KING'S CHAMBER – NIGHT
The fire crackled low in the hearth, shadows stretching long across the golden tapestries. Moonlight filtered through the wide balcony windows, casting a silver gleam over the polished floor and onto the two brothers sitting on the edge of the royal desk, legs swinging freely like boys sneaking out of lessons.
They weren't laughing anymore.
They'd laughed earlier—until Lumira had stormed in with a fresh herbal poultice, flinging it like a mother who was too tired to care.
"You are not healthy enough to be laughing," she'd declared, slapping Erevan's wrist when he reached for more fruit. "And you—" She had turned to Carlos like a tempest. "Do you even know how many divine blessings your body activated today? Do you think those come without cost? You should both be in bed!"
Carlos had nearly broken his ribs laughing.
But now, it was quiet. Lumira had already left with anger and saying idiots over and over again as Kave following her to guard Carlos' palace. Sometimes Carlos really forget that Kave is also a knight and the one who protected his palace not just his and his brother personal knight.
Below the windows, the capital burned with voices—not fire, but fury.
The people had lit candles at the temple steps, thousands of them, their flames quivering like questions no one could answer. Some prayed. Some shouted. Some wept openly in the streets. The goddess of death had not had a new monarch's blessing in three centuries.
"The people wanted someone else," Erevan said softly, staring down at them. "They wanted the god of justice. Or purity. Or even the sun god."
"You chose her," Carlos replied. "You didn't do it for them..."
" And the god of justice is not good as you think.... But Persephone is different.."
Erevan exhaled slowly, his breath fogging the glass. "Persephone is a queen without delusions. She doesn't pretend the world is gentle. That… felt right."
"Then it is right," Carlos said, nudging him. "You were born to see the rot and still plant a garden."
Erevan chuckled weakly. "You're getting poetic."
"I'm exhausted."
They sat in silence for a while.
The wind blew gently over the city. Somewhere far below, church bells rang once. The Temple of Radiance had held a protest sermon. Priests were already condemning Erevan's choice. Nobles whispered behind doors. And citizens—so used to seeing Erevan as the kind, quiet boy king—now had to reckon with the weight behind his eyes.
"I can handle the unrest," Erevan said. "But they're talking about you, too."
Carlos blinked. "Me?"
"You're fifteen. You carry a sword forged in the Eastern Wastes. You have the favor of a god no priest has ever dared name. And you publicly executed the queen they worshipped."
Carlos was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, "Do you hate me for that?"
Erevan turned his head slowly. "You saved my life. Again. You stood against the world. Again. You carry burdens I didn't even notice you held."
Carlos finally looked at him. "But you chose a goddess they fear. You stood by me when they were ready to call me a murderer."
"They can call you what they want," Erevan said. "But the empire belongs to both of us now."
Carlos stared out the window, his jaw tightening.
"The public thinks I'm a monster."
"Let them," Erevan said gently. "A monster who guards the gates is still a guardian."
"Look who is poetic now."
Carlos turned back toward him. "…You're really not afraid of what's coming next?"
"Oh," Erevan smiled thinly. "I'm terrified."
Carlos snorted.
"But I trust you," the king added. "And if that goddess of yours—"
"She's not my goddess."
"Right," Erevan said with a smirk. "If your god says Persephone is trustworthy, then I trust that too."
Carlos sighed. "You do realize he's or she's a weirdo, right? Always whispering weird cryptic stuff."
"I've met worse. Like you."
Carlos rolled his eyes, then leaned his head back, gazing at the ceiling. "The kingdom's going to be chaos."
"It already is," Erevan said.
And for a moment, they both let the silence speak. Two brothers—not kings, not chosen, not weapons or legends—just two souls trying to rewrite fate.
Far below, the city trembled with change. But up here, in this quiet chamber, the foundation of something unbreakable was being built.
---
THE UNDERREALM – THRONE OF BLOOMS AND BONES
The Queen of Night sat in her silent dominion, where wilted roses climbed bone pillars, and stars bloomed in the shadows like flowers that had never seen the sun. Her throne, carved from obsidian and crowned with silver roots, pulsed softly beneath her, echoing the heartbeat of a realm that watched the living and the dead alike.
Persephone—Queen of Endings, Keeper of Secrets, and Goddess of the Threshold—opened her eyes.
The veil between realms had just shifted.
A soul had called her not in death, but in choice.
And it wasn't just any soul. It was him. The boy king. The fragile one who defied his own ruin, who wept and smiled and chose her in front of gods who would have given him glory, light, or law.
Her shadow stirred.
"He chose me." Her voice, quiet as breath on a tombstone, rippled through the air.
Then a warmth flickered at the edge of her chamber.
A divine presence, familiar as the sound of grief in spring. Playful. Deep. Older than myth and softer than judgment.
She turned her head. The shadows unraveled.
Carlos's god stood in her garden, masked in gold and laughter, the scent of ink and war clinging to his cloak.
"You always had an eye for broken kings...like your king" he said.
Persephone didn't smile, but her darkness softened. "And you always had a taste for impossible children."
He grinned. "That one speaks your name like a prayer he doesn't realize he knows. You felt it, didn't you?"
Persephone looked into the wellspring of fate, where Erevan's soul shimmered like a silver thread dancing on the edge of a blade.
"I did," she whispered. "He's not mine. But he... respects the dark. He doesn't run from it."
"And the brother?"
Persephone's expression changed then. She stood, robes like falling dusk cascading around her, and faced the threads of time where Carlos moved—angry, relentless, loyal.
"He carries your scent," she said softly. "But the weight on his shoulders... that isn't from this life."
The golden god stepped closer. "He remembered, Persephone."
Persephone's breath caught for a fraction of a moment. "He remembers the last fall?"
"Yes," said the god. "The death. The betrayal. The fire. The choice."
Persephone's shadows thickened, like a forest rising from grief. "And now he's chosen to rewrite it. Protect it."
The masked god nodded. "That's why we asked him to trust you."
Persephone's gaze shifted, serious and slow.
"I am not kind."
"We know."
"I do not give hope. I give truth."
"That's why he needs you."
Persephone walked to the edge of her realm, where reality peeled away like petals in the wind. She watched Erevan in his chamber, and Carlos beside him—tired, righteous, burning like a match before the storm.
"I will not coddle them," she said.
"Good. They've had enough lies."
Persephone reached out a single hand.
Far away, Erevan's heart pulsed again. A breath deeper. A sleep more peaceful.
"I accept him," she said. "And I will watch the boy who remembers. If he protects that fragile crown, I will protect the fire behind it."
The golden god chuckled. "Told you you'd like him."
Persephone's gaze narrowed. "If he falls, I will drag him back by the bones."
"We're counting on it," the god said, and vanished into starlight.
Alone again, Persephone sat on her throne, and with a wave of her hand, flowers of black velvet bloomed across the floor.
"Let the others watch their suns," she whispered to no one. "I will tend to the dusk."