Fantasy 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧

[neon reverie]

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[neon reverie]

Rhea had always thought her death would be a quiet affair; eyes slowly closing for a peaceful sleep only to never open again — the kind that cradles you in its cold embrace as gently as a mother would rock her child to sleep. But she supposes it did creep up on her nonetheless; silent, without a face, without a warning. A shadow simply slipped through, weaving between the threads of life, cutting strands little by little until the rope finally snaps and the blade falls. Her family, with eyes turned to look anywhere else than above, didn't see it coming. Or, perhaps they foolishly thought the vultures circling within their skies would not, could not, dive for their flesh and blood.

Rhea remembers hearing the screams of her father from even beneath the ground, the cheering of the crowd growing louder as the horses pulled into opposite directions, tearing the limbs from his beaten body. She is grateful to not have heard the cracking of her mother's skull above the high winds after they pushed her from the jagged cliffs; her whipped body disappearing below world's end faster than a heart drop. She still regrets to not have clawed out the eyes of the man who brought her poison and said it was mercy.

Everything still tastes like blood.

Aprymaere never stood a chance against the soldiers upon soldiers from Ionad; the city state would've had its skyline marred by smoke and flame, her streets trampled into crawling graves. Borders are never meant to stretch like bloodlines do, but any line, any family, can be erased when children are raised with swords in their hands and greed in their minds. One battlefield of strewn bodies was enough for the king to bend the knee, sacrificing his power to save the rest. And just like the many other nearby city states, Aprymaere was swallowed into Ionad's titan body. Alive but mangled, sinews twisted into the being of something else.

Tonight marks the beginning of a new identity for both Aprymaere and Rhea. One saved, one resurrected; they breathe anew, different name, same hearts. Together, they watch as wine spills over golden goblets, watches how everyone smiles and laughs while corpses are still being carried back to their homes. Two kings sit beside each other, feasting on legumes, olives and figs, but not too far away, the stench of decomposing skin clings like a layer of grime unwilling to be scrubbed clean, refusing to be forgotten by nightfall. Then again, is there an aftermath when war never truly ended? Because the soldiers may have dropped their weapons, and the tendon-cut wails might have ceased, but there remains little to be forgotten, and even less to forgive.

Deliverance begs behind stained glass, blood-stained teeth and boned fingers scratching. Behind it, the seer smiles, all knowing of the star-worn path.

The Aprymaereans have always liked to wring prophecies from constellations, their ears seemingly tuned to the murmurs of prophets and sages about close and distant futures. A whisper of a chosen one quickly becomes a search for a body lying at the feet of a precipice, and ancients kinds of magic are secretly being called upon to awaken a dead heart if the stars deem it part of the presage. Rhea remembers coming back to life with lungs gasping for air, throat so dry it felt like crumbling with the slightest movement. The king of Aprymaere, an older man who always smiled a smile that felt on the edge of dropping, only told her one thing after she demanded to know why he resurrected her. What he wanted from her.

"A dead king."

Rhea thought he meant someone else, thinks back on the man who declared them a traitor with nothing but boiling hatred. But maybe this is worse. To think the prince has become a king so soon; her old fiancé, now bearing the same crown that gleamed when her father was torn apart and her mother split open. Bile of disgust rises up at the sight of him, only to be forced down. Fists clench behind the fabric of a skirt; Rhea bows her head quickly to shadow any fragment of emotion that flashes across her face as the king introduces her to him. Part of her is grateful for the change of appearance that the magicians have managed to give her. Part of her wishes to see his face when looking at the woman who is supposed to be dead.

All of her wishes him dead.

"O king, may I present lady Calliope of Aprymaere. As we agreed upon, I would like for her to have a place in your court."

Rhea, no, Calliope follows to speak, words gliding like silk despite the high-strung tension inside.

"

Hail O King, I come to offer my fealty and service to the throne, if you would have me."

MEDEA

Rhea.

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♡coded by uxie♡

 

[AnimeGenork]

Ascending the throne had never been Cadmus’s destiny, and to this day he still mourns the days when it was nothing more than a “what if.” What if his brother died years down the road, what if there was no other heir, what if what if what if. Of course, all such dreams of never having to take responsibility for the Ionad Empire had been dashed the moment he’d watched his brother die.

Funny thing, death. Even now, he can blink and see the blood. So much red, crimson, maroon, all manner of red hues, like that of his hair. His bloodred hair. Was there blood still in it, years later? No matter how many times he meticulously washed it, scrubbing and scrubbing, he would always wonder. And yet, after suppressing the coup, he’d been expecting to sit through the executions of the traitors, including his fiancée. At least the people had sympathized as he’d closed his eyes and turned his head away. After all, he was purported to be fond of her, despite the blank look on his face. If only they’d known the truth: that she was just about everything, once upon a time.

He'd never been one for war, but the moment he was crowned king years after the death of his brother, his advisors had insisted upon it. They were an empire after all, their main export was war and their import was grief. Not that they’d said those exact words, but Cadmus had read between the lines. So he ordered the armies to take Aprymaere, a task that was easier than he’d thought it would be, and if he was able to feel pity anymore, he would have felt it the moment the messenger had come bearing the news that the conquest had been successful. He hadn’t dared cast his eye over the carnage he had wrought with a wave of his hand, staring down emotionlessly at the king who was now his subordinate.

Still so young, and yet a king with a successful war campaign under his belt. That is what the people say about him, the whispers impressed that he seems to have more potential than even his brother. Lies, of course, for his brother had been far more ruthless. He would have started three wars at once, so confident that Ionad could conquer multiple city states at once. Cadmus prefers to be more calculating, build up the tension. If he sends out all the armies at once, who will protect the palace from another coup? For even now, years later, he is never safe. No matter how much the captain of the guard reassures him.

And now he is expected to sit through a banquet, deep in the heart of the city state he has now claimed as Ionad’s own. Seated upon a throne that once belonged to their king, an air of arrogance and a bored look upon his face. Though he wears a military uniform, he has not the strategy for war that his family did, nor does he ever enter the battlefield. The Empire is fearful of another coup, another monarch death, and he would rather escape the stench of burning blood and ash. Which is why he’s unsure why he’s here in the first place, but at least his royal guard came with him.

The king of Aprymaere himself graces his presence, bringing with him the courtier Cadmus had agreed to. Aprymaere had been beaten, badly, but they had enough dignity to ask that one of theirs be allowed into the Ionad court. He had no reason to disagree, and he still doesn’t. It wasn’t as if he cared much for the court that tittered about his accomplishments and tried to foist their daughters upon him. As if he had any thoughts of marriage anymore.

Cadmus stands, descending the small staircase to stand in front of this Calliope, head tilted ever so slightly to take in the lady before him. Though unsure what to make of her, he nods to himself.

“You are of course welcome to the Ionad court, Lady Calliope. If the king here endorses you, I have no reason to refuse.”

He can feel the eyes on him, watching with interest the introduction between him and the lady before him. It makes his skin crawl, all of this attention, and so he inclines his head and offers his arm.

“Care to join me for a stroll? I’d like to get to know the newest member of the court and her interests.”

Appearances must be kept, of course, but at least it might take the eyes off of him for a little bit.

Though the call of the court has never appealed to Cadmus, spending some years as Ionad’s king as imbued him with a natural flair for it. An awkward, acquired one, but enough to keep his court happy. Or whatever it is they call themselves.

“I hope you will not find Ionad lacking compared to Aprymaere. I will be the first to admit we have never put much stock in recreation, considering our wars. Nevertheless, I hope you will find something to pass the time.”

He fears looking at her. Not for anything she might do to him, but in case she, someone from this land he has conquered, senses the lie in him that his court never has. The city state of prophecies and prophets must surely be able to wring his lies from him. Including the sour taste in his mouth at the thought of having to constantly entertain someone who is not himself once he returns home.

JASON

Cadmus.

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♡coded by uxie♡

 

[neon reverie]

King. It's a title that her ex fiancé seems to have inherited with the smudging of blood and the heaviness of war. Ionad has always been an open mouth; hungry for pieces of land, teeth sharpened for brittling borders. It is never satisfied, could never chew through enough cadavers to fill its black holed stomach. Even before Cadmus had come to sit on that bone-cold throne, gluttony snarled, feasting on mass and mortem. It was a malady, a poison treated as a life lesson. One could say the mutation was inevitable, that the monster was being raised alongside the child — Rhea had once thought of him as the exception of it all.

How wrong she was.

Like father, like son. No, at least his father was never a coward. At least he dared to look her straight in the eye as the rope was being tightened around her neck, as the grounds disappeared from beneath her feet. Rhea couldn't even see his face last. Bastard. She can't stand his face now, all grown-up, nodding, breathing.

An almost bitter laugh crawls up when he suggests to take a stroll somewhere, and she has to silence it into a sweet smile.

"

It would be an honour, my king"

are her words, her hand finding his arm. One step, one crash of a memory; the hand placement on his bicep is a horribly familiar one if any. How many times has this happened before? Him, leading her away from the whispers and the stares. Her, following without question. Rhea involuntarily thinks back on those moments; drunk on laughter, hands clasped tightly, lips locked in secret. She bites her tongue now, gaze dropping briefly to their feet as they walk side by side.

She supposes some things will never change.

"

Oh, I have all the faith that I will be enjoying my time in Ionad. It will be a rewarding experience getting to know the empire and everything it has to offer."

she replies, smile gentle. Yes, she will uncover every dirty little secret there is, even if she has to tear the whole place apart. There is still a family name to be cleared, a mother and father to be avenged. Traitors and pawns skitter like nameless bugs within villas, thinking themselves secure and safe from plague. Rhea will show them differently.

But all Calliope can do right now is be more innocently ignorant than cunningly knowing. She clears her throat a little, as if gathering some courage to speak further.

"

I do hope you can pardon me in advance: this will be my first time in a foreign court, one that I admittedly hold little knowledge over. Some customs might escape me."

she looks at him with a hopeful glance, dares to briefly touch his arm with her other hand as well.

If you have any wisdom to part, as king of your court, I would listen most graciously. "

MEDEA

Rhea.

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♡coded by uxie♡

 

[AnimeGenork]

Walking with Lady Calliope reminds Cadmus of a simpler time, a better time. A time when he could simply drop everything and leave parties such as this to run through the gardens and pretend the world wasn’t his. Just as quickly as the memory hits him, he blinks it away, tucking the emotion away until a later time when he can mourn over it. Preferably alone. There are few things a king is afforded for himself, and privacy was certainly not one of them.

He manages a tight smile, not aggressive, simply a tightening of lips meant to express something akin to pleasure.

“I will have daily matters to attend to, of course, but if there is any place in the capital you would like to visit, I can accompany you. My advisers are loathe to admit it, but the court should be able to stretch its legs as much as any soldier.”

Briefly, Cadmus wonders what Calliope’s laughter sounds like. Is it the grating, artificial sound of the court, tittering away as if he is the most amusing man on the planet? Or is it genuine, not an attempt to boost an ego he’s never claimed to have?

His companion clears her throat, and his eyebrows raise. A rare show of care, he turns his head, his gaze, his attention to Lady Calliope. Looking upon another face is not something he has much practice in—at least, not anymore. He manages to stumble through his monarchy without looking anyone in the face, which seems to give the impression of a bored king, one who simply waits for his wars to be won and to claim the spoils. In truth, he simply cannot betray anything to these people, even his actual people. Although he has tightened the cage around his heart over the years, he know he is made of glass. One misstep and he will shatter. Like he did the day his brother died, and then again when his fiancée did.

Something escapes him in why, but the moment Calliope touches his arm with her other hand, his throat closes. Suddenly dry as sand, he struggles to swallow. Is this panic? Nerves? Why on Ionad would he ever feel such things around this stranger? His eyes zero in on her hands, both on his arm, and his chest suddenly constricts. What is wrong with him? She’s saying something to him. All of this nonsense in his mind in barely a split second, causing him to nearly miss her words. His brain falls short, but his mouth manages to string together sentences in its stead:

“Don’t fret. Feel free to ask any questions about our customs. To be frank, the empire has barely any time to be terribly interesting in that regard—we’re too busy going to war.”

An olive branch, an offering of sorts. Reassurance that even a lack of effort will suffice in his court. Not that he would tell any of the lords and ladies such things.

“Not that I can say much in return. Aprymaere’s customs escape me, even with my research into the culture. If there is anything the Ionad court can do to make things more comfortable for you, feel free to bring them to my or my advisers’ attention. I’m sure arrangements could be made.”

Perhaps the empire is a beast swallowing the surrounding kingdoms whole, but Cadmus has always valued some sense of preservation. Was it truly a wonder why that was, with all he had seen?

The sand feeling in his throat hasn’t escaped. His throat is scratchy.

“Care for some refreshment, Lady Calliope?”

It’s a miracle his voice isn’t hoarse.

JASON

Cadmus.

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♡coded by uxie♡

 

[neon reverie]

They say places hold as much memories as a mind does — that the screams remain stuck in walls, that the paint never loses its taste of the blood, that ghosts linger in between memory and madness. Ionad is no different. It breathes with the weight of all it has taken, the bones of its crimes buried beneath its streets like roots, twisting deeper into the earth. She thinks of that house—her house—where the laughter of her family used to hang in the air, now long gone, swallowed by the silence that came after.

She sees him there too, all smiles and slow dying innocence; next to her at the dinner table, shoulders teasingly brushing; across the courtyard, strides in restrained hurry to meet her inside; head in her lap in the garden, sun illuminating a peace on his face that no war can ever bring back. She sees him and all his wretched love, rotten and rotting. Just like the corpses of her parents.

Rhea crushes these memories like glass in her palm, feeling the sharp edges bite before they fade. She chokes the image out of her mind before it can choke her. Her smile pulls wider, stretching like a wound, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. It never does anymore.

“I would be honored if Your Majesty would accompany me to places within the capital. I can think of no better way to acquaint myself with the empire than by the side of the one who rules it.”

She says, her voice sweet. Staying close to him is no longer about love; now, it’s about holding him like a bird in a cage, waiting for the moment she can break his wings. And who knows? Maybe she will ask him to take her somewhere else, and he will follow her, sickingly gracious. The cliffs of Ionad know the best sunsets and the highest falls. One push and a head could split open, frail even with crown. And perhaps instead of feeling sick to her stomach, there would be a deep hunger a little closer to being sated. Perhaps she will give him the sight of his dead fiancé moments before the end.

Revenge, after all, tastes better when the heart on the table remembers you.

“I thank you for your care. It will alleviate some of my father's worries about me being away, knowing that efforts are made to ensure a foreigner's comfort within the court.”

she speaks, before nodding demurely when he mentions getting some refreshments. Drink all you want, Rhea snarls, before your tongue will only taste blood.

A moment later, her hand holds the goblet with dark red wine. She looks up from her drink, eyes blinking innocently at him. A small clear of the throat, as if courage is being built alongside her voice.

“The empire,”

she begins softly,

“is vast, isn’t it? The noble houses alone are a labyrinth of names and bloodlines I've only heard of in passing. House Valerius, House Astor, House Lyceon, House Stratos, House Gaius― could you tell me more about them?”

Poor ignorant Calliope just begins to list the names like a studious student, unknowing that the latter has fallen. Rhea purposely mentions her house last while watching. She wonders greatly, just how her dear Cadmus bears the weight of her crumbled family name. If he doesn't dare to face her like last time. Or even worse, if he dares to show ease about it.

MEDEA

Rhea.

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♡coded by uxie♡