ARTHUR
"SHIT—"
Arthur whispered from the royal balcony. His voice was barely audible against the pounding of his pulse and the cheers of the audience. His mind raced, his gaze darted between the celestial and his sister, instantly recognizing the man who stood a chance at drawing blood.
The Crown Princess was powerful, but she was also unpredictable; melted swords were the tip of the iceberg. The difference was that an iceberg destroys only those who collide with it. His Sister, on the other hand, could devastate anyone in her orbit, never meaning to, never realizing the damage until after it was already done. And what could be worse than an agitated future queen fighting a celestial Prince within an assembly full of her subjects? A death wish. An invisible hurricane was building, and this could very well be the eye of the storm.
Arthur's head shot up instantly. This was a trap. The stakes were too high because someone had made sure the bar was far beyond the clouds. Before he could process further, a presence swept onto the royal balcony.
Ishtar. The goddess moved with an air of regal authority, her gaze immediately falling on her son. A smile curled at her lips the moment he entered the field, her aura shimmering.
Arthur's unease deepened. Mother. But she was not here. She has to be here. His thoughts turned inward the instant he glanced toward Artizea once more, who still stood motionless. Without a second thought, he turned to leave before hearing a stern, low voice.
"She will not come."
Arthur stopped dead in his tracks. His gaze then finally landed on his father, who watched the scene unfold with an unreadable gaze, and when Gilgamesh's eyes met his son's, he said nothing, but his demeanor made Arthur even more certain of his next move.
"I have to try, Dad—" he murmured before slipping away from the balcony,descending the steps two at a time, making his way toward the palace. He needed to find his mother, and fast.
"Shit…" Alexander murmured.
Gilgamesh did not respond, his attention still fixed on the arena, with a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
Back on the floor, Rhyssand strode forward with smooth rhythm around her. His golden eyes were battling with the sun in the daylight, while they scanned the gathering, then locking onto Artizea, who was circling him as well. They stared each other down, the air between them charged with tension.
Artizea gripped her lance tightly; her heart thudded in her chest, not from nerves, but from the thrill of the challenge.
Rhyssand chuckled, "That is quite a look you are giving me. What do humans call it again?"
"Curiosity," her eyes narrowing.
"Curiosity?" Rhyssand echoed, twirling his spear as though warming up. His mouth twitched with amusement. "Pray tell."
"Not telling."
His wings shifted slightly with the faintest flicker of annoyance. "Strange, you do not look surprised to me. Did I not leave a memorable encounter?" he remarked.
Artizea tilted her head slightly, "If I pretend to be surprised, will you take this seriously?"
"I would not bet your crown on it, Nice haircut by the way…" He admitted with a smirk.
Artizea scoffed, "Why are you here? What game are you playing?" She demanded. "Are you here for me? Or to prove something to her?" she pressed.
His gaze flicked briefly to the royal balcony, where Ishtar watched with a smirk of boredom. His jaw tightened.
Artizea hit a nerve, good, she thought.
Rhyssand hesitated, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then, to her surprise, he chuckled, that same cocky laugh from the first time. "And here I thought this whole thing was about you proving something."
Artizea's eyes burned with intensity; she knew whatever he was about to say was going to piss her off.
"Tell me, Princess," he drawled, his eyes glinting with mischief. He gestured around dramatically with a slow spin of his finger, "When you lose today and forfeit your title as champion to me, what does that make you? The Indomitable Crown Princess, or just the Crown Princess."
Bad-doom.
"Year after year, you dominate the field of mortal combat," he stopped, "But you are not fighting a mortal this time. This time… you are fighting me."
Bad-doom. Bad-doom.
Rhyssand tilted his head, "At first I thought it was all for show, but now… I see the true reason."
Artizea's eyes narrowed, while his smirk grew.
"It is so Father Dearest can finally say he's proud of you afterward. That is what I am going to name your little glare. hope." His voice dropping to a cutting whisper, "You are hoping, no praying today might finally be the day he will look upon you and say— 'That's my girl.'
Bad-doom. Bad-doom.Bad-doom. Bad-doom.
Artizea froze on the outside, but inside.Red. That is all she saw. The words hit her like a physical blow. She chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. Something was brewing. "You do not know anything about me," she snarled.
"I do not have to." His wings flared out, the force of their movement kicking up dust. "It is written over your face. The weight of a crown yet to be worn, a throne you have yet to dare touch, the endless expectations, the constant need to be the best. And yet, here you are, afraid that even if you win, it will still never be enough. My deepest condolences for your winning streak."
Forget the Red. Jet Black.
"I Will Win," Artizea stated.
"We will see about that," Rhyssand replied dryly.
What broke the miniature contests was the announcer's voice, "Contestants, take your places!"
The arena went silent as the two warriors stepped forward.
1. The Rite of Challenge was the gemini twin of a duel of honor in the form of The Gladiator Games, which consisted of three rules
2. Take 5 steps
3. Face your opponent
4; And always remember
"VALE TUDO!"
5. There are no rules
The moment the horn rang. Artizea slowly strode forward, her lance scraping against the ground, leaving a sound of warning before advancing with determination. Rhyssand moved with the same grace, dipping his head into a slight mocking bow, his smirk as infuriating as ever. Artizea did not dignify that with a response. Instead, she shot forward and vanished like a flame snuffed out.
Rhyssand's brow knitted. That should not be possible, for the eyes of a god see all. He thought back.Then he felt it. A sharp kick to his side, he winced slightly, catching sight of Artizea's smirk just before her strike sent him flying across the field. The cheers of the audience were muffled, while lifting his head, only to find her still smirking. A grin split his face at the sheer force of her counter. "Fast. Not bad." He forced himself up, his neck cracking, then rolled it back into place.
"Do not patronize me," she growled.
Artizea got into a stance that faltered when his wings spread wide with a single beat, the gust kicking up a cloud of dust that stung her eyes and threw her balance. Still, her instincts held. She raised her lance, slapping his aside and striking again, and again. But he deflected each blow as if he knew them by heart, his spear spinning with unnatural agility.
"You misunderstand, Princess," he said evenly, meeting her strikes without yielding. "I am impressed." Then another, "I did not expect you to fight with such… skill."
Their blades clashed again, sparks scattering between them. Her guard faltered for a fraction, and he drove forward with a flurry of lightning-fast strikes, pushing her back this time.
"Skill has nothing to do with it," Artizea snapped, pivoting to dodge a wide swing of his spear. "This is discipline—"
CLANG
"Mindset—"
CLANG
"And above all, Character—"
CLANG
"Qualities you most certainly lack—"
CLA—
The strike never landed. Rhyssand's spear's blade hissed through the air, slicing so close to her cheek it left the faintest sting. "Are you sure about that?"
"You think you can provoke me into making mistakes?" she snarled, twisting for a kick, but his hand caught her leg mid swing. Her breath caught.
"I think I already have, as you are proving my point, marvelously," he said, with little to no effort, he wrenched upward, sending her flying mid-air.
Artizea grunted, her eyes narrowing to slits. She thrust out her hand, summoning her lance. It soared to her palm, and with the heat of her inner fire, it enkindled. She hurled it downward, and it struck the floor with the force of a comet, shattering stone as dust and smoke erupted around them.
Rhyssand leapt clear of the impact, the blast cloud curling around his frame. Through the haze, Artizea landed, already in motion, summoning her lance again mere seconds before they clashed, once more, sparks bursting and crackling as their weapons locked together. Faces only inches apart.
"You are exactly as arrogant as I expected." She snarled
"Arrogance? Or confidence?" he shot back.
"Insolence!" Shoving him back, this time with a two-foot kick to the stomach.
The fight resumed with even greater intensity. For the first time. Artizea was not just fighting to win; she was now fighting to silence the voice that doubted her, the voice Rhyssand had brought to the surface.
GILGAMESH
The sea of noise was almost drowned by the clash of steel and the crackling of raw power.
On the royal balcony, Gilgamesh watched on, his arms crossed, his eyes set on the scene before him. His daughter was radiating with immense energy, too much energy…flashes of the past came into mind. He closed his eyes.
Beside him, Ishtar slowly leaned her chin in her hand. She raised a brow. "She's holding her own," she remarked, her tone laced with mock admiration. "I'll admit, your daughter is impressive. But, I wonder how long she can keep this up?"
Gilgamesh's eyes reopened, but he did not look at her; his gaze refocused on the fight below. "Longer than your son, I imagine."
Ishtar laughed, "You still believe your bloodline to be invincible?"
"Not invincible." He said coldly. "Unyielding. There's a difference."
"Ughh.." She droned, tilting her head, studying him. "All the godly power anyone could wish for, yet still you cling to that human sentimentality of yours. Your kingdom, your children… You act as though they make you strong. But they are weaknesses, Gil. Shackles that weigh you, earthly kings down."
Finally, he turned to her, his eyes blazing with disdain. "I would appreciate it if you refrain… from speaking in the tongue of my wife."
Ishtar smirked, gesturing toward the seat next to him. "Where is your mighty Queen? Trouble in paradise?"
Gilgamesh did not answer immediately. He watched as Artizea dodged a strike and launched a counterattack, her strength and skill shining through. His expression softened, barely, but enough for Ishtar to notice. Finally, he said, "My children are not weaknesses. They are my Treasures." his voice was quieter but no less resolute. "She's fighting to prove that she's worthy of the crown she will one day wear and the responsibility it beckons, and that—" his gaze turned steely once more "—is something neither you nor your son can take from her."
Below, the clash intensified.
Artizea dodged and countered every materialized projectile Rhyssand unleashed, faster than the speed of light.
"Deflection and Delusion, That's new." Ishtar straightened, "Answer me this then, what if she wins? What then? What will it change?"
"When she wins, she will claim the title champion for another year, basic math…" his eyes narrowed as Artizea pressed forward, her determination burning bright.
Ishtar rolled her eyes, a sly smile playing on her lips, "But what will you do when she inevitably falls?" she said outright.
Gilgamesh stilled internally.
"When the prophecy is fulfilled and all your so-called treasures crumble along with it? What will you do then?"
"Enough." His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "If your son thinks he can defeat my daughter, he's welcome to try. But hear my words to which you know to be true—"
The queen of the heaven now had a look of reserved, "My brother, I could let go, but my children… my wife…" His awakened crimson gaze bore into her, daring her to test him. "If you or your kin touch a single strand of hair on their heads, you will regret ever setting foot in my realm again. Am I making myself clear, Ishtar Rimat?"
The goddess's smile faltered for a moment before she exhaled a sigh and let her shoulders fall in an exaggerated shrug. "Such dramatics, Gilgamesh… Pendragon," she drawled, the syllables lingering like a lie. "You flatter yourself, and only yourself. I am here for my son, wine, and to stretch my wings. Even if the temptation struck me this very moment to designate your precious love island, I can do no harm to it nor its monarchy that welcomed my wish to spectate, and spectate I shall, nothing more, nothing less. Even should my son face defeat… in death." Her voice thinned at the edges, but her sly fox smirk returned, "But tell me, if my presence offended you so deeply, why did you not deny me outright? Have the years softened your gaze upon me?"
Gilgamesh grimaced. His jaw locked tight, the weight of his restraint pressed into every syllable. "I did no such thing," His answer was swift and cold. "It was the future queen's decision… one I found no cause to oppose."
Ishtar sighed, "Ah…" lips curling, amusement rekindled in her eyes, "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Your Grace…" she murmured. "It is not working…" she chuckled.
Gilgamesh rolled his, turning back to the fight.
ARTHUR
Arthur's boots echoed against the stone floor while making his way through the halls; his father's words echoed in his head, She will not come, but he pushed them aside. He knew his mother well enough to guess where she might be: somewhere quiet, somewhere far from the chaos of the challenge.
Her cottage.
His pace quickened to a small home that overlooked the palace. And there she was, sitting with her back to him, her chin in one hand and a paintbrush in the other.
"Mother—" he said, his voice urgent when he approached.
She turned slowly, "Arthur," she called, "Are you not supposed to be at the rite?"
Arthur shook his head, "It is a Trap." his words tumbled out in a rush. "The celestial from—." He stilled. "Promise me you won't say anything." His sister's voice rang. He quickly breathed in and out. "I fear she will not win this fight, nor will she yield."
Arthuria's eyes widened slightly, the paintbrush fighting in her hand, she placed it gently down on the grass, the calm mask slipping for just a moment. "Are there any signs?" she whispered
"No, but—" he continued. "You are the only one who can stop this from spiraling. Please, Mother. I beg you," he pleaded.
Her gaze softened, her expression filling with understanding. "You wish for me to go?"
"I need you to." He said, his voice steady but pleading. "We need you."
Arthuria was silent, then stared at her son for a long moment, the weight of his words settling over her.
A choice, once more.