THE ROOM WAS AN EXPLOSION OF PINK. From the satin banners draping the stone walls to the rose-colored goblets set on lace-covered tables, it was clear that the Pendragon 'tradition' of bachelorette-style bachelor parties was alive and well. It was a prank older than any of them could trace—passed down like a curse from one generation of male Pendragons to the next. Reverse sinology on fate to grant the union a male heir.
Rhyssand leaned back in his chair, smirking. "So… why is your middle name Careful?"
Arthur groaned, then sighed. "Fine. The day I was born, Mother was—well, struggling to push me out. Apparently, I had a rather large head."
Eugene snorted. "That's an understatement; his head size is in the scholar's books."
Arthur stilled, his jaw ticking, then pressed on. "When the nurse…" he gritted out, "finally carried me over to mother, I was apparently so heavy, I kept slipping from her arms. Mother panicked and shouted—"
"Careful!"
The memory hung in the air a beat, then dissolved into raucous laughter from Rhyssand and Eugene.
Arthur folded his arms, sulking, "Yeah, yeah. Laugh all you want."
"Ever since then, he's been in and out of the healers for every injury you can imagine," Eugene added.
"And I always get back up again, speaking off—" Arthur exclaimed, "You are not holding your liquor very well, celestial," he teased, his grin wide as he poured Rhyssand another glass. "This is barely bottle number four."
Rhyssand leaned back in his chair, his wings sprawled lazily behind him, a smug smirk on his lips. "I am pacing myself, Pendragon. It is a marathon, not a sprint."
Arthur snorted. "Right."
"Let me guess…" Rhyssand said dryly, raising a brow as he stared at the pink glittering tablecloth. "The women have something far more… respectable planned?"
Arthur, lounging in a velvet-upholstered chair far too fancy for his beer-soaked boots, chuckled. "Oh, trust me. You do not wish to know. I fear for your future life here, Rhyssand. Truly."
Rhyssand laughed, shaking his head. "So…" he turned to Arthur with a teasing smirk, "Is a certain lady coming?"
He tilted his glass in thought, lips curving into a knowing grin. "Not sure. Last I checked, she could barely stand being dressed like a lady at all. I should have to be more persuasive."
Rhyssand snorted.
Eugene, halfway through a glass of something suspiciously fruity and frothy, leaned forward with narrowed eyes. "By the way… how old is Cesealia? You have never actually told us."
Arthur froze.
Rhyssand arched a brow, turning his full attention to Arthur. "Age gap?"
Arthur nodded slowly, as if it was the first time acknowledging it.
Eugene's tone sharpened. "Younger?"
Arthur shook his head. "Older."
"How much older?" Eugene pressed.
Arthur's lips went into a thin line, then a cocky grin formed.
Eugene reached into his satchel and pulled out a parchment of lunar markers, flicking through the dates like a scholar unraveling prophecy. "Let's see… five years ago you were—"
Arthur's eyes widened. "Wait, wait—don't—or father will hear! He has the ears of a bat…" he whispered.
Twitch, Twitch
Arthur had the room's full attention now. "Alright, alright—fine," he muttered, lifting his hands in mock surrender.
Every gaze swung to Arthur.
"Twenty…three," he said at last.
"That's only one year," Eugene pointed out.
Arthur's lips twitched. "Plus three."
"That's not bad—" Rhyssand chuckled.
"Plus two," he added.
Rhyssand's eyes snapped up, sharp with sudden realization.
The silence that followed was thick enough to slice with a blade.
Eugene's jaw practically hit the table. "You are two and twenty!" he hissed, pointing as if the math alone was an unsolvable riddle. "Is that it?!"
"Plus one…" Arthur added with a cough. "And so what!" he shrugged, completely unbothered. "So what? I told you, with a face like this—"
"Oh, piss off, Arthur." Eugene swatted him away.
Arthur chuckled, then continued, "Shouldn't my charm get bonus points?"
Rhyssand finally asked, "How did…?"
Arthur groaned, dragging both hands down his face before muttering, "I fell into her breast." A beat. "What?! I was sixteen when two very firm islands collided in my face. What was a man supposed to do? Not fall in love?"
Rhyssand lost it while Eugene was physically trying to push back a migraine.
Arthur shrugged. "It was a spiritual experience. You lot could only hope to understand. It was Fate—"
"Interesting."
Before anyone could recover, a new voice rang out from the shadows of the chamber, causing Everyone to jump. Gilgamesh stood in the doorway, arms crossed upon stepping in to survey the scene like the aftermath of a war, and finding only the fools left standing.
Arthur stiffened. "How long have you…?"
Gilgamesh ignored the question, "I am simply trying to figure out… Why these walls are blue and not pink. The last thing this kingdom needs is another male Pendragon —" his gaze shifted to Arthur, who was trying to escape. "And what's this?" he asked, his deep voice carrying a mixture of curiosity and disapproval. "The night before the most important union in five centuries, and I find my future son-in-law trying to drink himself under the table with my auntie son?"
Arthur choked on his goblet contents.
Rhyssand, ever bold, lifted his glass in salute. "Would you care to join us, Your Majesty? I hear Pendragon wine pairs well with fatherly wisdom." Gilgamesh arched a brow, his lips twitching with amusement. For a moment, the room was silent. Then Gilgamesh let out a booming laugh, shaking his head as he grabbed an empty chair and pulled it up to the table.
"Let's see what you are made of, Boy ."
Hours later, the table was cluttered with empty bottles and overturned glasses.
Gilgamesh and Rhyssand were both leaning heavily on the table, their cheeks flushed and their laughter echoing off the stone walls.
"So, there I was," Rhyssand slurred, gesturing wildly, "standing in the middle of the council chamber, wings out, looking all celestial and intimidating, and she—your daughter, mind you, just stares me down like I am a stray dog that wandered in!"
Gilgamesh roared with laughter, slamming his fist on the table.
"That sounds like Tizea! Did I ever tell you about the time she locked me out of my council chamber? Seven years old, and she said I wasn't taking her ideas seriously enough!"
"Hell's sake." Arthur groaned, seated between them, and looked deeply uncomfortable. "I think I've heard that one… about fifty times."
"Shut up, Arthur!" both Gilgamesh and Rhyssand said at the same time, pointing accusing fingers at him before bursting into another fit of laughter.
Rhyssand, now slouched in his chair, looked at Gilgamesh with a lazy grin. "You know… I did not think you liked me much."
Gilgamesh waved a dismissive hand, nearly knocking over a bottle in the process. "Oh, I don't."
Rhyssand blinked.
Gilgamesh leaned forward, his expression turning mock-serious. "But I like how you make her look at you. Like she's found her happiness. That's worth something, celestial."
Rhyssand blinked again, then smiled, raising his glass. "To Artizea."
Gilgamesh nodded, raising his glass. "To my daughter."
Arthur sighed, muttering under his breath. "To me, surviving this night."
By the time the servants came to check on them, Gilgamesh and Rhyssand were laughing uncontrollably at a joke that neither of them could properly explain, while Arthur sat rigidly in his chair, arms crossed, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.
"I know what you are trying to do, father; fortune may be upon you, that lucky Mother is not here to see this," Arthur muttered as he helped Rhyssand stagger to his feet.
Gilgamesh waved him off, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "She'd laugh, too. She's got a great sense of humor."
Rhyssand leaned heavily on Arthur, grinning. "You are not as bad as you look, Arthur."
"Thanks, Rhys. Really."
Gilgamesh turned to Rhyssand, smirking. "We'll see who's ridiculous when you have to stand tomorrow without falling over, and if you do, my wife will kill you, then hand you over to me."
Rhyssand grinned back. "Challenge accepted, Your Majesty." Just then, a small finch darted inside, slamming right into his chest in a panic.
"They almost got me!" the bird squawked in a voice only he seemed to understand.
Rhyssand glanced toward the balcony, brow raised. "Who?"
Gilgamesh smirked over his wine. "My wife has… unusual hobbies. One she's passed down to our daughters."
Rhyssand's frown deepened.
"As I said," Arthur muttered from the corner, "You don't want to know."
The soft glow of candlelight illuminated the bedroom Artizea and Rhys would share after their wedding.
For now, it was hers alone, a sanctuary of calm before the whirlwind of the coming day.
Artizea stood by the window in a silken robe, gazing out at the moonlit gardens, while fidgeting with her ring, her mind racing with thoughts about tomorrow.
The door creaked open suddenly, breaking her reverie.
In stumbled Rhyssand, leaning heavily on Arthur, who was visibly struggling to keep the taller man upright.
Rhyssand's shadow wings were haphazardly tucked behind him, and his usually sharp, confident demeanor had been replaced with the unmistakable sway of someone far too deep into his cups.
"Artizea Pendragon!" Arthur declared loudly,
Artizea crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "What in the name of the gods is this?"
Rhyssand's golden eyes lit up when he finally saw her. "Princess…" he purred.
Arthur, looking thoroughly done with the entire situation, adjusted his hold on Rhyssand and half-dragged him toward the bed. "This, dear sister, is your husband-to-be after a delightful evening of bonding with Father."
"Father?" She repeated, her voice a mix of disbelief and irritation.
Arthur nodded, unceremoniously dropping Rhysssand onto the edge of the bed. He flopped back dramatically as his wings sprawled out behind him. "He is your problem now," he said, "Arthur out!" He turned on his heel and left, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Artizea sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose as she turned to face the drunken celestial. He was sprawled out on the bed, his eyes half-lidded but sparkling with mischief as he watched her.
"You are angry," he slurred, his voice a mix of amusement and hazy sincerity. "Don't be. Tonight was… great."
"Was it?" Artizea asked dryly, crossing the room to stand over him. "You smell like you bathed in a winery."
Rhyssand grinned lazily, reaching for her hand but missing and grabbing the air instead. "I bonded with your father, Artizea. He likes me. Said I make you look at me like… like you are happy."
Artizea froze for a moment, her expression softening slightly before she sighed again. "And how much did it take to get him to say that, or was that your plan all along?"
Rhyssand chuckled, attempting to prop himself up on his elbows but failing spectacularly. "Only… four -five bottles. Maybe eight?"
Artizea shook her head, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing his hair out of his face. "You are insane."
"And you are beautiful," he countered, his tone surprisingly earnest despite his drunken state. "So beautiful it makes my wings twitch."
Artizea raised a brow, fighting the urge to smile. "Your wings twitch?"
"They have a mind of their own," Rhyssand mumbled, his eyelids drooping. "But they only do it for you… and the baby…"
His head lolled to the side, and Artizea sighed, pulling his boots off and tossing them aside before gently folding his wings so they would not crush under his weight.
"Can you manage to put these shades away?"
He watched her through half-closed eyes, a small, sleepy smile on his lips. As he did as she commanded."You are too good to me," he murmured.
"Don't get used to it," she replied, though her touch was tender as she adjusted him more comfortably on the bed.
As she stood to fetch a blanket, Rhyssand's hand shot out, grabbing hers and holding it tightly. "Tizea."
She turned, her fiery eyes meeting his softened golden gaze.
"I found the names, " he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "For worst-case scenario."
Artizea paused, her gaze softening, "Let's hear it."
"I've always liked Seraphina, elegant but powerful." Rhyssand said, "I'd agree with Callisto for a boy. It is beautiful with just a touch of mischief. Perfect balance of us…But only if you think so."
Artizea leaned down to brush a kiss against his forehead. "I think it sounds perfect."
The ethereal realm of Artizea's consciousness was quiet, shimmering with soft light and swirling with fragments of her memories. Here, she stood alone, surrounded by the weight of her choices, her triumphs, and her burdens. Ahead of her, a familiar figure emerged from the mist—the woman she had seen before, a reflection of herself but older, more powerful."You did it," she said softly, her voice resonating like the hum of the universe itself.
Artizea frowned, her golden hair catching the faint glow of the realm. "You are not me, are you?" she said, her voice steady but questioning. "Who are you?"
The figure tilted her head slightly, her movements graceful yet otherworldly. Without speaking, she reached up and removed her mask—a mask that had obscured her identity, hiding something ancient and profound. As the mask fell away, the woman's hair shimmered, its hue shifting to a pale, luminous blue, as the light of the moon reflected on still waters. her eyes no longer fierce crimson, fiery golden that burned with untold power and sorrow.
Artizea's breath caught, her voice trembling as she whispered, "Tiamat…"
The woman smiled, a bittersweet expression tinged with both warmth and regret. "Ask me the question you seek."
Artizea stepped closer, her hands trembling. "Why me?"
Tiamat's gaze softened, her fiery eyes gleaming with emotion. "Because you are the one who could have done what I could not."
Artizea's heart clenched, her voice breaking. "I don't understand."
"The story… wasn't all lies." Tiamat reached out, and suddenly they were back in time, where the spear struck true. Light blazed across the sky, and all creation believed the beast had been slain. But Tiamat knew the truth—she had not died, she never left.
"I let them think they had won." Her voice was thick with grief and memory. "I thought, perhaps with me gone, peace would surely follow, and perhaps all that was lost in the first war might have been atoned for with my death. I saw unity that day, gods, mortals, even the smallest creatures fighting together. The very thing I had wanted for them all along." She paused, "So I left, I removed from the world. The spear did not kill me. I merely allowed it to play a part in my plan."
Her gaze drifted as though looking far beyond the present. "And so I waited. Centuries had gone by, and as I watched the first of everything had long been reincarnated, I also saw my children's legacy grow, even with the stain. I thought about removing it many times, until once again, they were straying from their path. At the rate they were going, I would have no choice but to start again. I did not wish to erase such a world, a world where all things called home, but I also could not stand by and watch history repeat itself. So I became a mother, one last time—just enough not to be noticed, just enough to keep hope alive. I gave the world a prophecy, so they need not cling to its creator. But fear it, in hope they would come together once more to prove they did not need me."
Her eyes softened. "And it is here. The result. And so my justice to me is that it is time to let my children go, as I should have from the beginning, I should have trusted that they would grow without me. Now I see I am not needed anymore."
"You are," Artizea said quickly, her voice trembling. "You are needed. We need you—the world needs you—"
Tiamat only shook her head, a faint smile curving her lips. "I was consumed by my power, my grief, and my rage. I became something even I could not control. My children turned against me, and I don't blame them. not anymore. They did not need me then, and they will not need me now. What the world needed… was hope."
She stepped back, her expression wistful. "You, Artizea Pendragon—You have found the strength in your pain… your grief. You have learned to wield my power without being consumed by it. You have found love, even in the face of betrayal. You have forgiven where I could not. The world will be in safe hands…because of you."
Artizea swallowed hard. Her eyes shimmered with tears. "Will I see you again?
Tiamat smiled, the faintest hint of sorrow in her gaze. "Maybe, one day. At the end of your story."
"Then what do I do now?"
She cupped Artizea's face gently, her touch warm despite the surreal nature of the realm. "You will live, and you will love," she touched her stomach, "and when the time comes… You will leave behind something extraordinary."
Artizea's tears fell freely now, as Tiamat stepped back, her form beginning to fade into the light."Wait—I have one more question—"
"I am afraid I cannot answer it," Tiamat said, her voice soft but carrying that mischievous curl. "The habit of twisting celestial law to one's advantage? I am guilty of that too… after all, they learned it from me." She winked. Still had a playful glint in her eyes. "Goodbye… my child." As the light claimed her.
Artizea's eyes snapped open, her chest heaving as she sat up. The weight of the encounter lingered, but so did the warmth of Tiamat's final words. Turning her head, Artizea's smile widened as her gaze fell on Rhyssand. He was lying on his side, his face peaceful in sleep, a strand of his dark hair falling over his forehead. The sound of his slow, steady breathing. She became acutely aware of his warmth pressed against her back, his body curled protectively around hers, his arm draped across her waist, his hand resting gently on her stomach. His fingers splayed slightly, a silent vow of protection and care. His head nestled on her shoulder, his breath tickling her neck, she could not help but smile softly at the tenderness of the moment.
She placed her hand over his, her fingers lightly tracing the lines of his knuckles. A wave of emotion washed over her, a profound sense of peace. In the chaos of their lives, this was a rare, fleeting sanctuary, and she wanted to memorize every detail of it. Rhyssand shifted slightly, his hold on her tightening as though even in sleep he could not bear to let her go.
Artizea felt the rumble of a quiet sigh escape him, his lips brushing against her skin as he murmured something unintelligible. She turned her head just enough to press a kiss to his forehead, her lips lingering there. "You are going to be a wonderful father," she whispered.
Her fingers moved instinctively, reaching out to brush the stray lock of hair from his face. She lingered, her touch gentle as her fingertips traced the line of his cheek. "I will live, Tiamat," she whispered. "I will love. For the three of us."
Rhyssand stirred slightly but did not wake, his brow furrowing for a brief moment before settling again. Artizea let her hand fall, her smile deepening as she studied him. She thought of the battles they had fought together, the moments of doubt, and the countless ways he had stood by her even when she did not deserve it. She thought of Tiamat's final wish and realized she was already fulfilling it in ways the primordial goddess never could. She felt a sense of peace—a quiet joy that replaced the turmoil she had carried for so long. As the sunlight grew brighter, Artizea stayed where she was, content to watch him sleep for just a little longer. The dawn broke over the city, its light streaming through her window.
It was officially their wedding day.