Archive of Our Own

1

The Imperator seemed to carry a commanding presence wherever she went. 

Supporters were in awe of her unwavering spirit and leadership. Many commended her for putting an end to the Chrysos War once and for all, bringing peace and law back to Okhema—something they had initially thought was impossible. It was no doubt that any individual capable of such feats would be deserving of utmost respect.

On the other hand, her opposers merely saw the Imperator as a cruel and vicious leader—one who brooked no opposition. None dared to express their disdain towards her oppressive control over Okhema, and those who did would cease to exist within the footnotes of Amphoreus’s history. Her merciless pursuit of conquest gained her the title of ‘Tyrant’, and the mere mention of such a name sent shivers throughout the populace. 

If you had asked Hysilens which version of the Imperator she believed her to be—the Knight wouldn't have an answer. 

With that light shining so brightly—almost blindingly—how could Hysilens ever define the noble monarch? Her noble monarch? 

A fish being drawn to light, regardless of its nature, is only natural after all. 

Regardless, Hysilens has never been one to dwell on such mundane thoughts. She instead, focuses on the present. 

The clacking of boots and heels alike resound throughout the pristine halls of Dawncloud. The Imperator marches forward and stands tall, with her closest generals—Hysilens included—right at her heel.

While Cerydra usually exudes a confident yet intimidating aura around her, she seemed to be in a rather…bad mood today. Her tone was stiff and the expression on her face was unreadable—based on what Hysilens could tell. Perhaps it was best not to do anything to upset the Imperator further. 

“Dux Brumalis,” Cerydra states, head not turning back to look at the general. She faces forward, staff in hand. “Your status?”

The general clears her throat. “Castrum Kremnos struck the border once again. I've led my troops to deal with them, but I believe they're planning a counterstrike.”

For as much as Seneca was critical towards the Imperator, even she seemed to notice the storm clouds lingering above Cerydra’s head. Hysilens is merely thankful that Seneca had kept her comments free of snark. 

“I see. I trust you'll deal with any of their advances,” Cerydra hums. “And you, Dux Fragoris?”

“Yes, Imperator! I do have something to report,” Labienus responds enthusiastically. “The agitators against the Flame-Chase are still active within the city—most notably at Marmoreal Market. They've smashed and vandalised dozens of store fronts, but the Garrison have swiftly dealt with the perpetrators. They are now awaiting interrogation."

Cerydra lets out a chuckle at this, smirking. “They are merely a disorderly mob and do not warrant any attention. Despite Terravox personally mending the fractures of this earth, it still didn't silence these fools.”

“See to it that these hooligans are silenced.” Finally, Cerydra turns her head slightly to face the general, narrowing her eyes. She doesn't stop walking forward. “...I will not tolerate those who dare disrupt Ampho—!”

Her words are cut off as her heels catch onto something, sending her tumbling straight down. Her arms flail in front of her, hoping to break her imminent fall and save her dignity. 

But Cerydra doesn't meet the floor at all, and her reflexes go unnecessary. 

Instinctively, Hysilens lunges forward to grab onto the Imperator’s arm, pulling her close. Instead of landing face first into the carpets of Dawncloud, Cerydra stumbles backwards—back thumping against a tall figure. 

“Imperator,” Hysilens looks down at the blue-haired monarch leaning against her. The Knight keeps a firm grip on her arm, ensuring that she's standing up straight. “Are you alright?”

Cerydra whips around once she's regained her balance, shrugging off Hysilens's grasp. Her eyes land on Hysilens’s immediately, and her mouth opens and closes with no words said—it's as though she's resembling a blubbering fish, Hysilens thinks. 

“A-Ah, yes!” Cerydra eventually musters the words out. She straightens the ends of her dress, patting the dirt off them. “I am quite alright, Dux Gladiorum.”

Hysilens notes the way a slight tone of red crawls up the Imperator’s face. It isn't often the composed monarch would be so caught off guard—let alone in public. The Knight has seen such displays of emotions and vulnerability before, albeit in the privacy behind closed doors, but it's still… endearing to witness each time. 

Cerydra’s gaze flickers towards the remaining generals and she furrows her brows in response. She straightens herself, putting on her usual composed facade. 

“You're all dismissed,” Cerydra asserts, crossing her arms. “Report back to me with any updates.”

Still, Labienus, Verginia, Apollonius—even Seneca—remain rooted to the ground, silent. 

Cerydra huffs, voice raising. “Did I stutter?”

At the remark, the generals hurriedly dispersed back into the crowds at Dawncloud. Hysilens backs off as well, taking a step away from the supposedly irritated Imperator. 

“Dux Gladiorum,” Cerydra states again, an unspoken command. She resumes her walk forward—not bothering to wait for Hysilens. 

The Knight can only silently pick up the Imperator’s staff before catching up to her. 

The two have never been much for words. Tranquil melodies, hushed gestures, and that was really all they needed to understand each other's hearts. Hysilens knew that if there was anything on Cerydra's mind—she'd make it known. It's merely a matter of when, rather than how. 

When they're in a more secluded part of Dawncloud—no longer the reason for lingering stares and hushed gossip—Cerydra stops. She reaches for her staff that Hysilens was now carrying, and her hand lingers for a moment too long to be unintentional. 

“You have my utmost gratitude for your reflexes, Dux Gladiorum,” Cerydra mutters at last, tapping her staff into the palm of her hand. 

The Knight glances back down to the woman in front of her—no longer just the Imperator, but simply Cerydra. Embarrassed, quiet, and a bit too flustered—traits that didn't fit the image of the Imperator at all. 

Hysilens smiles slightly, and nods. “Of course, Imperator.”

They say nothing more, and neither party is upset with such a conclusion. 

After that incident at Dawncloud, the two resume their duties—part of being the Chrysos Heirs of this long and drawn out Flame-Chase Journey. 

But it's moments like these Hysilens wishes the public could witness. Perhaps only then could they truly see the humanity that does exist within Cerydra—that beneath the Imperator’s crown was a heart worthy of protection. 

★☆☆☆☆

2

“Has she gone insane?”

“Her madness will kill us all before the black tide does!”

“May Kephale save us all from this Tyrant...”

A chorus of voices erupt together in disharmony—ringing throughout the forecourt of the Demigod Council. Criticism, prayers and questions from the state representatives bounce off one another like an echo chamber, unravelling into an unprecedented chaos. 

It was safe to say that the Imperator’s announcement of the campaign against Phagousa had definitely gone off track. 

“Comrades! This tyrannical ruler has finally shown her true colours!” A man shouts out from his seat, punching his fist into the air. “But worry not! By the ancient rules of Okhema, only with the consent of two-thirds of the Elders can the legions carry out the Commander's orders...”

Hysilens recognises the man as Ladon’s representative. He was a rather vocal figure who opposed the Imperator’s rule—and Cerydra was aware of that. 

The Knight can already see the gears churning in the monarch’s head, as a devious smile creeps on her face. It's as though she's already planned out her next move for this naive representative. 

“The ancient laws? Didn't you destroy them a long time ago?” Upon hearing his shouts, Cerydra lets out a hearty laugh in the man's direction. “You defected during the First Siege of Okhema, voted unanimously in favor of the Council of Elders' restructuring, and just yesterday, you desecrated them with a blood-stained blade…” She furrows her brows, tapping her staff onto the ground. “The list goes on—yet you dare to call upon the ancient laws? Ironic!”

Murmurs and gasps resound throughout the crowds, but Cerydra still continues. 

“The old laws have turned to dust, decaying away with Talanton, and are no longer worthy of respect,” she states, tone harsh. “If you truly insist on proclaiming yourself as a defender of ‘Law’...” Cerydra pauses, raising an illuminated crystal that Hysilens instantly recognises. “I'll give you the opportunity to offer up your highest respect to this core flame in my hand.”

The representatives go stark silent—either in awe or shock that Cerydra had indeed succeeded in her quest of killing the God of Law—Talanton. Ladon’s representative is no different. With the exposure of his misdeeds, he realises he no longer has an advantage over Cerydra, and thus only sits back down on his seat—brows furrowed. 

With the council now settled down, Hysilens clears her throat, rising from her post beside the Imperator. 

“Since there are no objections…” She begins. “Then let it be known that the original agenda of this meeting— 'The Campaign Against Phaghousa’—is hereby passed.” Looking down at the scroll in her hands, she recites her next lines. “...By the end of the Month of Evernight, all allied city-states shall be required to pay all war taxes and relinquish control of their militaries in order to prepare for war.”

If Cerydra's previous announcement had caused an uproar, then Hysilens’s declaration would be considered a Tsunami. The representatives now shout out curses—voicing out their dismay over such a request. A part of Hysilens sympathises with them. After the Chrysos War, many city-states had already suffered countless losses. Such an unreasonable request would only diminish their cities’ abilities to recover from the war. But, it was what the Imperator had commanded; There was no arguing with the new ‘Law’ of Amphoreus. 

“Absurd…simply absurd!” The same voice appears amongst the crowd. 

“Have you no shame?” The man shouts, walking down from the bleachers. “We've all wasted countless resources on this… childish dream of slaying gods! Ladon alone has already lost hundreds of soldiers…And now you want me to send even more of my brothers and sisters—just to be used and discarded by a tyrant?”

He rolls up his sleeves, marching towards Cerydra—who was standing in the middle of the court. 

“Just wait till the day someone knocks that self-righteous crown from your head!” The representative threatens. “...Then you'll finally understand our suffering.”

The instant he raises his fists, Hysilens swoops in—preventing the man from stepping any closer to the Imperator. Blades drawn, she raises them with refined elegance—pointing at his neck—as a form of warning. 

“Back off, Representative of Ladon,” the Knight narrows her eyes, inching her blade closer. 

He stumbles back slightly, and doesn't dare to make any effort to move closer. Still, he stands tall. 

“You're no better,” his insults are now directed towards Hysilens. He points an accusing finger as he berates her. “You're just another one of her mindless lapdogs—!”

Her breath hitches at the word, grip tightening around the handle of her blade. Was that truly what people thought of her? The insult stings harder than expected, and Hysilens doesn't know what to make of it. 

“That's enough,” Cerydra cuts him off. 

She locks eyes with Hysilens, who awaits for the Imperator’s command, keeping her emotions in check. A mere nod is all the Knight gets: A signal to stand down. 

She withdraws her blades, returning to her post beside Cerydra. The man grumbles to himself, staring daggers at the Imperator. 

“Hah…Are there any more objections?” Cerydra questions the audience, but after that spectacle by Ladon’s representative—none reply. “Then, this meeting is adjourned. I bid you all farewell.”

The tension within the forecourt is palpable—Hysilens can already sense it through the moisture in the air. The representatives disperse and leave quickly, no longer wanting to fight against what was inevitable. 

“Dux Gladiorum,” Cerydra turns to face the Knight. “A word?”

Hysilens freezes in the midst of her exit, but immediately regains her bearings to report to the Imperator. 

“Yes, Imperator?” Hysilens says, letting out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

Cerydra cocks her head slightly, eyeing Hysilens, before announcing. “I've asked Dux Fragoris to ‘handle’ this unruly delegate from Ladon instead. You may rest for the remainder of the day.”

“Imperator, if I may ask, is there a reason for the sudden change?” Hysilens says. “I assure you—I am capable of silencing him.”

The Knight doesn't see any reason for Dux Fragoris to lead the hunt instead of her. Sure, he was a formidable warrior and such a mission would no doubt be easy for him, but it was habitual at this point for Hysilens to lead the assassinations. She had no other matters that needed her presence, and the sudden change of plans only makes her feel antsy. 

“I have no doubt about your abilities, my dear swordfish—but silencing that fool will be effortless no matter who does it,” Cerydra concludes. “Think of this as…foresight, on my part.”

Hysilens frowns. “But wouldn't I be more useful on the ground? I could help out with—”

“Silence,” Cerydra declares, but her tone is soft, rather than harsh. “You wouldn't dare go against the Imperator’s command, would you?”

“No, Imperator,” Hysilens bows, keeping her head down.

Was…Cerydra replacing her? Her heart skips a beat at such a thought. It's an entirely childish way of thinking, and yet, Hysilens can't help but feel like she was no longer needed. That, just like her, others have also given their hearts to the Imperator—that she wasn't simply an outlier among Cerydra's closest consultants. A part of Hysilens wants to prove her capabilities to the Imperator, but a separate sense of dread washes over her, and the Siren doesn't argue further—merely staring down at her own two feet. It was probably only a matter of time before the Imperator eventually throws her away like a pawn. 

She finches when Cerydra's sudden snicker cuts through the silence of the deserted forecourt, and before the Knight even realises it, fingers caress her chin, lifting it up. 

She's eye to eye with the Imperator for once—given that Cerydra has taken the initiative to stand a few steps above Hysilens—and now, her heart flutters for entirely different reasons. 

“Keep your chin up, Dux Gladiorum—sorrow isn't a good look on you,” Cerydra says, her two fingers guiding Hysilens to look at her. “I'm not dismissing you.”

“Y-You aren't?” Hysilens’s stutter betrays her. She doesn't think she can breathe. 

“Certainly not. I wasn't lying when I said that my orders were thought out,” Cerydra explains, her fingers now leaving Hysilens’s personal space since the Knight now holds her head up high. “Resting is a key part in determining a soldier's abilities on the battlefield—it could mean life or death. With that in mind, I can't have my sharpest blade going dull before the upcoming battles ahead, can I?”

Her initial sense of dread is now replaced by one of conviction and fulfilment. Hysilens hurriedly bows, saluting to the Imperator. “I see. I'll carry out your orders to the best of my abilities, Imperator.”

Cerydra lets out a small laugh at the Knights eagerness. “Of course you will.” She states, before making a move from the forecourt. 

With a renewed purpose and direct orders from the Imperator herself—Hysilens rests, taking the time to properly recover from her previous battles. 

She can't let the Imperator down now, can she? 

★★☆☆☆

3

She doesn't know why she chose to follow the Imperator all those years ago. 

After wandering without cause for years, Hysilens had grown numb to everything. Initially, she'd tremble as her sword pierced another's flesh—horrified that she'd been the one responsible for taking an innocent life. But after the hundredth, the thousandth, and even the ten thousandth time…her jagged blade sliced through corrupted Sea Sirens with ease—no longer held back by the hesitation or remorse that her younger self carried. 

What was the point anyway? Hysilen had thought, as she stared down at the bloodied body of a former friend—now desecrated by her sword—laying lifelessly at her feet. She had let out a shaky breath, silently thinking. What was the point of any of this? 

That thought resurfaced several times throughout her journey through the barren lands—a contrast to the eternal feast promised by the gods. Conflict and war raged every corner of Amphoreus, and its people were stuck in endless battle, much like her. The people she had seen were either suffering, or inflicting it upon others.

On the rare occurrence she'd interact with them—some offered to help her, and the rest sought to erase her. Their only similarities were that none could ever help her achieve that unreachable dream, their flames flickering out as quickly as they had lit up. 

That was when she had met Cerydra. 

Hysilens had been travelling for countless nights towards the holy city—her last chance at finding an eternal feast to belong. Exhausted, covered in blood and starved, the Siren never once withdrew her blade, her attacks unceasing. She had yet again wiped out another swarm of Black Tide Creatures, and now, she sank to her knees—witnessing the massacre of her own creation. 

She panted and closed her eyes, but eventually rose to her feet once again. As she sheathed her blade, she spotted them—the growing Flame-Chase Army and…Cerydra. 

The sovereign of Flame-Chase hard marched with confidence, guiding the hundreds of armoured soldiers forwards. Hysilens doesn't know why—not even till this day—why exactly she had taken the first step. And then another. And another. Before she realised it, the Siren had unconsciously walked towards the Army, or rather, the brightest flame she had ever seen. 

She remembers the exact words the Imperator had uttered to her. 

"Hysilens, follow me. I will grant you everything you seek."

The voice, loud and clear despite the small frame it originated from, sparked something in her. Still, after past events, doubt lingered in her heart. 

But this flame was different—brightly guiding the way out of the depths of the dark sea. By now, Hysilens has placed her trust in the Imperator, and Cerydra’s in hers. 

She no longer finds the need to doubt her actions. 

Hysilens wasn't necessarily a sentimental person, but somehow, such memories would always find a way of crawling back to her. She doesn't think much of it, however, since these particular moments had been ones Hysilens vowed to never forget. 

She turns a corner, heading towards her intended destination. The Knight had just been back from yet another assignment, and decided it was best to notify the Imperator right away. 

Weirdly, the grand door leading up to the Imperator’s Chambers was ajar. No guards were stationed there and it was eerily silent… 

Hysilens grips her blade, quietly inching forward with precaution. She peeks through the gap between the doors, and is relieved to see Cerydra—the light still shining in her eyes. 

“Click.”

The Imperator was focused on the chessboard in front of her. A loud click resounds throughout the large room as Cerydra moves a pawn. 

Hysilens heaves a sigh of relief at the sight. She's thankful the Imperator was safe and sound—merely planning for the battles ahead. She doesn't want to interrupt Cerydra's train of thought, and so, Hysilens cowers silently behind the door, peeking through the slight gap between it. 

Pawns advance towards the enemy lines. Knights and rooks fight fiercely. Pieces are sacrificed and traded for ones of greater value. The battle goes on for some time and Hysilens is confident it will end in victory. And yet… 

The Imperator’s king piece falls. 

Cerydra doesn't react, her eyes fixated on the fallen piece. With a slow, deliberate movement, Cerydra picks up the piece, inspecting it. 

Hysilens frowns. The Knight assumes it must have been a miscalculation on Cerydra's part, or an ill-conceived plan. But that's what the chessboard was for, wasn't it? For the Imperator to carefully devise her plans—ensuring the best possible outcome. 

But what if… 

Her breath hitches at the thought, but she doesn't let it finish. 

Cerydra sets down the piece, a loud click piercing Hysilens’s ears. Her gaze is fixed on the board as she begins to rearrange the scattered pieces. 

“Do come in, Dux Gladiorum,” Cerydra announces without looking up—her voice startling Hysilens. “You've been standing there for long enough.”

Hysilens doesn't question how Cerydra had realised that the Knight, specifically, was outside her door. She knows by now to trust the Imperator’s instincts, and trust she does. The Knight steps in quickly, closing the door behind her.

“Imperator,” Hysilens says. “Apologies, I didn't intend to interrupt you.”

“State the purpose of your visit, Dux Gladiorum,” Cerydra hums, ignoring the Siren’s apology. “I assume you aren't just here to eavesdrop?”

Hands behind her back, Hysilens stands in front of the Imperator. 

“Castrum Kremnos has officially retreated from the borders,” Hysilens recounts. “Ladon’s troops have also been seized, and their capital has fallen under the Flame-Chase Army’s control.”

Cerydra smirks, as though entertained by the news. She doesn't give any comments, but she finally places the last piece back onto the chessboard. 

“...Care to join me for a game, my dear follower?” The Imperator leaves an arm outstretched to gesture at the board, now looking up at the Knight in front of her. 

Without hesitation, Hysilens nods, taking a seat across Cerydra. 

By now, they've played almost a thousand times that it's practically an unsaid ritual between the two. Just the two of them, a chessboard, and silence. While others would find it intimidating to be challenging Amphoreus’s Chessmaster Monarch, Hysilens doesn't. In fact, the quiet provides an odd sense of comfort for the Knight. 

Cerydra initiates her first move—choosing to move a pawn forward. Hysilens, in turn, makes her own move in retaliation. Her piece glides across the board decisively, much unlike the unskilled fingers that guided her when she'd first been introduced to chess. 

Their game goes on in silence—as most of them usually do. She prefers it this way. 

Hysilens racks her brain to escape Cerydra's tricks, while the Imperator herself remains unfazed by the battle happening on the board. 

“Say Dux Gladiorum,” Cerydra announces as she places down her rook—shattering the stillness between them . “Do you see me, a Tyrant?”

The question catches her off guard. It was often that Cerydra would speak from time to time during their matches. From jokes to questions—she'd announce her thoughts freely—but Hysilens always found herself stuck in answering the Imperator, especially for such opinionated topics.

She opts for a neutral response. 

“As merely the Imperator’s humble subject,” Hysilens starts, shaking her head. “My personal opinion is of little value in topics like these.”

“I recall you once mentioning how ‘Thinking is a right given to the citizens by the Imperator’,” Cerydra smirks, capturing one of Hysilens’s pawns. “While I couldn't care less about what those fools have to say about me—I do hold my dearest swordfish’s opinion in high regard.”

When Hysilens hesitates again, Cerydra continues, eyes flickering towards hers. “Do indulge this Imperator’s request, if you may.”

Frankly, the Knight doesn't even know where to begin. A tyrant had many definitions from what Hysilens understood. But based on the hushed whispers in Marmoreal Market, many had proclaimed Cerydra to be a ‘cruel and oppressive ruler’—hence, a Tyrant. 

Cerydra was indeed a ruler who dealt with her opposers harshly. Execution by any means, harsh capital punishments, seizing the criminals’ assets, and even reducing their families to slaves—the Imperator had indeed given out a variety of extreme and inhumane sentences. By all definitions, Hysilens would conclude that, yes, Cerydra was a Tyrant. But—

She doesn't want to tell the Imperator that. 

Cerydra was not one to be hurt by mere words alone, so if Hysilens had agreed that she was a Tyrant, the Imperator wouldn't even bat an eye at the statement. At the end of the day, if the Imperator was a Tyrant, so what? All of her actions—misdeeds and noble ones alike—were all for the sake of entering the new era of the Flame-Chase. Bloodshed was an inevitable outcome. 

An inexplicable force washes over the Knight. She ponders the question in wordless silence as the game goes on, and the Imperator doesn't push her further. 

“No,” Hysilens states, staring down at the chessboard. “No.” She reaffirms—as though it would convince herself that she believes what she says. “I…don't believe the title of ‘Tyrant’ suits you.”

“I see,” Cerydra only hums—but Hysilens feels like she's unsatisfied with the answer. 

The atmosphere in the room grows uncomfortable, and Hysilens feels like she's suffocating in it. While Cerydra taught her the rules behind chess, she'd yet to understand the Imperator’s strategies. Much like their current game—Hysilens still can't comprehend where Cerydra's initial question is leading towards.

“Click.”

Hysilens places down her rook, leaving no moves left for Cerydra's King. “Checkmate.”

“You're getting better at chess, Dux Gladiorum,” Cerydra peers down at board, huffing, amused.

Hysilens knows that the Imperator was lying—she'd seen how Cerydra had purposely made careless decisions on the board, allowing her to gain victory. But, she doesn't question it. 

Instead, the Knight watches as Cerydra topples the King over, staring as it rolls and clatters onto the porcelain flooring. 

“Losses are a constant on the Flame-Chase Journey, among which even life itself holds little value—even mine,” Cerydra recites. “If there ever came a day where this Tyrant is overthrown by her people…” she locks eyes with the Knight. “We’ll still set out for the boundaries of this world—You'll find your crystal-clear ocean out there, I promise."

At the end of her speech, Cerydra faintly smiles. Hysilens pauses for a few seconds, before nodding solemnly. 

She should feel satisfied that she won against Cerydra. She should feel grateful that the Imperator was a woman of her words. But what she feels is nothing positive at all. Instead, dread, confusion and…worry, plague her seemingly calm facade. 

Behind her carefully thought out words and poised confidence, Hysilens knows the monarch was planning for something—she just doesn't know what. Her impromptu declaration only solidifies the Knight’s speculations even more. 

Her reflection on the ocean's surface is starting to crack—unwanted feelings from millennia ago crawling back in. 

Doubt starts to seep into the Siren’s heart again, and she begins to truly question:

Just when…will her light go out? 

★★★☆☆

4

Marmoreal Palace was a sight to behold. 

Colourful streamers painted the walls of the room, with a variety of decorations plastered throughout. Tables were lined with soft cloth, filled to the brim with endless plates of Okhema’s finest delicacies. 

The atmosphere was lively—those from the Flame-Chase Army celebrating the event to their hearts content. Soldiers roared with laughter among their comrades, clinking their chalices filled with honey brew. In a corner of the venue, the drunken duel between Seneca and Labienus struck like crisp drumbeats, whilst Vergina’s carefully crafted verses flowed through the air. 

Hysilens sips quietly from her cup as she witnesses the sights before her. 

It was yet another one of the banquets that the Imperator hosted before every major expedition. With the Flame-Chase Army setting off for Styxia in a few days' time, this was precisely the morale boost the soldiers needed. The camaraderie and enthusiasm floating through the air was something the Knight had always enjoyed watching. 

Her eyes flicker across the venue—searching—but they don't find the target she's been looking for, and so, she sighs. 

The Imperator’s attendance at these events were unpredictable. She'd either appear unannounced, or not show up at all. Still, a part of Hysilens was disappointed. She had hoped to see a familiar face amongst the crowd.

Speaking of the monarch… 

The thought had been nagging away at Hysilens’s conscience as of late. She's been trying to determine what ‘move’ Cerydra intends to make next. Each time she'd attempted to get through to the Imperator, the sly woman had either dismissed her or simply ignored her advances. She's completely at a loss—but based on the gnawing feeling in her gut, whatever Cerydra was planning, wasn't good.

Hysilens sips again from her filled cup, a bitter taste lingering in her mouth. Her face wretches in disgust, no longer in the mood for honey brew. 

“Not fond of honey brew anymore?” A graceful voice appears behind her, startling the Knight. 

She whips around quickly, almost dropping her cup in the process, but quickly relaxes once she recognises the individual. “Dux Goldweaver? I had assumed you wouldn't be in attendance tonight.”

“Our sovereign has been insisting I attend these banquets as a formality,” Aglaea scoffs, shaking her head. “Truth be told, I regret the decision. This banquet is just too…loud, there's no one and nothing interesting, and I just really don't want to be here.”

“You're welcome to leave at any time,” Hysilens laughs softly as Aglaea’s face twists in repulsion as she takes a sip from her own flask. She understands where Aglaea was coming from—banquets weren't for everyone. She also knows that Aglaea was lying. From how long they've known each other, Hysilens can tell when the woman is worried about something, but for now, she plays along. “Surely you must have your tailoring commissions to be working on?”

“And you?” The seamstress rolls her eyes, pointing a finger at the Siren. “I'd always thought you enjoyed these over-the-top banquets. But you look rather…pitiable standing here all alone.”

Hysilens tries to ignore the way the comment makes her feel, opting to stare off into the crowd. “I'm simply admiring the view.” 

It wasn't necessarily a lie. With the battle against Phaghousa lying just around the corner, she wonders just how many of these soldiers will return for the next banquet. 

“Really?” Aglaea questions. “I'm not one to pry, but I had guessed your brooding was because the Imperator isn't here. Did something happen between the two of you?”

Hysilens doesn't want to answer that question either. So she does what she knows best—deflect. 

“I heard you were looking for a certain trouble maker,” the Knight narrows her eyes at the seamstress, quipping. “That kitten fish of yours is currently in my quarters, enjoying a pile of fish I gifted her.”

“What? Cifera?” Aglaea’s eyes widened at Hysilens’s information. “Ugh! That brat is always up to no good…” She sighs, before frowning at the Siren. “If you'll excuse me, I think it's about time I take my leave. Do send the Imperator my regards.”

Hysilens gives a curt nod as she watches Aglaea rush out of the room. 

Perhaps it's about time she left as well.

Hysilens steps out into the dark and empty hallway with relative ease, and finally lets out the breath she'd been holding. As she walks without purpose through the corridors, the noise of the revelry eventually dissipates into complete silence. 

Her thoughts drift back to Cerydra—like they always do—and she can't seem to stop it this time. She's…always cherished the fact that the Imperator hosted these banquets for her. But after days, months, years—she doesn't know what the point is anymore. Perhaps it was just Hysilens clinging onto some sick sense of hope for that promised banquet, but now, she doesn't see the need for them anymore. She thought she'd found some hope with Cerydra, but with how her flame has been flickering as of late, Hysilens doesn't know what to do. 

Eventually, she slumps against a wall, falling to the ground. Burying her head into her knees, Hysilens comes to the conclusion that she no longer wants a banquet—she just wants peace. 

“Dux Gladiorum?” A voice rings out in front of her, shaking the Knight from her moment of realisation. “Is that you?”

The Siren looks up to see Cerydra staring down at her. Her expression seems neutral, but from the slight furrow of her brows and the beginning of a frown, Hysilens recognises the emotion—worry. 

“Imperator,” she shoots up from her slumped position, standing at attention whilst making herself look presentable. “I…apologise for my current state. Are you heading for the banquet?”

“I was, but…” Cerydra looks Hysilens up and down, pausing. “It seems as though I might have to take a detour.”

The Imperator turns around, heading in the opposite direction of the banquet. “Walk with me, Dux Gladiorum.”

Hysilens follows the monarch, as they journey into the deserted halls of Marmoreal Palace. 

“Tell me, is the banquet to your liking?” Cerydra asks, offering Hysilens a faint smile. 

“It is,” Hysilens answers vaguely. “Thank you, Imperator.”

The Imperator eyes her for a moment, before frowning. She huffs, shaking her head. “You're lying.” She stops in her tracks, furrowing her brows at the Siren. “Surely you know better than to lie to the Imperator?”

“O-Of course,” the Knight stutters.”But, what I said is true.” Hysilens pauses, glancing over to the Imperator. “...Tonight's banquet is more than I could ever ask for.”

“Hm,” Cerydra hums. “Is there anything or anyone bothering you, then? You're… rather aloof today.”

Hysilens feels her breath catch at the question. Truthfully, the only thing bothering her is the secret Cerydra is keeping. But what can she really say? 

Her throat tightens. She wants to—no, needs to—ask. 

“Forgive me, Imperator…” Hysilens swallows down the lump forming in her throat. “Are you…planning something?”

“Whatever could you mean?” Cerydra seems baffled at the question, but her voice remains calm. “I'm always planning.”

“I'm talking about the upcoming battle in Styxia,” Hysilens states, disliking the way Cerydra feigns ignorance. “You've been hiding something.” She adds, voice softer this time. “You've been hiding something.” She repeats, and decides to continue. “...From me.”

“You may be my most trusted blade, but that doesn't mean I'm obligated to tell you everything,” Cerydra turns around, trying to avoid the Knight’s gaze. 

“Imperator,” Hysilens grumbles, moving to stand in front of Cerydra again. She doesn't want to let her escape this time. “I'm not asking for you to tell me everything. I merely want to know if the battle ahead…” She trails off, not knowing what to say. 

“The battle ahead will be tough,” Cerydra sighs, finishing Hysilens’s sentence. She reaches out, grabbing onto one of the Siren’s hands. “But I guarantee you, victory is imminent. You have nothing to fear.”

Hysilens can tell from the expression on Cerydra's face that she's being sincere. The hand is hers feels warm, comforting—and it grounds her. 

“...Promise me,” the words sound almost pathetic coming from the Knight. “Promise me that whatever you have planned isn't a gamble.”

Cerydra sighs, squeezing Hysilens’s hand. “I promise—my Gladius.”

Watching the Imperator answer without hesitation, Hysilens lets herself smile, and almost finds herself laughing in relief. She was worried about nothing, wasn't she? How immature of her. The Imperator always did what was best, after all. 

Cerydra returns the gesture, a small grin blooming on her face. Her fingers graze Hysilens’s calloused hand—the touch soothing. 

Out of the corner of her eye, a shadow looms. Initially, the Knight hesitates, merely assuming it's her paranoia setting in. When the shadow twitches, Hysilens Instinctively steps away from the Imperator, wielding her blade. 

She lunges forward, her sharp sword making quick work of the intruder with precise and elegant ease. 

Not once does her hand quiver. 

The intruder collapses onto the floor with a resounding thud, red blood pooling around the body—staining the marble floors. 

Cerydra walks over to the Knight, unfazed. Peering down, she smirks to herself. 

“Caenis.” Cerydra murmurs to no one in particular, looking at the lifeless body splayed out before the two. “Who would've thought she'd be back already; even Thanatos must have grown sick of her.”

The corner of Hysilens’s lips upturn slightly, laughing at the joke. 

Her eyes linger on the serrated dagger lying in Caenis’ grasp—now useless. She's thankful that her instincts managed to wipe out the threat easily. Cerydra was safe—and Hysilens couldn't ask for more.

The tension from their earlier ‘heart-to-heart’ has now dissipated, no doubt because of the intruder laying before them. It's eerily silent again, and Hysilens doesn't know what else to say. Thankfully, it seems as though the Imperator does. 

“You've protected me once again, Dux Gladiorum,” Cerydra says, facing the Knight. “It seems as though a reward is in order.”

“I was merely carrying out my duty to the Imperator,” Hysilens states, nodding. 

“Tell me, what is it you wish for?” Cerydra asks. 

Her answer remains the same. 

“All I want…” Hysilens breathes out. She's answered this question countless times. “Is a feast where I might belong.”

The Imperator chuckles, shaking her head. “Surely you must want something else?”

Cerydra has never said this before, leaving Hysilens…confused. They've always had this exact same conversation, but it seems as though the monarch has grown sick of this odd sense of déjà vu.

If Cerydra wants to play like this, it's only fair that Hysilens offers her an appropriate response. 

“Perhaps you could choose for me, Imperator,” Hysilens says. “As but a humble subject, I will accept whatever the Imperator offers me.”

“Oh?” Cerydra raises a brow at the remark, genuinely surprised by the Knight’s response. “Well then…”

The Imperator takes a step towards the Knight, a slight smile forming on her face. It curls into a smirk as she takes another step forward. 

Hysilens finds herself instinctively moving back, as Cerydra continues to invade her personal space. Her back hits the wall with a surrounding thump, and she doesn't think she can breathe—it feels as though she's a fish out of water. 

Cerydra is impossibly close—too close. Hysilens can feel Cerydra's breath on hers, entangling into a shared…warmth.

She closes her eyes, not wanting to face Cerydra. It feels like a false dream, and Hysilens doesn't want to believe it. 

But, Cerydra has other plans. 

Before Hysilens can process it, familiar warmth radiates from a hand that caresses her cheek. She tenses at the sudden contact, but doesn't pull away. Her eyes open, and the Imperator stares back at her—with an inexplicable glint in her eyes. 

“...Do you trust me?” Cerydra says—the question cutting through their synchronised breaths. 

Her thumb brushes gently over Hysilens’s cheek, and she leans up, waiting for an answer. 

“I…” The Knight can't find it in herself to speak. When her mouth opens, no words come out—but she's sure Cerydra doesn't mind. They've always preferred leaving words unspoken, letting their feelings and actions speak for themselves. 

Her breath quivers and she opts to nod once. 

Cerydra moves closer—so that she's practically a hair’s breadth away—and pauses. She doesn't hide the fact that her eyes glance towards Hysilens’s lips. With how composed the Imperator usually is, it's rare to see her hesitate. It's almost…endearing. 

Hysilens decides to give in to her desires, pulling Cerydra close, and eliminating the already nonexistent distance between them. 

She doesn't do this because the Imperator wants to, but more so because Hysilens herself wants this. They both do. 

The height difference between the two is…laughable, to say the least. But at this moment, the two can't find it in themselves to focus on it. Hysilens finds her arms wrapping against the Imperator’s shoulders, and in turn, finds hands grasping at her own black locks of hair with an unprecedented hunger—as though afraid that Hysilens would push her away. It's an irrational fear, because the Knight doesn't think she would ever want to part from Cerydra. Their lips move in slow, cautious movements—neither one wanting to overstep any boundaries. 

If anyone had walked out of the banquet and seen them, it would be quite the embarrassing predicament to explain. Perhaps, a ‘scandal’ would be more fitting—considering how the Imperator is currently kissing the Knight Commander of the Holy City. 

They're already aware of the gossip among the people about their relationship. Someone catching them in the act would be solid evidence. But in the shadows of the empty halls, they're no longer the Imperator nor the Knight Commander, they're merely Hysilens and Cerydra—standing on equal footing. 

Neither seem to care at this point, having already crossed the unsaid boundaries of their relationship. They push against one another, unrelenting, both all too eager in exploring this unfamiliar experience. 

It's some time before they part, and when they do, their hushed breaths echo off the walls. 

Cerydra looks…astonishing, from Hysilens’s point of view. She notes the way a slight flush crawls up from her neck to her cheeks, eyes flickering about, as though embarrassed by what has just occurred. 

Hysilens doesn't want this moment to end. 

When Cerydra glances back at her, Hysilens nods once again, and they're soon met in another intoxicating kiss. 

Hysilens lets herself indulge in the feeling. 

She lets herself enjoy this fleeting moment with Cerydra. 

Most importantly, she lets herself believe in this selfish dream, lying to herself that Cerydra will stay. 

Because what can a mere fish do, but hope? 

★★★★☆

5

She pants, blades slicing and thrusting through the countless corrupted Sea Sirens that block her path, effortlessly. Their black blood stains her hands, but Hysilens isn't bothered by it—having grown used to the sensation of it running down her fingers. 

Eventually, she manages to wipe out the cluster of Sea Sirens that have gathered at the rear—their wails of pain slowly dying down into complete silence. She does her best to shake off the viscera and blood that coats her blade, deciding to return to the main hall where the rest of the Flame-Chase Army awaits. 

The mission has started off smoothly, and Hysilens is glad to know that Cerydra hasn't lied at all. She smirks to herself, once again laughing at her nonsensical thinking from the nights before. 

However, the smile on her face doesn't last long. 

When she enters the main hall, the Army and the Imperator are nowhere to be found. 

Instead, Hysilens is met with the sight of golden blood. She freezes, almost carelessly dropping her blades. 

The blood plasters the walls and floor, pooling around in vast amounts, leaving behind word of an unsaid chaos that had occurred in her absence. 

There are corpses of Sea Sirens scattered across the hall, their blood staining the floors. 

But, most notably, bodies of comrades are also littered across the hall, unmoving. Their wounds are disastrous, and some have been fully desecrated by the corrupted creatures of the Black Tide. She sees Dux Helkolithist and Dux Carminius lying hand in hand—as though having accepted their cruel fate. She sees Dux Fragoris and Dux Brumalis, their eyes closed as they lay motionless against a pillar. She sees numerous Chrysos Heirs she knows by name, now grasped by the claw of Thanatos. 

Hysilens feels sick to her stomach. 

The last thing she spots is Cerydra, who stands tall among the sea of bodies of both friend and foe alike. 

She steps forward, her breath quickening. 

Cerydra is soaked in golden blood—her dress now stained with it. She doesn't appear to have any visible injuries and Hysilens gathers that this blood isn't hers. 

She doesn't know what to make of this situation. Nor does she want to believe that this was Cerydra's plan all along. 

“...Imperator!” Hysilens finds herself shouting, no longer caring about respect. How could she possibly respect someone who…! Her voice shakes as she utters the question. “W-Why did you…?”

“Dux Gladiorum,” Cerydra states calmly, turning to meet Hysilens’s gaze. “You're here.”

“You told me the vanguard would wait while I sealed the rear!” Hysilens feels her bottled up emotions spilling out. Death has never bothered her, it's natural after all, but to die like this…it isn't fair. “Why did you send me away?! How could you let them die in vain?!”

Cerydra appears unfazed by the Knight’s anger. She merely wipes away a stray drop of golden blood that paints her face. 

“Die in vain?” Cerydra has the audacity to laugh. “No. No, you're mistaken. Their golden blood hasn't been spilled for nothing.” She smiles, but it's no longer warm. It feels unfamiliar, and Hysilens can only stare back at the Imperator like she would a stranger. “Their golden blood has guaranteed the success of our conquest.” She states. “...Their golden blood has paved the road for me to become the god of Law.” 

“You mean...The Trial of Law?” Hysilens feels herself freeze at the words. Not once has Cerydra mentioned anything about her plans for the coreflame. “What could have possibly required you to…”

Cerydra steps forward. 

Hysilens moves back, disillusioned by the person that stands before her. 

The Imperator notices her movement, but doesn't comment on it. 

“The one who wishes to bear Law must purge this world of its curse, and offer the blood of the accursed as sacrifice…” Cerydra recites. “You, I and all the Chrysos Heirs guided by the prophecy are the accursed ones.” She explains, upon seeing Hysilens furrow her brows. “The Flame-Chase Army's fate was already sealed by the time I collected the coreflame. Dying on a…glorious campaign, was the final gift they deserved.”

This wasn't the Cerydra Hysilens knew, was she? 

Cerydra looks…cold, and unwelcoming. She doesn't even feel human, from the way she seems guiltless about how she's tossed away countless lives all for the sake of what? Conquest? 

“Your cold-blooded schemes were the cause of their deaths—not some riddle from the Trial of Law,” Hysilens shakes her head. “Have you no shame?! Did their loyalty mean nothing to you?!”

Cerydra returns to her neutral expression, hands folded behind her back. “...I told you before, didn't I?” She recounts, closing her eyes. “Losses are a constant on the Flame-Chase Journey, among which even life itself holds little value.” She pauses, letting the words sink in. “What is loyalty, if not the conviction to march into battle, while knowing that their lives are constantly at risk?” 

“...And what about my loyalty, Cerydra?” Hysilens’ cuts through the tension in the air, as she casts aside the title claimed by Cerydra.

She doesn't deserve the title of Imperator. 

She's merely a cruel and unfeeling Tyrant—just as the people of Okhema have long said she was. 

There's no doubt that Cerydra is a flame—just like how Hysilens has thought for many years. But instead of providing warmth to those around them, she merely burns those who get too close—scalding them with her malicious blaze. 

Hysilens can't help but wonder whether her loyalty ever meant anything to Cerydra. Or was she just another mere pawn in one of her drawn-out games of chess? Yet another person that Cerydra could cast aside when necessary? All for the sake of that…foolish prophecy. 

It's happening again. Hysilens realises. 

“I wasn't lying when I said this battle would end in victory,” Cerydra tuts, shattering the numerous thoughts that cloud the Siren’s mind. “All that is left is for you to carry out your duty; Only you can uphold Phaghousa’s divine authority.”

Hysilens finds herself speaking before she thinks. Her sight grows blurry. “...What about us?”

If Cerydra is startled by the question, she doesn't let it show. Only the mere sound of her breath hitching gives her away. 

“...The Imperator may be ruthless and cruel, but never a liar,” Cerydra claims. “You, my Knight, who has given me your heart, and you, my own—know that it was genuine.”

Hysilens feels her grip tighten around her blades. The words don't comfort her at all, rather, they stir the fury boiling inside of her.

“Ultimately, the choice is yours,” Cerydra affirms. “Cast off the chains of loyalty and drive those blades through my heart, or…” She stops, letting the words sink in. “Stand with me, and sever the ocean's last breath.”

It's an impossible choice. One, that Hysilens never thought she'd have to make. 

“Cerydra,” Hysilens calls, hoping that somehow, this is all a dream. 

“If you no longer share my vision or believe in the new Law I wish to weave for Amphoreus—I won't blame you,” She doesn't respond and continues her speech. 

“Go on,” Cerydra urges. “...End me.”

Her eyes close, as though having accepted her fate. 

The words shatter Hysilens. Her ears ring, and she doesn't think she can listen to Cerydra's words further. 

A low growl manages to penetrate through her cloudy mind. 

Hysilens moves on instinct—on mindless loyalty—as she dashes past Cerydra, who flinches at the sudden movement. 

The corrupted Sea Siren screeches, striking at her blade with its fins. One of her blades is sent flying, and the creature manages to land an attack on Hysilens—having caught her off guard. She furrows her brows, taking the chance to leap forward, jamming her sole blade into its flesh. 

It howls out in pain as she twists her sword, slumping to the floor in a bloodied heap. Its ragged breaths soon die down, leaving Hysilens and Cerydra alone again. 

Hysilens huffs, having dealt with the threat. She ignores the sting of the scratch on her cheek. It's practically insignificant in comparison to the way her heart aches, still in disbelief of Cerydra's true nature. 

She stares down at the motionless corpse of her former kin—now at peace.

Hysilens wishes she could find peace as well. 

She turns back around, to see Cerydra with her eyes open once again, now walking towards the Siren. 

Hysilens can't see any shred of humanity in her eyes. They've lost their spark—seemingly lifeless—and barely resemble the fearless cyan eyes that she remembers. They're merely attached to the stranger before her—so familiar, yet so…foreign.

Cerydra stands tall in front of her, smiling. 

She reaches up, hand cupping Hysilens’s cheek. The Knight tenses at the gesture. Previously, Hysilens would gladly lean into the warm touch. But now, all she feels is a freezing hand that leaves a numbing sensation on her skin. She attempts to lean away from the touch, but Cerydra pushes, following her movement. 

“My loyal blade,” Cerydra smiles, her thumb caressing the scratch on Hysilens’s cheek. A drop of her own blood now stains Cerydra's thumb, painting her in yet another shade of gold. “...I knew you'd make the right decision.”

Her stomach churns at the comment. Hysilens feels disgusted by her words, actions—even looking at Cerydra alone makes the Knight uneasy. 

“...Enough.” She slaps Cerydra's hand away forcefully, stepping back. Her grip tightens further around her remaining blade. 

“Starting to doubt your decision, Dux Gladiorum…?” Cerydra asks innocently. 

“...Save your breath,” Hysilens narrows her eyes at Cerydra. “I'll finish what you started.”

She walks ahead, picking up her scattered blade along the way. Cerydra doesn't immediately follow, and so, Hysilens stops. 

“After the trial…” Hysilens starts, facing away from Cerydra. She doesn't want to look at her. “There's nothing left between us.”

Cerydra calmly walks to her side. “Do you truly mean that, Dux Gladiorum?”

Hysilens ignores her question, just like how she ignores the way her eyes grow moist. 

For once, Cerydra doesn't push further. 

Hysilens channels her strength to stop the tears from flowing. Cerydra doesn't deserve her tears. 

“Let us move on then,” Cerydra states, brushing past Hysilens, beginning their journey towards the Vortex of Phaghousa. “Time waits for no one.”

She watches as Cerydra walks ahead, leaving the Knight looming in the shadows. 

After a moment, Hysilens obeys. 

She obeys, even if her footsteps are heavy, and reluctant to do so. 

She obeys, because the loyalty that has kept her with Cerydra for so long is nothing but a mere curse—blind and restrictive. 

Above all else, she obeys, because when a soldier is given an order by their commander, they'll follow it without hesitation—even at the expense of their own judgement. 

★★★★★

+1

“Drip.”

Hysilens has something to confess. 

She's had her suspicions, but never once brought them up. 

As she stares ahead at the grim look on the Imperator’s face as she declares her command—Hysilens is sure of it now. 

Cerydra had been planning her own death all along. 

“Dux Gladiorum, what if one day I command you to turn your blade against me?”

The question had been sudden, throwing the Siren off guard. At the time, she had remained silent, assuming it was yet another one of the Imperator’s cruel jokes. 

“I'd want your sharpest edge; I'd want you to do it without hesitation. Anything less would dishonor those who sacrificed themselves for my cause.” 

“Look,” Cerydra had chuckled, tossing her king piece off the board. “Sacrifice can open new pathways.”

Looking back, the signs were all there. 

Yet, Hysilens pretended not to know—or at the very least, she didn't want to know. 

What could she do anyway? 

Hysilens isn't naive. She's seen through the tricks of sly merchants, the elaborate schemes of petty fraudsters, and so much more. After more than a century on this cursed land, Hysilens knows better than to trust mere words alone—knows better than to hold on to childish ideals. Yet—

Death is inevitable.

Hysilens is aware of this. 

With wars against Gods and the threat of the Black Tide looming closely behind, death has been, and is, a common sight. A means to an end, and a way to allow for the narrow-minded to be washed away. 

So, with the realisation about Cerydra's ultimate goal—Hysilens shouldn't have been surprised. She shouldn't have feigned ignorance. Nor should she have been…distraught over something so natural. 

Hysilens isn't naive—she wants to believe this. 

Yet, a part of her had clung on to hope. The hope that Cerydra would change her mind, the hope that she was reading the situation wrong, or maybe the hope that it was all just a nightmare. 

Hope is such a…fickle thing, and by now, Hysilens knows better than to cling onto the possibilities, instead of facing the inevitable head on. 

But who could really blame her? 

If you'd seen the look on Cerydra's face, you would do the same. The way she'd never once admit her plans—yet, her glossy eyes told a different story. The slight crease of her brow, or how her eyes blatantly widened whenever Hysilens would question her. Other times, it wasn't her expressions but rather, the strained tone of her voice that gave her away. The way it'd crack every time Cerydra deflected, again and again. 

If you'd seen all of Cerydra—rather than the facade she put on as Imperator—you wouldn't be able to judge Hysilens for clinging on to hope. 

So when Cerydra locks eyes with her, stepping forward, Hysilens knows that it's time—that Cerydra's fate lies here, despite the hope brimming inside of the Knight. 

Cerydra’s steps are heavy as she steps out of the trial, a solemn look on her face. 

The Trial of Law is over—the campaign against Phaghousa now reaching its end. 

Hysilens has fulfilled her duty, but she still lingers, waiting for Cerydra to say something—anything. 

“...What exactly did you see in the trial?” Hysilens finds herself asking. 

“Everything,” Cerydra smirks. “Chrysos Heirs of the prophecy falling one by one. Amphoreus’s end—the Black Tide consuming us all. I saw it all.” She answers. “But…with a sacrifice of equal weight, I can rewrite the laws according to my will. I can turn bad into good, ugliness into beauty, weakness into strength…I can change just about anything.”

“Equal weight…?” The Knight mutters. 

Her directionless rambling confuses Hysilens. 

“One rule change…for the life of one demigod,” Cerydra tells, and Hysilens wishes she hadn't asked the question. 

She freezes, furrowing her brows. “What are you…planning to do?”

Cerydra must have truly gone mad. Five hundred Chrysos Heirs had already lost their lives all for the sake of the Trial of Law. And now, yet another life must be taken, just for a new Law…? Hysilens doesn't want to believe Cerydra is actually planning to—

“You can't guess?” Cerydra scoffs, shaking her head. “We’ll conquer all of Amphoreus and set out for the stars—all we have to do is make some reasonable sacrifices.”

Hysilens steps forward, furious. “You've already given up countless lives just for the ‘Law’! Are you still not done with this…senseless bloodshed?!”

“I am determined to bring peace to Amphoreus,” Cerydra merely states. 

“You think such a simple yet hypocritical statement can justify the atrocities you've committed?!” Hysilens yells. “How could you…possibly bring peace with carnage?!”

Who was Cerydra to decide this? To play with the fate of mortals like this? To play with the fate of Amphoreus like this? 

“I recall you once saying that ‘only bloodletting can wake the ignorant masses that cling to outdated laws’,” She doesn't seem hurt by the statement, and instead bites back. “You call me a hypocrite, and yet, we're one and the same.”

Hysilens shakes her head. They are different. 

“...You're making the same mistakes as your predecessors,” Hysilens mutters, shaking her head. “You…truly are a Tyrant.”

Cerydra doesn't retort immediately. Instead, she laughs at Hysilens’s accusation. Her sudden cackles echo throughout the endless void of the Vortex—startling Hysilens. It's a haunting sound. 

“Go and see everything for yourself. Go hear the whispers in Marmoreal Market, the tales told by poets, the books in any library I've built—! Go and see how my conquests have brought real change to this world.” Cerydra lists in between laughs. “If you've truly forgotten my accomplishments, I implore you to spend a day skimming through the history books.”

Hysilens can only scowl—unable to come up with a retort. She should have left, instead of choosing to reason with Cerydra. But, her lingering resentment would've made arguments unavoidable either way. 

“...Harken to my final words, Dux Gladiorum,” Cerydra’s jaw tightens. “History will eventually forget Cerydra, but it will never forget the Imperator's people or the Flame-Chase Era she began.”

It takes a moment for Hysilens to realise. 

“Final words…?” Hysilens repeats, her heart thumping in her ears. 

Cerydra didn't actually mean that, right? 

“...There is only one law I want to overturn and for that, I will only offer the life of one demigod,” Cerydra drawls, observing the Knight. 

Even though they're separated by more than an arm's length away, Hysilens can still see the hazy look in Cerydra's eyes, and the way her lower lip quivers. 

“In the name of the Imperator, I command you one last time, Helektra,” Cerydra begins. Hysilens tenses at the name. “Either sacrifice yourself for conquest…”

Yes, it's in this moment where the grim look on Cerydra's face tells Hysilens that she was right all along. 

And she had done nothing to prevent it. 

“...Or pierce this tyrant’s chest with your sword.”

Her breath catches at the command. 

She unsheathes her swords, clenching her fists around the handles. Tears begin to well in her eyes, but she doesn't let them fall. She grits her teeth, unable to carry out the command. 

Hysilens finds herself rooted in place, and for the first time in a long while… 

Her hands tremble. 

Cerydra notices Hysilens’s dilemma, and so she takes a tentative step forward, soon finding herself in front of the Knight. 

“Go on,” Cerydra calmly says. “You heard the Imperator’s order.”

Her eyes dart away from Cerydra. How could she possibly look her in the eye? Did Cerydra even understand the weight of such a demand? 

She hears Cerydra huff, before a rough shove makes Hysilens stumble back. 

Her breath quickens as her gaze is redirected on the person before her. She looks ahead in disbelief. 

“I—” Hysilens barely begins her sentence before she's met with another push to her shoulders. 

“What are you waiting for?” Cerydra questions, enunciating her words with yet another shove. “Are you hesitating? Now, of all times?”

Despite the harsh blows landing on Hysilens, she doesn't retaliate, merely letting Cerydra release her pent up anger and frustration. 

“Where is your conviction?” Cerydra furrows her brows. “Your fearlessness?”

“Cerydra—” Hysilens calls out again, but is cut off with a hand reaching up to cover her mouth—silencing her words. 

“Go on, Dux Gladiorum.” Cerydra looks up at Hysilens, her eyes glossy. She clenches her hand around the Siren’s forearm, murmuring. 

It's only then that Hysilens realises Cerydra's hits weren't out of anger, but rather, a plea—a cry for Hysilens to follow through with her command. 

“End me,” Cerydra begs. 

She lunges forward, her blade piercing through flesh. Hysilens closes her eyes, as she retracts her sword. 

“Drip.”

A drop of golden blood falls into water, sending ripples across its surface. 

Cerydra gasps, clutching her chest, as she crumples to the floor. She grits through her teeth, barely handling the pain that blossoms from her chest. 

Hysilens lets out shaky, shallow breaths, staring down at Cerydra on the ground. The same golden blood that spills from Cerydra's wound, now stains her hands, trickling down from her fingertips. 

Her blades clatter the ground, leaving a piercing sound that lingers in her ears. 

She sinks to her knees beside Cerydra, finally comprehending what she's just done. 

“I-I'm…sorry,” Hysilens stammers, clasping onto Cerydra's outstretched hand. Guilt, despair, and agony invade her senses. “...I'm sorry.”

“Hysilens…Helektra,” Cerydra lightly squeezes the hand in hers—her strength slowly dissipating. “...I don't…blame you.”

Tears well in her eyes, as Hysilens grasps onto the last few moments of consciousness that Cerydra has. “D-Don't waste your strength…”

Cerydra laughs softly, coughing in between. “If you…truly…despise my…actions,” she lets out a shuddering breath. “Just know…I do not care…”

Hysilens squeezes onto Cerydra's hand desperately, but her grip slowly fades away. 

“I…do not…” Cerydra mumbles, and Hysilens isn't sure if any of her words are coherent, or merely just rambling. “Do not…care…”

Cerydra lets out a final exhale, her hand falling limp in Hysilens’s. The glint in her eyes is now gone. Only pale blue eyes stare lifelessly back at the Knight. 

Hysilens trembles, leaning down to listen for any sounds—anything. 

Holding her close, Hysilens is met with silence—Cerydra's heartbeat and breaths no longer present. 

Her Imperator… 

Her light… 

Her heart… 

…Is dead. 

And it's all Hysilens’s fault. 

Her blade had been the one to pierce itself right through Cerydra's chest, leaving her gasping and bleeding on the floor. 

It's happening again—the thought resurfaces in her mind like an old wound, a familiar agony. 

Yet another flame has lost its spark. This time, Hysilens had been the one to search for that flame, only to be the one to snuff it out over a century later. 

Ironic, isn't it? 

Hysilens can't help but berate herself for her actions—for her baseless dreams of an endless feast. 

She feels herself sinking again—into that lonely, dark sea. Only her breaths alone resound throughout the Vortex now. 

Hysilens stands, gathering her blades from the ground. She ignores the golden blood that seeps through her attire, and stares at Cerydra's motionless figure one last time. 

Afterwards, Hysilens walks away, leaving the Vortex with hurried footsteps—drops of blood trailing behind her. She leaves, with no particular direction in mind. 

Her duty is done. 

There's no one to guide her now. After all…

She's nothing but a coward. 

She's nothing but a fraud—a Knight who had betrayed her Imperator. 

Beneath all her titles, Hysilens is nothing but a mere fish naive enough to believe she could swim within the depths of the vast sea. 

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