Zusia, Desmond, 10401 P.C.

Chaos. Screams. Blazing fires scorched the earth, eating away at what had once been a joyous celebration. Party streamers fluttered in the ash and smoke like fingers clawing for the sky, desperate to escape the white-hot flames licking with teasing tongues. The fires reached and shuddered, clawing at decorative table cloths and brightly wrapped gift packages. The decorations went up in spurts of smoke, spurts that became billows, rising to the sky and turning the late afternoon sun a blood-red as it spread over the land.

The city beyond the ruins of the High Princess's first birthday party was being consumed with fire. All the destruction made Aniea'athrii smile. She walked among the flames, bare feet treading the ashes, gleaming sword in her hand dripping with blood. It speckled her face, matching her crimson lips and staining her ice blue dress a dark maroon. The crackling fires seemed to revere her, parting to let her pass. She stepped over the corpse of a soldier — how unfortunate he had been to receive her thrown dagger. She retrieved the bloody weapon, tucking it into the folds of her skirt as she continued.

The people had long since fled, their screams still echoing off in the distance. The sounds of terror and death sent shivers of pleasure through her.

A roar from above lifted her head, and she watched as the beast flew through the air, huge wings pounding the thick smoke as he dove, delivering another blast of draconic fire at the defenceless city. Pride swelled in her chest as she continued on. She had taught him well.

Together, they would conquer.

The palace was silent, tall and solemn as if expecting her visit. Stepping inside, she heard the scampering, the hushed whispers, the heavy breathing. She felt the fear. Thick, oozing, terrible fear. She breathed it in. It smelled of smoke and cinder. It tasted like ash and blood. She smiled devilishly once more before advancing into the recesses of the building.

She entered the throne room. It was beautiful, with a high roof and many stained-glass windows above the throne. A red carpet snaked between eight thick stone pillars, four on either side, leading right up to the king's chair. Stairs on either side of the entrance led up to balconies encompassing the upper half of the room.

Nearing the pillars, she saw the symbols carved by a god who was much too clever at covering things up. She trailed her fingers over the first pillar's symbol, the sounds of death and war muted by stone walls. Deep within her, a fiery hatred ignited. She withdrew her dagger and pressed it to the stone above the symbol. Pulling on the icy Athrii within her, she slashed the symbol down the middle, ripping into the stone like a knife through paper. With a yell, she turned on the other pillars, the other symbols, slashing them all. Then she stood in silence, the glow from her weapon fading as she drew in a deep breath.

Something moved behind her. "I sensed you, child," Aniea'athrii said, breathing in the stench of the fear her victims emitted. "There will be no escape." She turned around, and sure enough, she saw the shadow of a small child, ducked behind the king's chair. How futile to hide behind the throne and expect its holder to save them. "Come on out," she commanded. "Face your fate."

The girl obeyed. She stepped out from behind the embellished chair, standing tall on the stage despite her small stature. Aniea'athrii studied the Human with begrudged respect. She was only a teenager, and yet she faced death with the same resoluteness the men who had fallen outside had possessed. It was stupidity, yet admirable in any case. Few had such nerve.

"Thank you." Aniea'athrii kept her weapons hidden in the folds of her full skirt as she started forward. "Now, dear servant girl, tell me. I have an audience with the Prince and Princess, but I just cannot seem to find them anywhere." She smiled crookedly at her own words as she revealed her sword, stopping just yards from the girl. "Where are they?"

"I have no obligation to tell you anything, witch," the girl replied sharply, yet she wavered, her eyes darting to the sword.

"Then let me persuade you." Aniea'athrii flicked her other hand, and the dagger flew. It pierced the girl's shoulder. With a scream, she fell at the base of the throne. Crimson blood spilled over trembling fingers, dripping to the stone floor. Aniea'athrii could practically taste it. "Where are the Prince and Princess?" she demanded of the wounded girl.

The girl gasped, tears trailing down her stark white cheeks. She did not answer.

Movement. Aniea'athrii smiled, looking beyond the girl at the throne once again. "No answer for me? Should I perhaps look for myself?" She stepped forward.

The girl cried out. "They're upstairs!"

Stupid, stupid girl. "Then you'll have no issue with me checking behind the throne."

Before Aniea'athrii could move, the girl exclaimed, "Run, Terrence!"

The little Prince obeyed, breaking away from the throne and running along the wall, his feet pounding the stone ground. Aniea'athrii slowly shook her head, starting after the boy. He saw her coming and screamed, scampering into a side door. Aniea'athrii followed him.

Then stopped. She turned. The girl was gone, crawling around the throne. In the shadows, Aniea'athrii saw the bundle, tucked behind the throne chair. As swift as the wind, she swept across the room, circling the throne and stopping over the girl as she gathered the bundle in her arms. When the girl looked up and saw her, Aniea'athrii thought she might fall over in a faint, she was so white.

"Oh, darling," Aniea'athrii murmured soothingly.

And then she killed her. Setting aside the bloodied sword and crouching down over the girl's corpse, she pulled the bundle into her arms. She lifted the blanket, peering at the babe. Angelic, as any child with immortal blood ought to be. Chubby freckled cheeks, puckered lips, dark, slightly curled hair. The Princess was asleep. Interesting how they would drug the girl to keep her from crying and being heard. It had been useless.

Aniea'athrii rose to her feet, leaving the body of the servant girl and starting for the door the Prince had retreated through. She cradled the Princess in one arm and wielded her sword in the other. The door led into a hallway, one with a high roof and many windows. Glancing outside, Aniea'athrii saw a small figure stumbling out in the smouldering ruins of what had once been the palace garden. The Prince.

Without hesitation, she mentally pushed on her Athrii, throwing it beyond herself and imagining the window shattering. It did, and she leapt from the ledge, landing gracefully in the ashen garden below.

The Prince saw her exit; she met his eyes and saw the fear and terror pooling in his baby-face. He was just a slip of a thing, stumbling over singed shrubs, struggling to get away from the inevitable. She could taste blood on the ash-filled air. Licking her crimson lips, she started forward, enjoying his terror. He scrambled away from her, sobbing, screaming a name.

Susan, Aniea'athrii thought as she leisurely eyed her prey. What a beautiful name for such a stupid, stupid girl.

The boy fell, and this time, Aniea'athrii did not let him get up. She stood over him, relishing every moment. "Your Susan is dead," she whispered to the quavering child.

"Nooo! Daddy!"

Aniea'athrii drank in the moment — the beautifully terrible moment in which nothing happened. Once, she had called on Him too, and He had answered her with silence. Cold, condemning silence.

It was fitting, then, that she took her revenge through raging fire.

"Your Daddy is gone. He's deserted you." She crouched down, gently stroking her bloodied knuckles down the side of his ruddy, tear-stained cheek. "He doesn't care to stick around and watch you die." She pulled out her dagger and lifted it to the trembling child's neck. His eyes, so large and pooled with tears, had so much soul in them. She was determined to watch until that soul departed. "Let's see what happens when immortal blood is spilled," she whispered.

The dagger was ripped from her hand with incredible force, thrown behind her to be lost in the ruin. Aniea'athrii fell back, stunned, almost dropping the babe in her arms as she fought to catch herself. Pain pricked her cheek, and she could feel blood trickling from the fresh wound her dagger had given her.

The shock took hold of her for only a moment, quickly replaced by her hatred. "So," she growled, raising her eyes to face her foe. "At long last, the god shows His face!"

He stood over her, behind the trembling, cowering Prince. The object of her hatred, the cause of her rage. Tall. Powerful. Giver of life and death. His dark eyes bore into her with a fire her dragon companion could only dream of.

"You will not touch the boy, Aniea'athrii." He spoke calmly, but His words were forceful all the same.

She pushed herself back on one arm, clutching the bundle in her arms. "You protect your kindred and not your people. You leave your servants to die while you protect your worthless son."

"You have made a grave mistake, Gifted one," He said, reaching down and setting His small son back on his feet. "You have abandoned your higher calling."

Always, always avoiding her accusations. She pushed herself to her feet. "I am not one of your Gifted! I had no higher calling from You! We were Your grand mistake and you left us to die, covering it up like every other issue in history You deemed unworthy to be remembered." She fingered the hilt of the sword hidden in the folds of her skirt as she stared at the god before her. Tears of fury pricked her eyes as she lifted the weapon. "I will make you regret it for eternity."

She turned to the babe in her arm, lifting the sword to the blanket. At any moment, He would stop her, and she was prepared. She paused with the blade at the Princess's throat. Looking at the King, she saw He had not moved. He merely watched her with His piercing gaze. That horrible, terrible, all-knowing gaze.

"You will not harm her," He said.

Aniea'athrii pulled the sword away from her helpless victim and pointed it at Him instead. "You are right. I will corrupt her. She will hate the very mention of Your name."

"You will not influence the child until she is of age. Before then, you will be unable to touch her heart or mind."

"So you give her to me? You would leave Your own daughter behind to suffer along with the rest of them!"

A bellow sounded above, and Aniea'athrii heard her companion land heavily behind her. She didn't have to look to know that Motch towered above her, above them, his glorious red and golden scales shimmering in the light of the fires. She heard his ragged breathing, felt his hot breath on her back. The very power he possessed was enough to melt the heart of the bravest Human.

But the Being before them was no Human.

"Your reign will not last," the King said, speaking to them both. "The heir will one day reclaim his throne." He slipped a large hand into the boy's tiny one. It seemed to strengthen the child; he stared at Aniea'athrii with those huge eyes, but the terror was gone. She knew that gaze would haunt her. Deep and innocent, boring right into her soul.

Behind her, Motch growled deep in his throat. "Not if he does not survive this night!"

Aniea'athrii took several steps back as the dragon unleashed a powerful blast of fire at the King and Prince. She could see the god's eyes through the flames; His very gaze deflected them, directing the blast into the ground between them. The scorching heat sent Aniea'athrii stumbling back, and she turned away. Motch growled deep in his throat.

The King did not move, although His son had ducked behind Him. "A Deliverer will come. He will find the boy and end your reign."

Aniea'athrii despised His petty prophecies. "They will not stand a chance. His sister will be his undoing." She tightened her hold on the Princess.

The god's gaze was dark. "As yours was?"

It was a blow like no other, one that struck right to the stony core of her heart. She gripped her sword, oblivious to the Athrii she had forced into it. It shone with a devilish purple light, shuddering as she shook with hatred and fury. "You turned her against me!"

"And you murdered her." He knew her grief — how could He stand there so calmly, so heartlessly? His indifference mocked her. "When will you stop, Aniea'athrii?"

She quenched her emotions, destroyed the pain and grief and let the rage burn within her like a fire. Raggedly, she replied, "When you are dead."

It was folly to attack a god, even being as powerful as she was, but she did it anyway. She rushed Him, thrusting her sword at His chest. He took it straight through His heart. She shoved it to the hilt, gasping as she fell against Him. She looked up, hoping beyond hope to see the soul leave His eyes.

He didn't waver. He didn't even flinch. He only held her gaze, and then lifted His hand to her face, gently trailing His knuckles down her cheek. "You are right, daughter," He murmured, and she thought she might have seen tears in His eyes. "However... I am the Immortal One."

A force like no other slammed into Aniea'athrii. She flew back, frantic hands clinging instinctively to the bundle in her arms as she crashed into Motch's chest and fell to the ground. Her sword clattered beside her. Gasping, she flipped her long hair from her face and looked up to see her enemy, her foe, standing among the smoke and flying ash, unscathed by her weapon. He looked between her and the dragon for a moment, almost as if He would speak again.

He did not. In a breath, He vanished, and the boy with Him, leaving nothing but swirling ashes.

Aniea'athrii struggled to get to her feet, ignoring Motch's offered talon. She straightened, numbing away the pain with a forced shudder of Athrii through her body. It chilled her. Still holding the Princess, she walked to the empty spot the King had left. Stood where He had been standing.

Try to erase Your mistake this time, god. The time of retribution has come.

She took a deep breath. Glanced down at the sleeping Princess in her arms. She turned to Motch, who watched her in silence. Beyond them, the world burned. Burned in the fires of justice.

"Your Majesty," she finally said, inclining her head to the dragon.

Motch bared his teeth in a bloody smile. Lifting his head, he roared and blasted fire high above their heads. Its golden heat exploded through the smoky sky, signalling both an end and a beginning.

Aniea'athrii closed her eyes, letting the sparks and ashes of their victory rain down around her.