The account of the First Blood War in its entirety. Retrieved from the cloister on the 13th Day of the 4th Month in the year 535 Sela.

Chapter I: The Jealous God

The creation of Hyrnedhna by Me’me’suul, Mynair by Gu’labir, and Opix by Pel’Pyri ushered in an age of wonder and inspiration. As the new Gods came of age, so too did Mortal worship: the Pantheon watched as these creations of the Gods served as muses to Mortals’ own innovation and creativity.

Me’me’suul’s Hyrnedhna brought forth the people of the Wilds, and the forests sang equally with revelry and the Hunt. Gu’labir’s Mynair welcomed the people of the shores and seas, and the coastlines exploded in shrines and celebration. And Opix–the true favored of Pel’Pyri–conjured delight and change among the Mortals. All across the Realm, the three Made Gods invited reverence and joy.

Faeris’lyr, a child rather than a creation of Gods, congratulated such efforts. He considered his Mother’s creation, Opix, to be a half-sibling and invited Opix to join in the Pantheon’s festivities. One night, after one of these celebrations, Faeris’lyr had a dream: he saw Opix sitting alongside him, a God of the Pantheon. The next day, Faeris’lyr–in recognition of both his mother and the tremendous power of a God’s might–welcomed Opix to the Pantheon. The young God ascended happily, sitting between their maker and Faeris’lyr himself.

Me’me’suul and Gu’labir were pleased by this: they had long since lost track of their own creations, but admired Faeris’lyr’s decision to honor Pel’pyri’s work. Pel’pyri was deeply honored and thanked her son–the first time the Goddess of Fire and Destruction had ever truly express gratitude to her children.

However, Le’Neris–father of Faeris’lyr and Vaer’ine, King of Tides and Life–looked on angrily. He was displeased by Faeris’lyr’s decision and all the more displeased by the popularity of Hyrnedhna and Mynair. As the Pantheon celebrated Opix, Le’Neris grew all the more bitter.

One day, Le’Neris called his youngest daughter, Vaer’ine, to his quarters. Le’Neris explained to Vaer’ine that another of his own children must ascend to the Pantheon. He tild her that he had decided that Vaer’ine, as Goddess of the Hearth, must join her brother on the Pantheon. Vaer’ine was overjoyed until she heard her father’s reasoning. Le’Neris explained that if Pel’lyra, Goddess of Song and Beauty, joined, the other Gods might grow jealous. Similarly, if Faeris’lyr’s brothers–Myrim’lyr and Beo’lyr–ascended, Faeris’lyr might show them too much favoritism. Vaer’ine, he instructed, was the most unimpressive of the children and, therefore, a fitting God to maintain the Dynasty’s balance.

Vaer’ine, insulted, nevertheless assented to his father’s request. “For the Family,” she told him grimly.

Chapter II: The Young Gods

For some time, this pleased Le’Neris: though superficially plainer than her siblings, Vaer’ine was nevertheless a skilled negotiator and a cunning diplomat. She was able to woo the impulsive whims of Me’me’suul to her side, and she even managed, on occassion, to impress Gu’labir, who vocally disliked the Princess of the Hearth. Faeris’lyr came to rely on Vaer’ine’s keen judgment, and Le’neris, whispering in Vaer’ine’s ear, found that his whispers went far further then they had before.

However, this did not stop the movements of Gods outside the Pantheon.

To Le’neris’s great distaste, Steramestei and Kasamei grew ever more popular. Moving freely in the minds and hearts of Mortals, the Sisters quickly established followings rivaling any of the lone Pantheon Gods. And, to Le’neris’s embarrassment, the young God Nepheris–son of Tel’Nephri and Faeris’lyr–had begun study under both Sisters. From Steramestei, the young God learned the hearts of Mortals and, from Kasamei, he learned of their fears. Walking with the Sisters, Nepheris walked among Mortals, amassing his own small following as he learned the ways of the Mortal world.

To Le’neris’s utmost rage, however, good tidings also befell Mynair and Hyrnedhna. The Goddess of the Sea and the Goddess of the Woods ran not just with Mortals but with the wild creatures, the Mynaira and Hyrnedhnai. Such creatures, though not immortal, we’re nevertheless powerful and beyond the Pantheon’s control. The young God Beodhen, brother of Nepheris, took to running with both the Goddess of the Sea and the Woods, learning the ways of wild things. Such actions, Le’Neris sputtered, were unbecoming of the Dynasty.

Le’neris commanded Vaer’ine to take her young nephews in stride. Begrudgingly, the Goddess did: she did not think of herself as nursemaid to any God, let alone the children of her older brother. However, slowly, Vaer’ine came to appreciate the boys: Nepheris had an intellect rivaling even herself and Gu’labir, and Beodhen was as vibrant as Pel’pyri and as charming as Myrim’lyr. As the young Gods aged into young men, Vaer’ine found herself growing increasingly fond of them.

Le’neris also found himself thinking fondly of Beodhen and Nepheris, despite growing increasingly frustrated with his son, Faeris’lyr, and the mother of his children, Pel’pyri.

Faeris’lyr, according to his father Le’neris, was unable to maintain his own court. His listened equally to not just his father and sister Vaer’ine but also to the meddlesome Gu’labir and tempestuous Me’me’suul. Meetings between the Gods frequently broke into chaotic quarrel, aided by Pel’pyri’s Devotion to her own creation, Opix. Even Vaer’ine one of endless patience, grew annoyed with the demanding whims of the elder Gods. More troublesome still, the children of T’Myrim and Zyr’Zane, T’Zyri and T’Rer, regularly made their wants known: whispering mightily into Faeris’lyr’s ear, the Twin Gods received boons far exceeding (what Le’neris imagined was) their station.

However, none of this angered Le’neris as much as the other deity of the tides.

Chapter III: The Sea Maiden’s Grace

Far outpacing Hyrnedhna’s popularity, Mynair had become beloved by many in Circadia. They marveled at her calm seas and storms alike, and Le’neris–once considered Lord of all Tides–found himself too busy with Pantheon affairs to rival her appeal. All the worse, the sister Goddesses Steramestei and Kasamei had befriended Mynair: upon her waters, they cast the stars, and Devout of the Sisters quickly took up adjacent worship of Mynair. Even Beodhen, Le’neris’s lively grandson, was caught staring longingly out over Mynair’s deep oceans.

Mynair herself was unbothered by Le’neris’s anger. Much like Hyrnedhna, she seemed disinterested in the politics of Gods, instead wishing only to move through the waters as does any creature of the sea. This only angered Le’neris further.

Eventually, Le’neris called a meeting between his two Pantheon children, Faeris’lyr and Vaer’ine, and the others, Myris’lyr, Beo’lyr, and Pel’yra. To this meeting, he also invited his grandsons, Beodhen and Nepheris.

He told them of his fears: particularly with Opix’s ascension to the Pantheon, the “Strange Children” might eventually become more powerful than the Gods of the Pantheon. This, he assured, would be the death of the Dynasty. Pel’pyri, “bewitched by Steramestei,” was too obsessed with her creation to see what had been done.

Vaer’ine quickly agreed with her father, and Faeris’lyr remained silent. Myris’lyr, Pel’yra, and Beo’lyr, however, questioned their father’s reasoning.

“Why should they care of the Pantheon?” asked Myris’lyr.

“And why should they trouble to ruin us?” remarked Beo’lyr.

“Moreover,” Pel’yra interjected, “while they are Gods of the natural world, their beauty is different than ours. Afterall, the Song of the Sea is of equal magnificence to the Divine Music. Mortals will always see themselves in us–not in floods and thorns.”

Le’neris nodded furiously, affirming Pel’yra’s claim. He explained that, as forces of nature, Hyrnedhna, Opix, and Mynair would never truly understand the lives and weaknesses of Mortals. They would be responsible for not only inspiring awe but, far more frequently, the death of many a Mortal. He cautioned strongly against Mynair who, unlike him, would no doubt indiscriminately send forth great waves that would destroy Mortal villages.

Nepheris, previously quiet, raised an eyebrow. “Why would she do that?”

Le’neris sneered. “Why does a flood cause a flood?”

Nepheris nodded and looked to his younger brother, Beodhen. Beodhen remained lost in thought.

The children of Le’neris turned to their father and, understanding his concern, asked what they might do.

“It can surely be solved with reason,” Myris’lyr offered.

“Perhaps,” Pel’yra worried.

“Perhaps not,” Beo’lyr grew grim.

Still Faeris’lyr said nothing.

Vaer’ine watched her siblings grow restless and then watched the worried brows of her two nephews. Nepheris and Beodhen saw something she did not.

“Father,” she said, “it sounds as if you wish to go to War with forces greater than ours.”

Le’neris glowered, “What is so wrong with that?”

“Surely, father.” Faeris’lyr finally spoke. “You know it would not be merely Mynair and Hyrnedhna against whom we would wage war.”

“So too would Gu’labir and Me’me’suul raise arms,” Beo’lyr shook his head.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. They are as fickle as their creations,” Le’neris countered.

“T’Zyri and T’Rer? They are older and stronger than us, your children.” Myris’lyr reminded.

Le’neris maintained. “They have more to lose in a fight. Their parents have long since departed this realm.”

“And what of mother?” Pel’yra asked. All the children looked to their Father.

“The Tides can quench a fire.”

Beodhen finally spoke. “And so you would be a kinslayer?”

Le’neris nodded.

Vaer’ine offered again, bitterly, “For the Family.”

Chapter IV: The First Fall

Vaer’ine and Myris’lyr rarely worked together but, at Nepheris’s urging, they colluded in secret.

“Kasamei and Steramestei,” Nepheris assured, “will not join my grandfather’s cause. My brother and I know them well.”

“But would they not stay neutral?” Beo’lyr asked.

“Kasamei might. Steramestei surely would not.”

Myris’lyr argued that two minor Gods, however insidious, would not amount to much against the full Dynasty.

“Grandfather underestimates T’Rer and T’Zyri. They are not on the Pantheon, but they are considered Prince and Princess of the Gods,” Nepheris explained. “Behind T’Rer’s handsome countenance is a will of iron. Behind T’Zyri’s beauty is ruthless cunning. They both would take up arms against Father–afterall, they are of the Oldest Gods, and neither my Father or Grandfather has ever recognized their lineage.”

“Then we cannot go to War,” Vaer’ine concluded.

“We must avoid it at any cost,” Myris’lyr agreed.

At this moment, Beodhen, who had been listening in the shadows, for once unseen, came into view. “Grandfather still wants blood,” he warned. “He speaks against Mynair and Hyrnedhna, but I know him well. It is not disdain, it is envy. In this way, I take after Le’neris. I too feel the drive of the wild, and he remembers the days when he was more like them than like you.” And Beodhen gestured to his aunt, uncle, and brother.

Nepheris assured his brother spoke the truth. Myris’lyr, now seeing the dire moment, asked what they might do.

Vaer’ine knew her father as she knew her own heart. “An offering.”

“Of what?” Nepheris and Beodhen asked in unison.

“Bloody not your hands or minds,” Vaer’ine commanded. “Leave it to your aunt.”

“She knows him best.” Myris’lyr agreed. “Though no one knows the depths of the sea, sister, save the strangest of beasts.”

Vaer’ine raised a goblet to the sky, “For the Family.”

“For the Family,” the rest toasted.

Chapter V: The Second and Third Fall

Vaer’ine stood before the Pantheon, her head lifted and her gaze strong. Once known as the plain sister, it was clear she had grown into her beauty–and power–over the years.

Vaer’ine, copying her father’s words, explained the danger of the Strange Children. Mynair’s floods, Hyrnedhna’s beasts, and Opix’s deadly storms. She explained that the Mortals grew wary not of nature but of the Divine. She cautioned that the Pantheon stood in the balance.

Pel’pyri immediately protested. They had always been Gods of the wild world. Never before had Mortals cared.

Vaer’ine calmly answered, expertly pretending she was sure of herself. “Those times are gone, Mother. We let the Mortals know us, and they see us for what we are. Powerful.”

Gu’labir looked on in amusement.

Me’me’suul called forth a clap of Thunder and bellowed. What would Vaer’ine suggest they do? Slay another God?

Vaer’ine steeled herself. “Only one.”

And Vaer’ine pointed at Opix.

Pel’pyri began to rage, but Le’neris interrupted.

“My love,” He said with acid in his voice. “Your best beloved has caused disastrous harm to not only Mortals but the Mortals who best love the Pantheon.”

And Le’neris stepped forward, dismissively commanding his daughter to sit.

Gu’labir chuckled.

“We need only show the Mortals we understand our wrongs. We need to let them know we mourn with them.” Le’neris supplied.

“But we do not!” Me’me’suul and Pel’pyri shouted.

“But we should.” Le’neris grimaced, as if pained by his next suggestion. “We must offer them the Blood of a God as apology for the loss of Mortal life. It is not natural, but it is fair.”

The Gods began to argue, and Faeris’lyr finally stepped forward.

“No, father,” he ordered. “Such things are impossible. A God must not die for Mortals.”

Gu’labir nodded.

“However,” He continued. “You are right that something must be conceded.”

And looking sadly at his mother, he dismissed Opix from the Pantheon. They were the first of the Pantheon to fall.

As soon as Opix was dismissed, Pel’pyri spoke against Le’neris, her son Faeris’lyr, and her daughter Vaer’ine. She pointed to collusion on their parts–a claim Faeris’lyr honestly denied.

Vaer’ine stayed silent as she watched her brother. He had never been a good ruler, but he was nonetheless exceedingly fair. She felt deep in her bones his next words.

“I understand your anger, Mother,” he murmured. “And there is little I can do, as so too do I understand my father.”

Le’neris snarled at his wife, reminding her of the thoughtless destruction Opix had brought to Mortals.

“Vaer’ine, dear sister,” Faeris’lyr met her eyes grimly. Before he could speak further, Vaer’ine dropped to her knee.

“I know, fine brother.”

Gu’labir steepled his talons.

“I relinquish my place on the Pantheon.”

“Thank you sister.” Faeris’lyr paused. “For the family.”

“Indeed, Brother. For the Family.”

“You have served us all well, Vaer’ine. I propose, as you Fall, we offer you not the Realm of the Hearth.” And then Faeris’lyr surprised even Le’neris. “True Loyalty is your purview. Whatever that Loyalty might entail.”

Vaer’ine remained quiet and, for once, appreciated her Brother’s gift.

Vaer’ine was the second God to fall from the Pantheon.

Chapter VI: Dreams upon Dreams

Vaer’ine’s gesture appeased the other Gods for only a relative moment. Pel’pyri grew anxious that Le’neris had only orchestrated his first command. Speaking with Me’me’suul, she remarked that it was a matter of time before things escalated–particularly since Vaer’ine no longer had commitment to the Pantheon.

At Gu’labir’s urging, Pel’pyri sought out Steramestei, the Divine originator of her inspiration. She explained her worries as the Star Lady calmly listened.

“You are not wrong,” Steramestei offered. “My sister, Kasamei, has seen a future cloaked in blood and fire.”

Pel’pyri assented: such things were her fear.

“But Prophecy must be tempered with reason,” Steramestei’s voice grew as distant as the floating stardust above them. “And I see not Destruction from this course but regeneration. After all, dear Pel’pyri, you know better than anyone that a fire sweeps away the dead and dying old growth.”

Pel’pyri felt herself falling away from the sympathies she had once known. While she had never understood her children, she nevertheless cared that they be well. This sentiment seemed to feather away, like paper in a flame.

She thanked the Star Lady and took her leave. That night, Pel’pyri dreamed of waves crashing against a tower of fire.

And in another corner of Horizon, another dream was had.

T’Rer had spent the day in deep thought. His sister had slithered into the body of a glittering snake and, unbeknownst to Vaer’ine, disguised herself as a strange jewel upon the Goddess’s cloak. She had listened to the quarrel of the Gods.

T’Zyri described to her brother the Fall of both Opix and Vaer’ine. She considered the rankled nerves of Me’me’suul and Pel’pyri. The graying brow of Faeris’lyr. The reaching fingers of Le’neris, grasping at power he already had. The seeming indifference of the Rotten One.

T’Rer attended her words but shook his head.

“Check your ambition, sister.” He warned. “Our parents left this place because the Pantheon was never their desire.”

“But it could be ours,” she insisted. “You would be a fine king.” And why not I the Queen? She wondered.

T’Rer thought for a moment. “Let me think on it. I would not raise a war, T’Zyri. Only my voice and a conversation.”

That night, T’Rer dreamed an impossible dream. A dream of floods and fires, swords and shackles, screaming masses falling underneath the foot of a clumsy giant. He saw further his own hands, grasping a crown, as the floods faded away. He saw pillars and archways, spiraling higher than any dreamed.

He did not notice the quiet snake at his heel, but we never capture all of a dream.

Chapter VII: Thirst

Time passed, and the Pantheon continued to quarrel. Faeris’lyr scarcely had time to mind the wants and needs of Mortals, and such tasks fell increasingly to his siblings and, surprisingly, T’Zyri and T’Rer.

Le’neris told him to pay no mind. It would pass. The Pantheon may grow small, but the Dynasty remained as supports of the throne.

And then an improbable thing happened: Faeris’lyr fell ill. He cried of unquenchable thirst but, when offered water, expelled it immediately. Even Pel’pyri tended her son, mourning what may be his death.

The Gods knew not why, and even Gu’labir decided it was the product of true disease rather than meddling from another.

But Le’neris could not convince himself of such a truth. Was it T’Zyri, the Poisoner? Steramestei, the Dreamer? Kasamei, known as Lady Death herself?

Le’neris dove to the Realm he had once considered solely his: the seas.

In what was now unfamiliar darkness, Le’neris’s head grew busy. He thought on his son’s cries for water, even as water refused his body.

Water.

And Le’neris knew what he had to do.

Chapter IIX: Conviction

This time, when he spoke, Le’neris held no slippery tongue nor cunning guile. He spoke with an honesty tainted by delusion and, though he refused to admit it, dreams.

He noticed not the snake at his heel.

“A God does not fall sick of simply fatigue or passing disease,” he assured. “A God falls sick of another God.”

And Le’neris spoke of Mynair, the creature that never should have been. Her playacting at innocence. The power she held over all waters, not just the sea.

“Her tendrils must stretch as far as Horizon,” and Le’neris growled like the tides he once knew. “And she will be our death.”

Pel’pyri and Me’me’suul once more raised their fists. Gu’labir, noting Faeris’lyr’s absence and the stink of serpents, remained silent.

“What would you propose?” Pel’pyri demanded.

“Death and nothing else.” Le’neris’s eyes grew as stormy as his lost ocean.

As is the way of fire, Pel’pyri grew hot. She blazed into a tower of rolling flame. She turned towards her former lover and advanced.

But an angry fire will not eat the hungry ocean. Le’neris consumed her, and Pel’pyri was the first to die.

The first Blood War had begun.

Chapter IX: Allegiances

The lots need not be cast: everyone knew their loyalties.

Me’me’suul cried out in sorrow and rage. Far in her woods, Hyrnedhna felt her wild heart surge and, watching as Me’me’suul cast thunder clouds across the darkened sky, raised a howl to summon all her Beasts.

T’Zyri and T’Rer immediately took up his call. T’Rer marshaled his warriors and T’Zyri her rogues. As Me’me’suul slung terror from the skies, T’Rer marched the ground and T’Zyri the shadows. T’Rer, thinking on the clumsy feet of giants, made ample accommodations for evacuating Mortals. T’Zyri assisted, disinterested as she might be in their well-being.

To the ailing Faeris’lyr, propped in front of Le’neris, raced Myris’lyr, Pel’lyra, and Beo’lyr. Vaer’ine needed no coaxing: she brought with her her now grown charges. The Tactician Nepheris and the Shining Prince Beodhen.

Gu’labir slipped, for a time, into the shadows. Here he watched T’Zyri slither and squirm amongst the hearts of the most wretched of Mortals.

“A fine queen she’d make,” he laughed to no one.

Opix and Mynair, too, only watched. A war of beasts was not a home to the returning tides and the capricious winds.

And, perched on a hill, high above the first battle, Kasamei and Steramestei looked on.

Kasamei looked to her twin and sighed. “Is this the first or last of dreams?”

Steramestei laughed.

“Only the first, my dearest,” she assured. “Inspiration touches hearts, but I do not seek to stay or steady their hand.”

Chapter X: The First Battle

The First Battle was fast and bloody. The children of the Dynasty were not prepared for Hyrnedhna and her maker’s ferocity.

Myris’lyr valiantly stood against beasts, cutting them down with his sword, ducking their fangs and talons, and piling bodies before him. He was no match, however, for the lightning bolt that fell upon him. He collapsed, a pile of ash, caught and blown away by a fickle breeze.

Pel’yra screamed, falling forward to catch her brother’s ashes. The noble deity stumbled and crashed upon the battlefield. Hyrnedhna’s beasts fell upon her, ripping her pretty face from her lovely head.

Beo’lyr, calling forth his nephews, Beodhen and Nepheris, charged, his mouth heavy with angry blood. The two deities fought alongside him as he advanced on Hyrnedhna and her wildlings.

He struck many down and reached Hyrnedhna herself. As he slashed across her face, he felt a great pressure around his chest.

Me’me’suul had descended from the sky and wrapped his giant fist around Beodhen’s namesake.

Without pause, Me’me’suul gnashed his teeth and, raising Beo’lyr to his maw, ripped Beo’lyr’s body in two. He consumed the fallen prince’s head and heart. He threw his guts and legs to Hyrnedhna who consumed them greedily.

Me’me’suul turned to Nepheris and Beodhen, flinching as he wondered if he might kill the prince who spoke to beasts and his brother who knew secrets deeper than simple war.

But there is no rage like a proud father, and no feasting storm can satisfy the hungry ocean.

As Me’me’suul allowed himself a moment of pity, Le’neris fell upon him.

Like an expert butcher poised upon a bull, he sunk his sword into Me’me’suul’s throat.

It was, like the battle, quick and brutal.

T’Rer called a retreat as Hyrnedhna, for the first time in her life, let out a curdling scream. Scared and alone, she tore from her maker’s giant body his head. The Hyrnedhnai circled around her as she wailed into fur and blood.

Somewhere, deep in the shadows, Gu’labir matched the Wildqueen’s grief. His sobs were quiet but piercing.

The Rotten One had never known true loss.

He noticed not the snake at his heel.

Chapter XI: The Marriage of Shadow

From the coils of her own darkness, T’Zyri writhed forth from the spirals of the shadow she shared with Gu’labir.

She had not known he had been following her until she heard his cries. How strange such a stinking creature might be so silent.

“Is the War lost?” She hissed.

Gu’labir turned his head and, seeing T’Zyri, offered a hostile guffaw.

“Far from it,” his voice cleared as his loathsome face cracked into a crooked, hungry grin. “I have only lost a friend.”

T’Zyri regarded the monster before her, the glutton’s pustules and festering wounds seemingly deepened in the Shadow.

“I wouldn’t understand such loss, but I am sorry for you.”

It might seem strange that the Beautiful One would find such a creature desirable, but she felt something stir. Here was something more ancient than her and, to her disgust, more deeply rooted in the webs of this world.

Gu’labir laughed, and it was not a kind sound. T’Zyri had only ever made unkind sounds, so she did not notice. “Princess, I did not expect that I was the one you’d want to know.”

The princess of the Old Gods started back and sneered. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t,” he chuckled. “I know the one on your horizon, and he gleams far brighter than I do. But I also know the first shudders of desire.”

“You insult me, creature,” she hissed, and her tongue, for a moment, split like a snake’s.

Gu’labir offered another unkind sound. “Creature indeed,” he answered. “If you should ever lay a finger upon me or I upon you, your father, Blessing upon him wherever he may be, would be…disappointed.”

T’Zyri said nothing.

“I am a Hedonist, Schemer. Nothing more, nothing less. From a dead whale I carved the beauty of the seas simply because it pleased me in the moment,” he pointed at her, slime dripping from his arms. “You are a thinker, and I am an artist. That’s all there is to it.”

It was true. T’Zyri’s soul knew only what she sought, not what she might create.

“Hedonism begins with what we truly want,” and Gu’labir sagged his body against the mossy wall. In the dim light, T’Zyri watched as the Blood shone like diamonds. “And you don’t want love or lust, T’Zyri.”

She cleared her throat.

“You want control.” He smiled, once more, unkindly. “And you’d make a fine queen.”

And Gu’labir sank into the wall, all but relinquishing whatever love he might have once had for Gods and their creations. He would seek out the head of his friend and retire with it somewhere dark and difficult.

As he melted away, he offered the Princess who might have been a queen a single gift.

A dagger, hewn of bone and dulled with use. Carved into it was a sun, across an ocean, rising, setting, and once more rising. 

T’Zyri, deep in her own bones, knew its purpose.

Chapter XII: Entanglement

After the death of his children, Le’neris continued to rage. While T’Rer kept up with his forces, Le’neris turned against his professed ideals and devastated Mortal villages. Of equal terror was Hyrnedhna pacing furiously against the opposing forces. Faeris’lyr, mourning his siblings, clambered from his sick bed and, weak and frail, nonetheless fought valiantly with his armies.

Vaer’ine grew nervous as the tides of battle became clear. She quietly withdrew into the shadows, only just barely brushing shoulders with the now giddy Gu’labir. “For the Family,” he laughed as she passed him

Even the Sisters became entangled.

Kasamei abandoned her post as observer and, desperate and patient, worked tirelessly to collect the bodies. Nepheris, disdainful of his grandfather’s careless slaughter, joined her as best he could. Though he could not shepherd the dead, he could help attend wounded civilians. As he did so, he could also hear the worries of the Mortals–worries of what might happen should the War ever end.

Steramestei remained distant but, nevertheless, visited one in particular.

After the Second Battle and her sister’s departure, Steramestei descended to the corpse-strewn battlefield. The bodies scarcely bothered her, and she even offered a nod to the prowling, hitherto unseen Witches lurking at the field’s edges.

She had little time and a singular goal.

At the far side of the field, a clutch of Faeris’lyr’s soldiers worked to pile and burn bodies. Had it not been for Faeris’lyr’s own kindness, it would have smelled of scorched flesh. The rising God, however, masked the smell as merely far off smoke. Faeris’lyr worked alongside his soldiers, which suited Steramestei.

She slipped unnoticed into the crimson and gold festooned tent.

Beodhen looked up, at first surprised and then grinning.

“It’s been awhile,” he rose to offer her his seat. To her amusement, he had been beading small trinkets. He gestured at them, “tokens for soldiers. It’s the little they have.”

“You’re a pragmatist,” she remarked coolly.

“I suppose. We’ll lose. My father will fall, as will my grandfather. T’Rer is just, so I assume the rest will be unharmed,” and he shrugged. “A loss is an opportunity for victory.”

“You’re alone tonight,” she noted, hints of starlight sharpening her voice.

He laughed again. “And my older brother is lovesick.”

“That suits me,” Steramestei sat, regarding the deity. He was not simple, but he was not particularly complicated. “I have a proposition.”

She expected wariness, but he sat on the floor to listen.

“Le’neris and your father will lose, it’s true. But T’Rer has no easy feat before him,” and she reminded him of the dead and lost Gods. “T’Rer will not be blamed, not entirely, but the Realm will be in turmoil.”

Beodhen nodded.

“Nepheris is beloved already. My sister is oblivious, but he has learned her love of…Mortals, I suppose. And he’s learned her pragmatism, a strength held by all four of us.”

“It has served us all well, my Lady.”

“T’Rer will ascend, and I am sure he will do so nobly,” she paused and sighed. “But you and your brother deserve a place on his Pantheon‐‐should he make one, of course.”

Beodhen’s voice grew sharp, “I don’t keep company with betrayal.”

“Of course not!” Steramestei threw her hand to her chest. “But do you keep company with kinslayers?”

Beodhen furrowed his brow and thought for what seemed like too long.

“No, my lady, I suppose not.”

She smiled, only a bit unkindly.

“No one would expect you to raise a sword against your father, of course.”

Beodhen stood and, with earnest awe, dropped to his knee.

“I will ride tonight, my lady,” he declared. “Let T’Rer know I am coming.”

She assured him she would, and, without another word, turned on her heel and left.

As she walked away from the battlefield, she muttered, “For the Family.”

Chapter XIII: The Fall of Le’neris

With Beodhen allied with T’Rer and Faeris’lyr increasingly weak, T’Rer’s army effortlessly cut through Le’neris’s ranks.

They found Le’neris, hiding and exhausted, at the shores where Mynair had first stood. Once the hungry ocean, he was now only the starving tide. He looked out to the sea, wondering when it had forgotten him.

T’Rer had already informed Beodhen and Nepheris that he would offer their father dignity but could not spare their grandfather.

The brothers assented and, as T’Rer finally marched to capture Le’neris, they occupied themselves with pursuit of Faeris’lyr’s straggling army.

Only Vaer’ine, who had tripped through shadows following the troops, attended her near defeated father.

Loyalty, she assured.

She had not noticed the snake at her heel.

Crouching by her father, Vaer’ine asked to be spared–it was, she acknowledged, a coward’s plea, but, for her family, she wanted to be with her nephews.

T’Rer peacefully offered her grace and bestowed upon her the name Verine: a common spelling of an elder word that, undoubtedly, would be easier for mere Mortals to say.

T’Rer approached Le’neris. “I will offer you a quick death, for you were a friend of my mother and father.”

“Float me in the tides,” Le’neris creaked. “And let me be among that which I once knew.”

T’Rer nodded as he raised his sword.

His hand was stayed, not steadied, by fingers cold and determined.

“My dear brother,” T’Zyri, who had followed Vaer’ine to the shore, whispered and then announced, “Do not bloody your hands with this. The first God you kill ought not be a traitor and kinslayer.

“Instead, Let me do this for you, and let it be known: Once more will we, my brother and I, offer knowledge, truth, and order to the world.”

T’Rer backed away as T’Zyri unsheathed the dagger from her hip.

Le’neris laughed wildly as he recognized it.

What do you desire?

“You clever little snake,” he snarled. “You wretched little monster.”

Control.

T’Zyri ignored him and, unkindly, placed the blade to his heel. Shadows rose around her, pulling him fast to the ground and cloaking them in secrecy. She placed the dagger against his skin and, slowly, drew it along his leg. As the skin fell away from the gore beneath, she pulled the flesh from the muscle and, string by string, unraveled the sinew from the bone.

No one save T’Zyri, Verine, the surviving daughter of the Lord of Tides, and the Hedonist Prince that might have been T’Zyri’s King heard Le’neris’s screams. Such is the power of walking in shadow.

When T’Zyri was finished, shadow fell away. To the horror of all watching, Le’neris still gasped and shook.

With the disinterested precision of a butcher, T’Zyri caught away his legs from his hips and his arms from his head.

She tucked the dagger, not quite spent, into its sheath.

She commanded T’Rer’s troops to throw his left leg to the southwestern sea and the right one to the southeastern. She ordered his right arm to the northeastern tides and his left to the northwest. 

She declared that his head and torso be left upon the shore where someone would surely claim it.

A gift offered, for the first time in her life, in true gratitude.

Chapter XIV: The Final Battle

Astride mounts of great beauty, the golden and silver sons of Faeris’lyr marched alongside T’Rer. The three cut a handsome figure, noble, shining, and determined. Verine strode a few paces back, her head raised proud and sure of her nephews.

T’Zyri, her own mount gaunt and wretched, followed closely behind.

Of course, T’Rer had assured, there would be no real fight. Faeris’lyr was nearly dead from his illness, and his troops were decimated.

“I will offer your father a warrior’s choice,” T’Rer explained. “He may step down and bloodlessly concede, or he may face me in one-on-one combat. Should he win, he may offer me the choice of concession or death. Should he lose a fight, I shall slay him.”

T’Zyri let out a protest of derision. “Brother, all we have done, and you offer a choice?”

“Dear sister, should he fight, he will lose.” Chiding T’Rer continued, “it is honorable to offer him a warrior’s death and fair to offer him a peaceful Fall. He has served his time.”

Ever the pragmatist, T’Zyri rolled her eyes.

“Besides, this is agreeable to his sons,” and the two brothers nodded.

T’Rer approached the field of haggard soldiers and the frail, wheezing Faeris’lyr.

“My soldiers stand down,” Faeris’lyr attempted to yell and cough. “This is between the two of us to decide.”

Beodhen felt, for the first time in his life, pride.

T’Rer offered the former King of Gods his choice. Combat to the death or peaceful surrender.

Faeris’lyr, once strong and handsome, limped forward, his mind slow but determined.

He noticed not the snake at his heel.

As Faeris’lyr approached T’Rer to state his choice, coils rose around him. T’Zyri emerged behind Faeris’lyr.

Faeris’lyr opened his mouth to offer his choice and, as he did so, T’Zyri slit his throat.

The first King of the Pantheon collapsed and shook the earth beneath him.

The field was silent. The Schemer had decided the battle.

For the Family.

The first Blood War was won. The second Pantheon would rise.

Had she truly listened, T’Zyri might have been its queen. But this is a story for another time.