Vera gave a languid shrug, her expression unreadable. ‘We are allies, are we not, warlock?’ She stepped away from the table’s edge and drifted towards the head where he sat, all brooding silence and coiled temper. With a casual flick of her wrist, his heavy chair scraped backwards, making way for her to slide effortlessly onto the table before him, lounging like a cat in the sun.
Her gaze shifted briefly to the pair of drakonians behind him, their throats fluttering with fear, their bodies stiff, braced for commands that might carve their fates.
‘I sacrificed my sister Vera for this,’ he said, his voice quieter now, but no less harsh.
‘Oh?’ Vera’s laughter was soft, indulgent, like silk drawn across skin. ‘Regret, is it? I think not. I see it in your eyes, warlock, the hunger for ruin, the thirst for dominion. Spare me your pretence. I am a god, not some simpering mortal to be swayed by your brooding airs.’ She leaned forward, until the warmth of their breath mingled between them, close enough to taste the lie should he dare speak it. ‘This body is mine now. And your sister? She is gone. Dead. Erased.’ She searched for the sorrow, some echo of remorse, but Hagan’s purple eyes remained vacant, void of anything mortal.
Fascinating.
‘What of the other gods?’ he asked at last.
Vera turned her full attention to the warlock for the first time, allowing herself to truly take him in. He was undeniably handsome. Rich brown skin, a shaved head that caught the light with a muted sheen, and those eyes…Purple, piercing, brimming with fury. Not just rage, though. No, there was something deeper simmering beneath that surface. A shadowed hunger. A cruel, quiet delight in suffering.
‘We needn’t concern ourselves with the others, not yet,’ she said, her voice silk wrapped around steel. ‘For now, our focus must remain on ourselves and the delicate threads of our weaving. My sister shall see to the south. And you, warlock, will raze what remains of this broken realm.’
‘And you?’ he asked, watching her with a wary eye.
‘I shall march north,’ Vera replied, her stare drifting across the chamber. It was a rather exquisite room. The ceiling wasadorned in traditional drakonian artistry, etched with reverent precision. A mural of their beloved Sun God stretched above them, limbs wrapped in flame and golden light. Vera had met him once, an age ago, and found him utterly tedious.
‘I will see to the obliteration of the north,’ she said, her lips curling with a slow smile. ‘So that we may build a new world from the ashes of the old.’ Her eyes sparkled with mirth. ‘Though I shall have to visit my brother at some point… it’s been centuries since I last offered him the courtesy of my presence.’ She glanced down at her nails, as if discussing nothing more pressing than the weather.
‘Your brother?’ Hagan frowned.
‘Yes,’ she sighed, with a lilt of mock nostalgia. ‘We never were fond of one another.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘In the Underworld,’ she said breezily, stepping down from the table. With a lazy flick of her fingers, Hagan’s chair skidded forward once more. His jaw clenched, rage flashing across his face at being moved like a pawn, a marionette without strings. But Vera, of course, was entirely unmoved.
‘I shall be taking a company of witches and warlocks with me,’ Vera declared, her voice as light and flippant as ever, while she strolled towards the grand doors.
‘I won’t have enough to hold this front,’ Hagan bit out, his teeth clenched tight. ‘Our numbers are already strained.’
‘I’ve every faith in your resourcefulness,’ she said sweetly, casting him a teasing glance over her shoulder. With a casual wave of her hand, the doors flung open. She didn’t bother to look back, though she could feel the heat of his gaze burning into her spine, no doubt brimming with regret for ever breathing her into existence.
A laugh bubbled from her throat.
She turned just in time to see Hagan’s fury unleashed upon the two drakonians flanking him. Fascinated, she lingered to watch. With barely a flicker of movement, he twisted their bodies from within, blood magic pouring from him like ink from a shattered bottle. Bones cracked with sickening finality; crimson burst from their nostrils, ears, and gaping mouths. Their pleas for mercy went unanswered.
Hagan’s face remained a mask of exquisite malice, cold and detached, as he carved through them with invisible blades. He didn’t so much as rise from his chair. Their deaths came like an afterthought, two lives crumpled into heaps upon the marble floor, dismissed like spoilt fruit.
Perhaps he was making a point. A quiet display of what he could do. A warning. Or perhaps a challenge.
Vera’s smile curled into something darker, something edged with cruel delight. Chaos bloomed like a black rose in her chest, and oh, how she adored it, how she loved to watch it spread, tainting all it touched with rot and ruin.
After all, she was the goddess of chaos.
Her laughter echoed through the corridor as she turned and glided away, savouring the sound of frustration like a melody written just for her.
I’ve often wondered what came before the kingdoms, before the gods shaped the world with their divine hands. Was there anything at all? Or did they simply dwell in their celestial realms, suspended in eternity, untouched by time or purpose? But more than that, I’ve always been haunted by a deeper question:
Was there something that came even before the gods themselves?
Tabitha Wysteria
Ash had spent the better part of the day seated within the crumbling remnants of an ancient witch temple, his thoughts drifting like smoke through the fractured corridors of memory. His mind wandered to places he'd rather forget, chapters of his past etched with pain and regret. Yet, as though carried by some distant wind, his thoughts shifted, drifting into a vision not of what had been, but of what might one day be.
He saw himself atop a sunlit hill, his hair streaked with silver, the years etched gently into his face. The sunlight danced in his eyes, forcing him to squint until he saw her.
