralling him completely. For sometime as he listened to her speak, he forgot the true purpose of their coming here. A necessary respite Antares thought. So down they went, deeper into the darkness as the voices went from muffled sounds to soft cries. They reached the Weeping Chambers.

  The Weeping Chambers stretched on for some time in the dark. Rows upon rows of stone slabs lay rooted to the ground. Upon them frozen corpses of the many denizens of Akkad. Fear gripped Cyrus as the scent of death filled his lungs. The boy had only been recently introduced to death and yet the chilling sensation he felt from his fathers corpse seemed to double in this room. The bodies on the slab all looked like they were in a deep sleep, the cool embrace of death nothing but a place for the weary. Upon the walls were murals of The Mother, one of the seven Gods. Each mural depicted her in a different form of penance. Below the murals, old words were carved with delicate hands. As he strained his eyes in the dark to make out the faces, each of them looked at peace. No pain or suffering befell them and for Cyrus it made him glad. To have seen his father suffer for so long, the memory etched forever into his mind, in the face of the dead all he could see was the agony of his father.

  Cyrus began to breathe heavily, his body recalled the weight of his dead father on his back. He stood frozen in place unable to calm himself down. His eyes darted through the dim darkness, looking at the dead. Some were naked, others covered in silk, but most importantly of all, none of them were his father. He took a step back and felt a warm hand on his shoulder, his breathing began to slow. Such intense emotions that washed over him began to disperse. A warm calmness covered him, it was as though he were in the presence of the sun. A feeling he did not think he would experience ever again. He turned to see Antares giving him a warm smile. The acknowledgement that he was not alone, spurred him slightly. He slowed his breathing and gathered himself.

  "As you can see, there are many who have yet to be permitted entry." The high priestess began, "Death is no excuse, all must wait their turn. Even you, King Antares." She turned to look at the young king.

  "These are not the Weeping Chambers?" Cyrus interjected before Antares could respond.

  "No little one, this is merely the waiting room," she responded.

  Cyrus turned back to look at the corpses, "There must be hundreds..."

  "Thousands," corrected Antares.

  The high priestess nodded her head, "Some believe even more than that."

  "But... How will we ever find him?" Cyrus looked on slightly defeated at the realization he may not find his father.

  The high priestess reassured him, "It is alright little one, like much of the lands of Iliad, no, perhaps all of Aurum itself; things may not always be as they seem."

  Cyrus turned to her confused and then towards Antares looking for an explanation. The young king lowered himself to one knee and turned Cyrus back towards the dead. He was proud of the boy, it had not been an easy day for him and to see him still stand resolute. He was glad Lady Alena had brought him. As Cyrus waited for the words of his king, Antares took the opportunity to look at him closer, dots drawn across his face as though the stars were etched onto him. His black sandy hair like wool covered much of his face. Like Antares he could see the night sky in his hair. Although not as pronounced. His bruises had begun to heal and more of his soft boyish features were becoming visible. And yet, the violet and golden glow of his eyes were brighter than ever.

  "Do you remember when you told me how you traversed the city, to reach the castle?" Antares asked.

  "About the old man?"

  Antares shook his head, "No, I mean about how you felt, the way you felt." He squeezed his shoulder tighter, "Remember that sensation."

  Cyrus recalled the day's events and a wave of exhaustion washed over him. His legs buckled slightly but he steadied himself, he pushed past the unpleasant memories and focused on earlier in the day. The bustling of the city, thousands of people moving across the stone roads of the city. He remembered the feeling of the sun on his skin, the heat in his nose. The words of the old man echoed around in his head, he searched for within him purpose, desire. Unlike then when he was governed by the Will of another, this was different. This sensation was more foreign to him, his own desire started to take root.

  Antares watched as Cyrus' Will, slowly birthed itself from deep within him. A cacophony of bright colors smashing into each other painted the inner workings of the boy. Seldom did Antares ever praise his Akashic Eyes, but tonight would be one of those nights. He watched as a boy learned to govern himself by his own essence. The small sparks he had seen when he first met him had now turned to smoldering embers. In time he would become wildfire.

  "Do you feel him?" Antares asked, just above a whisper.

  Cyrus nodded.

  "Now go find him."

  Cyrus walked into the darkness, no longer was he gripped by the cold embrace of death. He was not lost, even in the absence of the high priestess and the king by his side, he felt no fear. He marched on looking for his father.