ARTIZEA
THE SKIES WERE BLACK AND THICK WITH SMOKE, once more.Artizea stood at the helm of the army. The throne behind her lay empty—its king unconscious and barely clinging to life. One of the elder priests approached solemnly, cradling something sacred. With reverence, he knelt and offered it up: Her father's spear.
It was no ordinary weapon. Its shaft was dark obsidian, veined with gold, and at its base, a lance-like feather gleamed. The weapon of kings, carried by Gilgamesh in every war he ever won for the kingdom.
Her fingers hovered over it for a breathless moment before she took it.
The clash of steel was deafening when another army suddenly swept onto the field. Confusion rippled through both sides.
Arthur staggered slightly, his sword lowering as his eyes caught the man at the head of the force — golden hair gleaming, eerily familiar. He had heard whispers before, rumors that the king might have fathered a bastard… but to see him now, so close, was a shock that nearly stole his breath.
The man dismounted, stepping forward with purposeful strides. Then, before them all, he bent to one knee.
"I know you have questions," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. "But now is not the time for answers. My name is Sir William of the Lancsaints tribe. Your father bestowed this title upon me while I was still in the womb. And now that he has fallen—" his eyes lifted, steady and unwavering, "—I take my orders from you, my queen."
Artizea's jaw tightened, "My father is not dead, therefore I am still the crown princess. My orders are this—fight by our side."
Sir William rose, turned his gaze briefly toward Arthur, and gave him a firm nod — recognition without words. Then he pivoted, his voice rising above the din.
"FALL IN!"
His soldiers rallied at once, the tide of battle shifting in a single heartbeat.
The gathered court fell silent. And then, as one, they bowed.
She turned to Arthur, who nodded. She wasn't doing this alone; he was already strapping on his armor, the weight of the moment sinking in.
With the Crown Princess and the First Prince, now united, the scales were leveled.
Drawing their weapons, they led the royal guard to the border, clashing with the celestial forces. The king's spear lit up the battlefield, while Arthur's swordsmanship cut through waves of enemies.
"We need to push them back to the outlands before it reaches the city!" Artizea shouted to her brother, her voice strained as she unleashed another blast of energy.
Arthur nodded, his blade gleaming with light. "Stand strong, men!"
The battlefield was no longer a training yard, and their wooden swords had long since been replaced by real weapons. Gone were the days of her teasing him mercilessly; now, she respected his efforts, even if she still liked to win.
"Are you ready for this?" Arthur asked, standing beside her.
Artizea adjusted her grip on their father's spear, "Are you?"
Arthur smirked. "Let's see if I can finally keep up with you."
Arthur gripped his wooden training sword tightly, his small hands trembling with the effort. Across from him stood Artizea, his stance clumsy but determined. Arthur swung wildly, missing by a mile, and Artizea seized the opportunity to lightly tap his shoulder. They were in the royal training yard, under the watchful eye of their mother, who towered over them. "Hold your ground, Arthur!" She instructed. "Artizea, do not overpower him. This is practice, not war."
"But he's so slow!" Artizea protested, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"I am not slow!" Arthur shot back, puffing up his chest.
"Enough," Arthuria said with a hint of a smile. "Let our swords do the talking."
They charged into the fray together, their movements perfectly in sync. Artizea struck with precision, her spear a blur as it danced through the enemy ranks. Arthur followed close behind, his sword cleaving through the opposition with raw power.
"On your left!" Artizea called out, and Arthur immediately moved to cover her. "Got it!" he replied, his voice steady despite the chaos around them.
The years of training, arguments, and shared victories had forged them into an unstoppable team. As they fought side by side, it was clear that they were no longer just siblings—they were warriors and each other's greatest allies.
ARTHURIA
Meanwhile, Gilgamesh, the first monarch of humanity and legendary king, lay unconscious on the gilded cot within his chambers. His golden armor was still smeared with crimson, and his once-mighty frame was unnaturally still. The faint rise and fall of his chest was the only sign he still clung to life.
Eugene knelt beside his father, his hands glowing with healing energy as he muttered incantations under his breath, his voice strained from hours beyond exertion. The scholars knew nothing of this magic; if it were up to them, the worst would have taken over. The veins of darkness writhed under Gilgamesh's skin, still, resisting his efforts.
"Come on, Father," Eugene whispered many healing chants, his hands trembling with exhaustion as he maintained a steady flow of magic to heal their father.
The king's once-imposing frame lay motionless, his breath shallow and labored.
The creak of a door rustled as a figure entered. Eugene looked up to see their mother, Arthuria, standing tall in her gleaming armor, her presence commanding the room like a blade drawn in silence.
Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes betrayed a storm of emotions.
"Mother." Eugene began, his voice hushed with worry. "He is stable for now, but his injuries are severe. I-I am trying, Mother, I am—" he replied hoarsely.
Arthuria raised a hand, silencing him gently. "You have done well, dearest. Rest for a moment."
Reluctantly, he nodded, his magic fading as he stepped back.
She moved closer to the cot, her armored boots clicking softly against the ground. She sat next to her husband, her gaze sharp and unyielding as she took in the sight of the man who had once been the pillar of their empire. She knelt beside him, her shaking hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of golden hair from his face. Her movements were gentle, but her voice, when she spoke, was firm as iron. "You listen to me, you stubborn fool—" her voice dropping with command even in the form of a whisper. "You do not get to die here. Not like this." Her eyes narrowed, "If you think for one second that I am going to raise our children alone while you rot here, you are sorely mistaken. Do you hear me, Gil?"
But his eyes remained closed.
Arthuria's lips pressed into a thin line. "You swore. To be my husband, my equal, the father of our children, so you are going to wake up and take responsibility for your actions…" She chuckled threw the tears. "Until our entwined thorns part…" Her voice softened slightly, though her resolve did not waver. "I shall be leading our army for the first time…" she paused, Artizea and Arthur are out there fighting, even Elaine .. But if you die before I get the chance to yell at her properly, I shall fulfill my vow. I will find a way to drag you back from the afterlife just so I can send you there myself…" She paused, "Son, what can be done?"
From his place near the edge of the tent, Eugene watched the scene in silence, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite everything. "I am trying to stabilize his condition, but this is not just any curse, but divine corruption. The one that took—"
Arthuria clenched her fists, tears glistening in her eyes. The one thing she did not know about her husband was the one thing that could cure him…or how to find it. The cries of battle echoed through the halls of the palace, mingling with the clang of steel on steel. She paced the length of the chamber, her heart pounding as the sounds of conflict drew closer. Her people—her children—were on the front lines, defending their home. She had tried to help in other ways, organizing the evacuation of civilians, ensuring the council's safety. But now, the enemy had breached the palace walls, and the fight was closing in. She rose and quietly left the chamber
"Mother…"
Eugene's voice was the last thing she remembered before her gaze fell on Excalibur, resting on its pedestal. The blade shimmered faintly, as if sensing the turmoil. She stepped closer, her hand hovering above the hilt. The temptation to draw it was overwhelming. She had fought so many battles with this sword and secured so many victories. Yet the weight of her vow pressed down on her like a physical force. I swore never to harm another with this blade. The vow was Sharp metal clinking interrupted her thoughts. The garden's door burst open. Her royal night guard stumbled in, blood staining her armor.
"Your Majesty—" she gasped, "The enemy has reached the eastern kingdom, Syria has fallen, but its people are within the walls of Arkadia—they opened their gates without a word." She faltered upon relaying his last message, "King Alexander's whereabouts are unknown." his voice was thick with dread.
Arthuria closed her eyes, in da ja vu. "And the city's gate?"
"We are losing ground, and the prince and crown princess are still fighting on the front lines. My Queen, what are your orders?"
Arthuria's blood ran cold. Her husband, her children—all in danger. And yet her sword, the weapon that had once been an extension of her very being, felt unreachable because of the promise she had made to herself. Her eyes fell on Excalibur once more. It was a relic from a distant kingdom, gifted to her long ago. She had never wielded it in combat, but it was untainted by the vow that bound her. Her decision was made in an instant.
"Lady Elise…guard the King and his chambers. I will handle the east."
"But, Your Majesty, I made a vow to protect you—"
"I will not need your protection!"
Lady Elise hesitated for only a moment. She knew what her queen intended to do, she did not say it, she finally bowed, she would not move, even should the palace collapse…
Arthuria strode to Exacilbur and lifted it from its stand. The weapon was lighter than she expected, its balance perfect in her grip. She allowed herself one last glance at her reflection. One last glance at the King who once was.
"Forgive me…" she whispered, not to the sword, but to herself.
ARTIZEA
After the first fray of the battle, the Pendragons claimed victory; however, the loss was more than they gained from the title. They both surveyed the aftermath in silence.
Arthur turned to Artizea and said, "So, do I finally get some credit for saving your ass?"
She smiled, exhaustion softening her usual sharpness. "Don't get used to it."
He laughed despite himself. "One day, I will win."
"I am looking forward to it," She replied, handing him back his blade.
They returned to the command tent, which buzzed with the restless energy of soldiers preparing for battle once more. Lantern light flickered over a sprawling map of the eastern plains, its surface marked with carved sigils of the human clans. Artizea stood at its head, her once-bright crimson eyes now hardened inacommander's focus.
"The east of the plain has been cleared," William reported, his voice steady. "But we suffered a forty-two percent loss."
Arthur exhaled sharply, folding his arms. "Was that due to the enemy's strength," he asked coldly, "or a lack of better leadership?"
"Arthur," Artizea warned. "Now is not the time."
He stepped closer, "When will be the perfect time? When you're overthrown before or after this war, because I want to know exactly who we're trusting with a quarter of our army—"
"I can assure you, Your Highness, I have no claim to the throne," William said, surprisingly patiently. "Nor would I ever attempt to reach for it. I will be more than happy to explain everything—after— we win this war, and there is a throne left to defend."
Arthur's jaw clenched.
Artizea shot her brother a look. "See? No threat. Lord William—please continue."
William dipped his head in acknowledgment. "The enemy's ground has entrenched itself along the eastern ridge. If we don't defeat them before nightfall, they will reinforce their positions in the sky as well, and any plans of even simply aiming will be lost."
Artizea leaned over the map, her fingers tracing the ridge. The air in the tent shifted—every general waiting for her command, every heartbeat tied to her decision. "We need more manpower somehow…" she mumbled. "Arthur, how many more knight reserves can we risk taking?"
"We would need every man in camp with us for the next wave to even make a dent in their ground defenses," Arthur said. "Which keeps multiplying the more we kill. Our focus should be the sky. My best guess is that they are the source of the regeneration."
"I agree, but if we look upon vultures, we might as well accept the title of prey instead of sovereign," a voice interrupted.
Her gaze flicked toward the endurance tent—worry clouding her thoughts. "Uncle—?"
"Hey, sweetheart." Alexander's familiar voice broke through the tension as he stepped into view. "I came as quickly as I could—" Before he could finish, Artizea crossed the space between them and embraced him tightly.
Arthur followed, eyes wide. "But how—you should be in the Atlantic by now, with a hurt foot?"
"I cannot share all my secrets and lies," Alexander smirked and returned the hug with a clap to Arthur's back. He turned to Artizea, his gaze softening—but his tone sharpened with conviction as he said, "I may never know whether it was fate or pure coincidence, but what I do know is that it is not yet time for your reign, little king." His eyes briefly shifted to Arthur. "This is not how he leaves it to you. I promise you both that." His attention then turned outward, toward the stretch of horizon where the army encamped.
"We have no choice." Artizea finally said, composing herself. "If we divide our ranks any further, we might as well be leaving the city open for the taking. The people are the top priority; if we are to fall, the kingdom will live threw them, they will rebuild, it is our job to keep them alive at all costs."
Alexander folded his arms. "True as well, what if the Northwest army stays at the gates instead? There's no one guarding the outer wall at the present; it makes the city just as vulnerable from within."
A heavy silence followed.
Everyone knew they needed more manpower.
Arthur continued, "If we hesitate, they'll overrun us, and innocent lives will be lost. We need a plan now."
Artizea's jaw tightened, but she relented. "Then we'll divide the army into quarters. I will lead the main force to the ridge." She paused, "Uncle, you take the vanguard and prepare to strike from the west."
Alexander gave her a nod and turned to his generals behind him and said, "You heard the Crown princess, move."
Arthur's head snapped to Artizea. "I will never leave your side, do not you dare order me to—"
Artizea placed a shaken hand on her brother's arm. "You must fight with me." That made him still. "They will expect us to make bold moves. Let us give them what they seek. You take the left, and I take the right, remember?" She added with a soft smile.
Arthur smirked faintly. "Arthur and Artizea… Together we fight."
The sound of a weapon pounding against the earth echoed through the camp, cutting through the tense preparations. Soldiers turned, their murmurs rising as a lone rider approached.
"What is the commotion?" Artizea asked
Alexander pulled back the silk, only to freeze, "Ha—You wished for more manpower, correct? little king… Have ye a look here." Alexander offered.
Artizea frowned, stalking toward him.
The woman astride the blood bath was unmistakable—Arthuria, Queen of the Kingdom, their mother. Clad in silver armor that bore the marks of countless battles. In her hands was Excalibur, its radiant blade shimmering with an intensity that seemed to challenge the very heavens.
"Mother?" Artizea's voice broke the moment of stunned silence as she stepped forward to meet her.
Arthur stepped forward, "But what about your vow-"
Arthuria's gaze softened slightly as it landed on her daughter, though her tone remained firm. "I made a greater one for this family," her lips curving into a faint smile. "I will not sit idly by in the palace while our people are in peril."
"And Father?" Artizea inquired.
Arthuria placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder, her expression softening further. "Your father will be proud. He'll see for himself once this is over. But for now, we need to move quickly."
Arthuria's jaw tightened; she could not let her emotions surface. "Then we'll fight in his honor. Let beyond the heavens and earth bear witness."
With the Queen now at their side, the morale of the army surged. Soldiers rallied as the royal family led them into formation. Arthuria rode at the front, her presence commanding, while Artizea and Arthur took their places as leaders of the vanguard and main force. As they prepared to march, Artizea looked to her mother with pure determination. Arthuria's eyes glinted with recognition as she nodded. Artizea turned to Arthur on her right. He nodded as well, their gaze bored into the enemy lines, and when the horns sounded,
"Advance!" Artizea yelled.
At her command, the army surged forward, united under one banner. The clash of steel rang out as the armies struggled to hold the line. The enemy's forces pressed forward relentlessly, their advantage growing as fatigue began to wear down the defenders. Artizea and Arthur fought side by side at the heart of the fray, their blades gleaming as they pushed back wave after wave.
Arthuria surveyed the battlefield, her silver armor drenched in blood and her breath ragged. She was beginning to feel the weight of the battle as the tide was turning against them. The mortal soldiers were faltering under the eight of fighting the same fallen soldiers, it took mere minutes for regeneration
The weight of her vow hung over her like a shadow, but it was drowned out by the cries of her children, the sight of her soldiers falling, and the knowledge that her family—the very heart of her kingdom—was in peril. Her heart clenched as she spotted Arthur and Artizea at the front, their weapons flashing as they held the line. Clutching the hilt of her spear, she strode forward, her voice rising above the din of battle.
"Hear me!" she bellowed, her voice carrying across the field. "Today, we fight not just for our lives, but for our future, for our children, for the legacy of our people! Heed my words. The enemy we face now stands no chance of winning. On behalf of the Great King Gilgamesh Pendragon, as your Queen! WE WILL NOT FALTER!" She glanced at the people around her, once more. The soldiers around her rallied, their spirits lifting at her words. With a deep breath, she raised Excalibur high, and the blade blazed like the sun, its light piercing the dark clouds above. "VALE TUDO!" she roared, and then the ground seemed to tremble beneath her feet as the awakened energy plunged into the fray, erasing the existence of the recycled dark shadows, and they would not rise again.
The legend of Excalibur was known throughout the lands. Forged from a material unknown, it drained the life from any unworthy hand that dared to grasp it. Yet in the hands of a true king—or queen—none would rise against them, and no force could stand in their way. It truly was a cursed sword.
Arthuria's movements were a dance of precision and power, honed by years of battle and leadership. Excalibur cleaved through enemy lines with a force that defied comprehension, its light searing and pure. Each swing of the sword unleashed arcs of golden energy that sent enemies flying, scattering their formations like leaves in a storm. Her movements were a dance of precision and power, honed by years of battle and leadership.
Arthur was just as unstoppable, his blade carving a path through the chaos. He gritted his teeth, gripping his sword tightly. "Hold the line!" he roared. But even he knew they would not hold for long.
The celestial forces breached the mortal defenses with ease. Artizea and Arthur fought side by side until they were separated. Without warning, Artizea's dragon form began to surface. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. Her eyes glowed, and a growl rumbled in her chest. In that moment, a celestial warrior cornered Artizea.
"Tizea!" Arthur shouted, slicing through an enemy soldier, "You have to fight it!"
"I am trying!" she cried, clutching her necklace as the transformation threatened to consume her.
"Fight it," a familiar voice repeated to her.
Artizea's vision sharpened. She had not tested her new strength, beyond control; she barely understood it, but she remembered how fast Rhyssand could move. Maybe…she thought. Before the Celestial could blink, she was behind him. Her hand sliced clean through his spine, her clawed hand tearing out the core of light that anchored his form, her breath hitched as she pulled her bloodied hand out.
The Celestial collapsed into snuffed light.
Artizea staggered back. "Oh my god…" she whispered, her chest heaving.
"Artizea," Arthur called, reaching her side. "Shit—Here." reaching for the cape that lay on the soil, offering it to her.
"No."
"What?"
"This is who I am. What they think I am… They shall have her…" She picked up her father's long-forgotten weapon, blood smeared across the base, "You're right, they are the source…" she murmured, while looking up to the sky and letting out a guttural growl. "Leave them to me."
"Go get them," Arthur said.
Artizea sprinted forward. If Rhyssand was correct, her senses were doubled tenfold, which meant that almost anything was possible. Her pulse raced, her senses screaming with every shift of the Celestials around her. She leapt—higher than she ever had—landing atop one mid-air. Her spear plunged into its chest before it could even register her presence. Light screamed as the Celestial disintegrated into dust, leaving her balanced precariously on the air itself for a heartbeat. She dropped, rolling through the momentum, already spotting the next target. Another Celestial dove at her—she pivoted mid-fall, planting her spear again, the strike clean and deadly. She touched the ground, yet she felt no pain, no strain, only exhilarating feedback.
"Interesting," she said out loud.
One came too fast while she was momentarily distracted, slamming into her side, sending her tumbling through the sky. She caught herself on instinct, twisting the spear in her hands, yanking it free, and flinging it into the next incoming Celestial. It hit with a satisfying explosion of light, and she barely felt the pull of gravity as it drew her toward the earth again.
Artizea hovered a moment, arms spread, catching the rhythm of the fight in her mind. What would Rhyssand do? she thought, recalling his calm, calculated strikes. He would not rush. He'd use the air, the angles…never let the enemy dictate the pace.
Steeling herself, she planted the spear's tip into the ground—not the soil, but the very air around it—and twisted her weight. With a controlled burst of force, she ricocheted off the invisible anchor, flipping high above the next wave. She landed on the edge of a descending Celestial, the momentum of her body and the leverage of the spear keeping her upright as it evaporated beneath her feet. She called the spear back with a thought, catching it mid-spin in the air, and leapt again, using her own body as the fulcrum as she tested her limits. And when the last of that first wave fell, Artizea exhaled, her feet brushing the rooftops below in a graceful, almost feline landing. Her knees bent just enough to absorb the impact, her grip on the spear steady. She looked up at the sky again, calculating. Another wave was coming—but now, she felt ready; However, the necklace around her neck pulsed harder, faster. Time was running out. For the higher one climbed, the harder they fell.
ARTIZEA'S BLOOD SURGED AS SHE DREW IN A DEEP BREATH, her crimson eyes NOW narrowing into golden vermilion pupils. The reservoir was full; her time was up. It was time to face her fears. No.
It was time to face herself.