Paramythi III: Prometheus

Below the grounds of Tentrail, Kane Ruskin had fled. Taken up by Maxa Kara’s league, Junior R, he made the decision to erase his name as a Rebellion leader and become a fugitive instead.

Two years had felt like a lifetime without his fellow companions beside him, cheering him on. Although the majority of his former troops had all been accounted for, no-one would blame him for the mourning of Ciiria Zabitha-Adrestia, Kane’s best friend and deceased chairwoman of the Rebellion.

Every day had been a constant struggle for survival. Kane could not show his face above ground, lest he wished to be clawed up in Merine’s clutches. He thought it was ironic, the way the world seemed to have turned. Now he placed all his trust into Maxa’s people.

Junior R had never been infamous and was only known to its members and the Rebellion. Capitol had no knowledge of its existence, which made moving around Capitol and the ruins of Tentrail somewhat easy to manage; so long as a member of Junior R volunteered.

There had been times when Kane would find his own people sneaking out to the surface. Particularly at night. Enzo was the best for it, always lurking in the corners, waiting to escape and taste the fresh air. He had always been one of the most rebellious, and frankly Kane could not force himself to strip Enzo of his freedom, not when freedom had been all they had fought for before this.

Enzo had made it clear how he never snuck up to Emvolo’s city and would rather run the tunnels underground until he knew he had crossed the borders. He preferred to take walks across fields and long plains of terrain outside of Emvolo. He would always go prepared with a disguise, something which looked more akin to a wandering merchant than an ex-Rebel.

A year down the line and he had decided to cut his hair. Once those beige strands had come to the small of his back was now cut back into a tight mess – crossed between a buzzcut and a mullet. He suited it nonetheless.

He would often use his Nemean tongue when conversing with people on the surface, just to excuse the fact he had lived in Emvolo for so long. A few friendly words were exchanged before he was on his way, stopping by villages but never crossing their threshold. He would hunt, harvest and gather information before slinking back underground and presenting his companions with his findings.

The first winter they had faced had been the hardest. Animals had taken to hibernating, making stock difficult to obtain. The temperature was unbearable, leaving members of the Junior R no choice but to venter into Capitol with their lives on the line just so they could buy essential things like blankets, comforters and food. They had come close to being discovered in the new year, but the dust seemed to have settled and another year passed. They were alive; if one could call this living.

“Gods above,” Enzo sighed, watching his breath evaporate before him.

Just an hour out into the fields and he was sure someone was following him. The snap decision to do one of two things was all that played in his head; either run for his life and risk being suspicious or play it cool and hope his so-called pursuers kept on walking.

The sound of metal and fabric rubbing together rang in his ear. The bag strapped to his back was being filled by the day. He would always return to Kane and the others with something. He even managed to drag an old couch into the tunnels once; although it had been a major struggle just to fit it through the manhole in the first place. But with Twyla’s help, they had a new piece of furniture to lounge on.

“How long do you think it’ll take to get back?” A voice spoke up, dismissing Enzo’s thoughts.

Rearranging his backpack, Enzo ducked his head and walked past the trio making their way across the terrain. At a mere glance, he could identify them as a Feral, a Faeman and an Allowa. A group so diverse was rare to see; especially together. It raised a weight from Enzo’s chest as he rushed past them, putting the memories of the Rebellion to rest.

Climbing into the manhole outside of the city had become second nature. He would check the area for any fellow travellers, unhook the bag from his back and throw it inside before jumping after it. The cover would be yanked back by his hands and all light would be lost, save for the blue hues from his watch.

When he had started doing these rebellious acts, the journey back felt like the longest. Now it seemed he could outline the sewers and tunnels like the back of his hand, noting each and every crack around him, every pool of water and grime.

Glimmers of light spilled from Junior R’s hideout. Everyone seemed to be getting lax with security. Two years of nothing happening can do that to a man.

“Look what I bagged today,” Enzo had beamed. He climbed over the wall and slid down the curve, throwing his bag at his feet upon arrival. “Hope you’re all hungry.”

“We’re always hungry.” One of the Juniors remarked. Tessa, a Tipota citizen who claimed she had seen ‘too much sand’ in her life and had joined Junior R months before the world got turned upside down. “It’s kind of the trend down here.”

“Guess you’ll enjoy this most,” as he spoke, Enzo rummaged through his findings and tossed a bag of fruit in Tessa’s direction. “Merchants are basically lining up in the centre of Emvolo and Minoas’ border. I think they’re too afraid to cross into Remiel’s territory.”

“I don’t blame ’em.” Tessa replied, hopping up onto the edge of the large pool table in the room; which had been turned into a surface full of maps and pinpoints across Galaxis. “Remiel is terrifying.”

A reply. Surely it was what Tessa had been expecting. Enzo had chosen to fill the silence with the sound of his lips smacking together, biting into a round fruit unsheathed from his pocket. He could not say anything. Simply because he had nothing to say. Remiel had possessed a young man Enzo had mentored. A young man who Enzo had assessed upon their very first mission together. A young man who, despite everything, Enzo had actually respected.

But Elias Kara was long gone now.

“I didn’t hear you get back.”

Enzo turned his head. Greeting the man who stepped into the room with a nod. The great Kane Ruskin. Once the captain of the Rebellion, a man who held the hope for Emvolo and Galaxis’ land. Now he was frozen, stuck in a state of loss with a cold shadow lurking in his once bright, blue eyes. His hair, dirty and uneven, hung loose around his face and shoulders. His chin was rough with stubble and dark circles pooled against his eyelids. He was able to smile; but nothing genuine would ever spring from that uplift of pale lips.

“He’s been hanging out with merchants,” Tessa commented, popping a handful of grapes into her mouth. “Buying fruit.”

“Every little helps, right?” Enzo smirked. He shared a glance with Kane before pulling his bag over his shoulder and strode past the ex-captain. “I’m gonna catch some sleep, I’ll leave the supplies with the rest.”

Kane grunted, a small effort for confirmation. When he moved, it was slow and uneasy. The stump of his left wrist reached for the pool table and he leant against it, tracing the lines and points along the map. It was difficult to hold back the urge to rip it all off sometimes. What was the point of tracking everything now that the world was out of their hands?

“Twyla’s been giddy lately.” Tessa hopped to her feet, offering the bag of fruit to Kane. “You’d think they live in their own damn world with how they keep smiling.”

“Giddy with you, perhaps.” Kane sighed, accepting the bag. “They’ve been… off with me.”

“Maybe because you let yourself go?” Tessa clicked her tongue, clapping the captain’s back with both hands. “Maybe get a haircut? Shave a little… ya never know. Could change a lot of things down here.”

“Appearance has never been an issue between us,” Kane murmured whilst chewing on a grape stem. “The world is just getting harder to live in. I won’t pry on them. If they need me, I’ll be there for them. That’s how we’ve always been.”

“So, you guys aren’t, like… together anymore?” Tessa paused. The quirk in her voice had died. Her eyes widened. “Did you guys break up?”

Saved by the sounds of shuffles and a crash, Kane hurriedly stepped away from Tessa. He headed towards the door he had appeared from, leading to a hall where maintenance workers would have stayed when the construction was built years ago. Now it was sleeping quarters for the Rebels and Junior R’s men.

In the centre of the hall was Theo and Damon, wrestling each other into a headlock against the gritty floor. The former was practically laughing throughout the scuffle as he was pinned to the ground.

Kane could only roll his eyes. “What is it about this time?” He leant against the doorframe, arms crossing against his chest. “Did one of you take an extra piece of bread from the larder? Jinxed each other in a conversation?”

Damon grit his teeth and looked up at Kane. His hands were wrapped around Theo’s neck, keeping the man on the ground as he tossed back his hair and replied, “neither.”

Tilting his own head back, Theo met Kane’s expression and he smiled. “We just felt like it.” He choked, breathless at Damon’s mercy. It took him only a second to turn the tables, hooking one leg around Damon’s waist and hauling his weight to one side.

Together, they rolled across the ground and continued their wrestling. There was no bloodshed, no broken bones. In the next half hour, they would finish and go their separate ways. It was something of a mutual understanding.

Theo and Damon were simply men with high stamina, raised in the worst parts of the world with the worst morals to back up their actions. Wrestling on the floor was the ironic way to keep peace between the ex-Rebels and the ex-Capitol guards. Kane had given up on scolding them after the fifth time, since then it was part of their daily routine.

“At it again?” Maxa appeared from the end of the hall. Her sharp eyes glinting as she watched the men fight. “They already had a scuffle this morning at breakfast.”

Kaira sprang from behind Maxa, arms locked behind her back. “N’aww, I think Theo misses Neriah~” She giggled. “What has it been? A day, two?”

Bursting free from Damon’s grasp, Theo granted Kaira a dirty look of flared nostrils and grit teeth. “I do not miss Neriah. I didn’t miss her last year when she tucked herself away, and I do not miss her now.” The simplicity of his tone was short lived as he whirled, digging his heel against Damon’s kneecap.

Damon hit the ground hard. His broad shoulders seized against the impact to the ground and he paused, taking a breath; just long enough for Theo to assume his victory when Damon grasped the Sylvannix’s ankle and hauled him to the ground alongside him.

“Missing someone or not,” Maxa situated herself between the two, hands on her hips. “I think that’s enough fighting. We’ve got plenty of that going on upstairs.”

Damon stood first, swatting the dirt from his forehead. “Yes, ma’am.” The comment was quiet, followed by the heavy sounds of his steeled shoes carrying him down the corridor and past Maxa. His shoulder forced its way against the woman’s arm, yet she held her ground. “Call me when you’re ready to take the fight to them. I’m sick of waiting around.”

Theo struggled to his feet, resting a palm against his back as he stuck his tongue out in Damon’s direction. “Coward.” The comment was echoed by Kane who walked up behind him. Theo merely tilted his head in greeting. “Nice to see you out of your hole once in a while, Cap’n.”

“You and Damon need to settle your past in a civil way,” Kane shook his head. Whatever reaction Theo had been hoping for was lost in the pit of dark, tired eyes. “We are no longer rivals nor enemies. We’re all in the same group now.”

“I met Damon when he and I were in the ‘same group,’” brushing away the dirt and dust, Theo propped himself against the wall; idly acknowledging Maxa as she walked past with a lazy wave of his palm. “Damon and I have always been like this, even in our younger years. We met on the streets, he a refugee from the borders of Tipota, and I a Sylvannix, unable to step foot into Emvolo without gaining a warrant on my pretty head. We never got along then, even after fighting for survival together; back-to-back. He turned to the Capitol and I turned to you.”

Kane scoffed. “But now you’re forced together once again. So, please, take a moment to be civil before Maxa decides to throw you both out onto the streets from where you came from.” A sharp tone left his lips and he strode forward, dismissing his oldest friend with a sour feeling in the air.

“Twyla said you’ve been short lately,” Theo called.

Kane came to an abrupt stop. His body language said many things while his lips remained sealed. No speech or word was shared from the former captain, even as Theo pushed off the wall and strode closer. One hand met Kane’s shoulder and Theo sighed.

“You gotta talk to them. Enzo could hear them last night, they’re not happy.”

“Of course they’re not happy,” Kane grunted. He cast his eyes towards Theo and offered a weak, empty smile. “I promised them a free world and ended up taking their freedom away.”

The sun seemed to have ceased shining in Emvolo since Remiel had returned. It was something of a pleasantry to finally be free of the endless darkness that stretched across Emvolo’s sky.

Hermes had said as much after taking the old train tracks across Lake Apuleius and found the slithers of sunlight breaking through the grey clouds above. The heavens had opened and their pathway was clear.

“What do you plan on telling the Prince?” Dite had spoken first, kicking small mounds of mud-beds against the toe of her shoe. “Do you think he’s gonna wanna cross the borders and free Artemis straight away?”

Peitho lifted their chin, strikingly cold eyes glimpsing towards Hermes. “According to the messenger, we don’t have any need to be hasty, right? Artemis isn’t suffering. From what Hermes has said, all is well.”

Dite chewed on the inside of her cheek, fingers roaming over the buckles on her belt as if she were nervous. In fact, she had been playing with the strands of her scarf and the hem of her shirt the closer they got to Minoas. Finally, she turned to Hermes and forced her trademark grin; dismissing the look of ugly scars adorning her face.

“What do you think, Hermes? Is Mister Artemis in need of a heroic save anytime soon?”

At long last, Hermes came to a stop. “Actually… I think I forgot to mention one or two things,” he murmured. Yellow eyes stayed fixated upon the ground of dirt and rock. His balled fist swatted the surface of his brow, ridding the sweat built up over their journey. As Peitho and Dite came to a stop, he opened his mouth. “I feel as though the Prince should remain oblivious to this, but Mister Artemis isn’t precisely in good spirits.”

Dite crossed her arms, allowing the warm sweep of Minoas’ air to wash over them. “… it’s Leto’s play shop. Always has been. Probably got him on his knees every Tuesday!” Her happy-go-lucky tone died. Bright eyes turned serious. “I say we take our own army back to Emvolo and cut her up for good!”

“And what of Remiel?” Peitho leant back, resting against the nearest boulder. They crossed their arms and stretched their bent leg, eyes studying the ground at their feet. Their tone was quiet, defeated. “He would never allow the likes of a whole fleet from Minoas to cross the border. He would recognise us instantly; whether we had Hermes or not. Ferals cannot protect us from him forever.”

“But we ain’t there to disrupt him!” Dite punched her palm, knuckles crunching. “We’re just gonna make it clear that people like Leto can’t go ’round treating my kin like slaves! She should be brought to justice for everything she’s done!”

“Disrupting him or not, Remiel has made it painfully clear how he feels about Minoas’ people in the past.” Peitho said. “Helios Artemis was a great warrior, but he cannot be worth the loss of an entire kingdom.”

“The Prince ain’t gonna agree with that.”

“The Prince is not the person who fell in love with Helios Artemis two years ago.”

Hermes stepped forward. “Listen, we cannot tell the Prince about any of this. It’s something that needs time to deliver. We simply start by telling him how well Mister Artemis is, that he’s still alive.”

A silence washed over them. Only the warm essence of the wind and occasional rummaging of animal life around them served as something of sound, shattering the silence when a herd of wild Pynar charged across the terrain to their right.

Hermes stepped forward. “We should get back before the Prince decides to send someone out for us.” He looked up to Dite and forced a smile. “Please, don’t say anything to him. We’ve done so well not to tangle ourselves with Emvolo ever since Remiel’s rise. I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.”

Dite rolled her broad shoulders. Her jaw was tight as she turned away from Hermes and sighed. “Yeah… I’m not ready to say goodbye, either.” She grunted, picking up her pace. “I just wish life was easier, y’know? Why’s it gotta be so tough on us, even now?”

“Politics,” Peitho commented. They hopped along the boulders, leading the way to Minoas’ grand kingdom in the distance. They laughed, “life’s gotta be hard on someone and the Gods don’t care, so long as it’s got nothing to do with them.”

Dite turned her head, frowning. “See, I normally believe whatever you say, no questions asked! But…” she rubbed the back of her neck, releasing another sigh as she jumped down onto the visible pathway to their kingdom. “I feel like everything has something to do with the Gods, these days.”

Minoas’ usual hustle and bustle was one of a kind. Behind the ominous wall was an aura of thrill. Parties were often held until early hours of the morning, leaving the kingdom’s square bare; save for the hard workers who kept to their schedules and got up before dawn.

Music would always be heard from one corner or doorway. There was never an Inn shut, never a pub closed. Each residence was made up of mud, stone and wood; nothing akin to their neighbouring kingdoms.

Once, it had been known as one of the most barbaric kingdoms of all Galaxis. The Chief would always wear the skulls of his enemies. His attire would consist of nothing more than Shema fur; or perhaps even a creature only tales of old would dare talk about. Such a tradition had died – to an extent.

Shema skulls and antlers continued to be a high trend in fashion. Robes and armour made up the majority of Minoas’ visage. Farmers tended to crops and researchers would haul up in the inns, only to wander out in the dark of night to travel Galaxis and return with new findings just before their rent was due.

It was harmonious; so long as there were no intruders from the South. Anyone who dared wander in from Emvolo’s way would be questioned and thrown into custody immediately. It had been that way for many years; long before a young Rebel had thrown a smoke bomb in the Chief’s face when they attempted to align their kingdoms together via a small dinner with the previous Governor.

Only two years had passed since a small band of travellers had come to Minoas’ gates. One of them adorning the very visage of old legend; Sytry. Had it not been for the Chief’s son, Styx, Sytry would have been ruthlessly beheaded upon arrival.

Styx had led Sytry and their band of accompanies to his father, the Chief of Minoas, after Anima Eros had brought them to the border.

The tired eyes of Minos the III sprang to life upon seeing the essence of Sytry’s golden wings. He pried himself from the throne he had been attached to for decades, breaking the vines and ivy holding him to his birth right.

When cold hands laid against Sytry’s cheeks, the wrinkles and greying detail seemed to vanish from his very soul and he was reborn anew in front of his kingdom. Minoas thus continued their gracious parties and drank every ounce of liquor between them until the sun rose that night.

“A curse upon Minoas has been left here since your departure from this world, all those years ago,” Minos had whispered to Sytry during the party. “Remiel’s wrath cursed his own kingdom with anger among his people, while Minoas suffered the after effects and was left to suffer with our rights to the throne. You have saved us, my son included. He will never have known the true struggles of what it took to be the Chief here. Thank you.”

Since such a time, Sytry had grown accustomed to Minoas’ ways. Sharing between them all they could tell about Remiel and his greatest weaknesses. It had been Styx who stood up one evening, announcing the secret of Minoas’ royal family and their sacred relic; Sytry’s trident, which had been the Prince’s favoured weapon many years ago.

From where they stood, Sytry’s band of companions watched as the Prince laid his hands upon the trident; confirming their suspicions on Riyo Midas being ridden for good. It was only Sytry now.

“… Do you think Riyo’s still in there, somewhere?” Selene had asked the night after Sytry’s awakening. “Do you think… everyone in the Rebellion is dead?”

Beside her, Damara lay. Her hands were folded across her tummy and her eyes had been shut. She was not asleep. She could not sleep under the pressure of so many voices and thoughts swirling in her brain. Her façade would remain as calm as ever, even as she would turn her head to look upon the Avolaki laying at her side.

“Dead or not, everyone will remain as we remembered them,” she smiled, a painful expression against her own words. “I suppose that’s not the most encouraging thing I could come up with, though. Is it?”

Selene smiled. “I shouldn’t expect you to know all the answers, forgive me.” She whispered, turning back to look at the low ceiling made of wood and hay. Her forefinger rapidly tapped against her stomach. She was anxious; lost in a foreign world while her father was being tended to by Minoas’ medics. “… are we to stay here, from now on?”

Damara had not turned away. Her eyes wandered over every line and curve of Selene’s face. She had nearly missed the question altogether. “Perhaps it would do to make a fresh start here? I believe the people of Minoas shall do us no harm, so long as Sytry remains at our side.”

Selene pressed her lips into a thin line. “You want to stay for the Trezla girl, don’t you?” She allowed a small silence to wash between them and she smiled, turning her head once more. “You needn’t worry, Da. I understand your concern. The girl was supposedly dead until now! Even after her miraculous appearance, she led us here and then disappeared again. It truly is a mystery.”

“She has always been a mystery,” Damara nodded. “It was why my partner adored her so much.”

Selene reached out, tracing her fingers along Damara’s arm. “Do you still miss her? Your partner?”

“I do. Yet, I know I was a different person back then,” she shifted her arm, bending it to the point her palm could brush against Selene’s. She squeezed. “When someone passes, or leaves our life, that version of ourselves cease to exist alongside them. Therefor I had been mourning myself, as well as my partner. Now, I see this as an opportunity to start anew; with someone else I care for.”

Selene shuffled closer, rolling onto her side. “Thank you, Da.” She pressed her cheek against the Feral’s shoulder and closed her eyes. “… Thank you for still being here; when everyone else disappeared.”