Bellageist: Chains of a Demigod (Part 3)

Knights, kings, dragons, romance, and sci-fi unreality.

Feb 28, 2025

A big thanks to James Kenwood, Kathrine Elaine and one other non-stacker for the alpha read on this. Please check out their work, they are all fantastic writers.

Chains of a Demigod

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9 (coming soon)

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Part 1 & 2 Synopsis (2 minute read):

"Bellageist: Chains of a Demigod," Part One introduces a primal world dominated by unseen forces, where Nyl, a young hominid, awakens. Born with an innate aggression, Nyl navigates a series of escalating "scenarios," each marked by a soothing voice that praises her victories, dubs her "the Impetuous," and urges her to earn the title "Basilissa" before thrusting her into new eras with more advanced challenges. Nyl’s mind rapidly matures, absorbing knowledge from an unknown source. By her third battle, she allies with Garuna the Quick and Arcade the Steady—fully conscious companions who contrast with the half-aware "others." Her superhuman feats, like dodging arrows and scaling towers, earn her adoration and the title "Nyl the Ardent." Her companions share in the glory, with Garuna becoming “the Swift,” and Arcade receiving the epithet “the Unwavering.”

Part Two begins with Nyl battered but triumphant after she and her companions defeat a mighty dragon. Her armor is ruined and her shoulder bears severe burns yet she revels in her victory alongside Arcade. Unlike previous challenges, however, her fourth scenario does not end, and the sun remains high in the sky. For the first time Nyl is at a loss for what to do.

The battle’s toll proves high — they find Garuna gravely wounded and cradled by a boy claiming to be her son. As Garuna fades, a king arrives. Impressed by their feat, the King offers Nyl and Arcade vassalage for glory and reward. Torn between loyalty to Garuna and the king’s promise, Nyl hesitates but swears fealty despite Arcade’s reluctance. Arcade is forced to choose Nyl over their dying friend. Riding the king’s coach due to her wounds, Nyl experiences an unsettling vision of her hands being made of metal.

At the castle, servants assigned to Nyl bathe her and treat her wound. Giggling voices interrupt her respite and she finds Arcade with two women, sparking jealousy. She storms off and grapples with unfamiliar emotions — anger, longing, and hollow yearning — before collapsing in tears. She awakens in a bed, unaware of having traveled. The sun is still fixed in the sky which signals the scenario continues. Nyl questions her identity and choices.

The stage is set. Read on for new revelations into this enigmatic world.

Bellageist: Chains of a Demigod Part 3

A young woman’s voice woke Nyl: “Melode.”

Nyl rolled on her cheek. The pillow under her face felt drenched.

Tears?

Stuffy nose, raw eyes. At least the pain in her shoulder had diminished. She touched her injury, curious how the skin felt scaly and whole – like the scars of a decades-old-burn.

“Melode?”

“What?” Nyl croaked.

The door rattled open, spilling thin daylight from the corridor into what were apparently Nyl’s new quarters. She did not remember coming here.

“What now?” Nyl said. She felt somewhat foul-tempered, but mostly drained and empty.

The maids did not respond. One went to the window and drew its shutters open. Full sunlight poured in and blinded squinting, miserable Nyl. The other maid carried a box to a table against a wall opposite Nyl’s bed. A polished metal speculum sat on this table, serving as a mirror.

“Do you never talk?” Nyl asked irritably.

“Yoo moost frasant yoorsalf ot sha kreng’s faost,” one maid said, indicating the lone chair in front of the speculum.

More of the “incomplete” ones. Nyl understood they wanted to pretty her up. In a daze, she rose and sat on the chair. She refused their face powders and rouge colors but permitted them to wipe her face clean and brush and braid her hair.

The braids complete, the maids attempted to coil them in netted crespines – Nyl allowed them this at first, but stopped them midway through, finding the look to be ridiculous, like something akin to a giant-headed, red-eyed praying mantis.

“Leave me!” she said, standing abruptly.

The maids piled the feminine accessories back into their wooden box, curtseyed, and departed, closing the door behind them.

At their absence, Nyl stared into the speculum.

Am I beautiful?

She thought she might be, if she could suspend her personal bias. Could she judge such a thing? She leaned her chin this way and that, seeking a clearer view of herself through the polished metal’s striated lines and slight tarnish.

She sat again to study herself closer. A symmetrical face stared back at her. Red-colored aristocratic brows capable of a high range of expression crested large, almond-shaped light brown eyes. While aesthetically pleasing, she disliked how her full lips and button nose gave her a childish look. She tested a smile on herself and thought it charming, if a bit too playful for her tastes.

She tested a fiercer look and gave herself a bit of a shock. She retreated from the speculum on instinct, then smiled and tried again. She had quite a thunderous frown. She found herself pleased by this, and it was no wonder now how the maids had fled the room.

Then she noticed an oddity. Stark light from the window shone on her face, hiding one eye in shadow, and if she angled her head just the slightest way, the iris of her eye seemed to…

Glow red?

A knock at the door startled her. She stood and retreated from the table in embarrassment. None had entered to witness her self-inspection, so she forced calm and pushed the chair in to hide any hint of her activity. The chair’s legs screeched upon the stone, and she cringed.

“Melode?” A young man’s voice came muffled through the door.

Nyl cracked the door partway open, hiding her face. She wondered if her eye glowed red often, and had anyone ever noticed it.

“Drom Nel,” the young man said and bowed. He was perhaps a squire, too old to be a page. “Sha kreng weshas su calabrot sha draoth uf sha drrogun end hoombly raquasts shet yoo ettand hes faost.”

Nyl failed to interpret the man’s guttural dialect. She narrowed the gap in the door and looked at him suspiciously.

The squire raised from his bow and waited. The silence lasted long enough for him to glance aside nervously. He bowed again, his right arm a-flourish, his left raised in offer.

Nyl plucked mention of the king from the gibberish he spoke, and recognized he wished to take her hand in escort. She put two-and-two together and swung the door open. She slapped the squire’s stupid arm down and said: “Lead the way.”

The squire smiled and nodded as though Nyl behaved normally.

Nyl followed the boy through the keep’s corridors towards the sound of merry voices. Bright laughter and torchlight poured out from a grand set of double doors, before which waited a line of fresh-looking men dressed in fashionable clothing.

Nyl’s escort bowed once more then disappeared, perhaps to collect another guest.

An old man wearing a thick gold necklace then hobbled up to Nyl. His eyes and hands moved with urgent energy despite his hunched posture and use of a short cane. He walked past Nyl and waved her to follow. Nyl found herself deposited at the rear of the line.

The line moved forward into the hall at a regular, if halting, pace. Nyl shuffled forward with it. The old man hobbled back, more men in tow, knights in civilian clothing, Nyl suspected. With gentle gestures the old man moved Nyl back and inserted the new arrivals ahead of her in the line.

Nyl put her hands on her hips, brow furrowed in consternation. The men ahead of her spoke in hushed whispers. Whenever she caught one of their eyes, they smiled and nodded to her, then resumed their private conversation in that awful dialect.

Thrice more this happened. Nyl moved forward only to be shifted back to give precedence to others. Nyl leaned left and right, tried hopping up on her toes, but the shortest man present measured a centimeter taller than she, and most stood far taller, blocking her view.

Then Arcade arrived.

He tried to offer Nyl a smile. Her heart softened, but then she remembered his fondling of the maids and her rage and tears. She pretended not to see him, felt her face redden. Many emotions vied for dominance. She did her best to shut them down, but found herself hoping Arcade would have the courage to explain himself and apologize.

The old man returned. Again, the energetic dotard gestured for Arcade to cut in front.

Nyl had tolerated enough. “No, put him behind me. I tire of this wait!”

Arcade, the old man, and several knights turned at her angry voice.

“The later one enters, the higher the honor,” Arcade explained.

Nyl remembered Arcade had seen places like this before as well as worlds beyond it. But unless he had an apology she did not wish to give Arcade the dignity of being heard. She turned her head and complained no more, quietly shuffling forward as the queue advanced a few more spots.

Nyl listened intently. She could tell Arcade wanted to say something, and she wanted to hear it. But he took too long, and her pride crumbled under guilt and longing. She turned and blurted: “Why didn’t you-”

Arcade spoke simultaneously: “I tried to-”

Neither finished their sentence, their words lost beneath a jolly shout. The Royal family had arrived.

The king escorted his queen, a woman younger than he by at least ten or twenty years. She wore a crown set with rubies, smaller but finer and more expensive-looking than her husbands. Two handsome princes in their twenties followed, both fit and strong, the older with a line of a beard that enhanced the cut of his jaw, the younger with ice-chip eyes that could melt a maiden’s heart. And lastly, an astoundingly beautiful princess late in her teens. She wore a silver tiara and had flowers pinned in the braided parts of her hair. The remainder of her long golden locks reached halfway down her dress.

The royals habitually headed to the back of the line, but the king halted them, instead directing all of them to cut in front of Arcade and Nyl.

The tap of a cane signaled the chain-bedecked old man’s approach. He spotted his king and, seeing him out of position, glowered at his liege. He performed a short bow, his knees shivering with gout, then moved to intervene.

The king looked at the old man and shook his head. With a slice of his palm over his neck he silenced the senior servant’s protest before it began.

The old man scowled at this breach of protocol and made clear his disappointment. He shook his head and wandered off, muttering.

The king laughed at his grumpy servant. He then nodded his head close to Arcade’s. They engaged in deep and private discussion.

Nyl’s jealousy rekindled. The king knew Nyl’s valor exceeded Arcade’s – why did he show favor to him and not her? She tried to eavesdrop but rowdy talk and laughter rose in volume, burying their voices.

The line moved quickly, then, and Nyl soon glimpsed the hall. Over two hundred people sat at three large tables arranged in the shape of a U, with the central table elevated a step above the ones flanking it. Given their strong builds, wide stances, and martial bearing, nearly all the guests appeared to be knights in service to the king. All stood behind empty chairs. Only a few seats at the head table remained bare.

The old man waved the king’s family forward and one by one, announced each royal’s entry by title with a surprisingly strong and youthful voice.

The guests clapped and whistled for their queen.

Nyl looked at the king, expecting anger or an order for heads to roll. But to her surprise, he grinned knowingly, the catcalls clearly some inside joke.

The queen gave the men a beatific smile as she made her way to her seat.

The mostly-male crowd also cheered both princes. The first marched past haughty and aloof while the second one smiled in sheepish acknowledgement. The men cheered and whistled for the stunningly beautiful princess, much like they had the queen, but louder. The girl’s smile matched her mother’s, and she humored the knight’s cheering, performing a spin in her fine dress for their benefit. The catcalls ended and the men’s voices descended into friendly laughter.

Unbidden instinct prodded Nyl to lean and check where Arcade’s gaze fell. She watched him closely, ignoring the cheerful roars of men as they greeted their king. She could not see whether he watched the princess or not.

All other eyes lingered on her, though, and Nyl scowled, assuming Arcade did the same.

“Ercod sha Oonwovareng!” announced the old man next.

Arcade entered. The knights and the three male royals thumped their fists on the table, a drumbeat that rattled plates and cutlery:

“Er-cod! Er-cod! Er-cod!”

Arcade grinned at his new comrades. He gave them subdued and meek waves, seemingly not accustomed to being the center of attention. This behavior only encouraged the knights who pounded the tables harder and chanted his name louder. Arcade made his awkward way to a chair to the king’s left, between him and his eldest son.

Nyl a rolled her eyes at Arcade’s humility. Nyl had seen Arcade fight and doubted a single man here could stand up to him in battle.

“Nel sha Erdant!” the announcer yelled next.

Nyl entered the hall.

The knights pounded the tables again, chanting her name with great zeal:

“Nel! Nel! Nel!”

Only one chair remained – to the right of the king, putting Nyl between him and his queen. She walked over to it.

Nyl had worried the men might treat her like they had the queen or princess and did know how she might react. But she need not have worried. Their greeting, while cheery, remained respectfully martial. She scanned their faces, focusing on no one, and filtered their voices; she detected not a single female warrior among them.

Despite the sincerity and uniformity of the knights’ praise, she felt alienated for reasons she could not pin down. She also felt terribly drained by her emotions. Too many new experiences difficult to explain. She could not conceive being more miserable. Before she knew it, her hands rested on the back of her designated seat.

The king waved his younger son over and whispered something in the boy’s ear. The boy nodded, approached Nyl, and pulled out her chair for her.

The king pulled out his own chair, said: “Let us feast!” then sat. Another loud cheer met this announcement. With a chorus of thuds and creeks every man plopped down.

Nyl maneuvered awkwardly into her chair, the boy pushing her seat earlier than she would have liked, tripping and capturing her. She twisted at the hip and made to slap the boy, halting her strike at the last moment.

The boy cowered at the threat, said: “Surra, melode!”

The king saw this and a shadow of concern flickered across his face. But then he laughed uproariously, and a few other onlookers joined in.

Nyl stared the boy down. He made the wise decision to walk away. With him gone, she scooted herself the rest of the way in.

The queen’s bright smile caught Nyl’s attention. Nyl thought she could sense an “unwhole” one from a glance at this point - one look a the Queen marked her as such.

Nyl put her theory to the test: “Ravens crap in your crown.”

“Shet’s nec, draor,” the queen answered, still smiling.

Unable to interpret the queen’s response, Nyl felt a moment’s uncertainty. But the longer she stared into the queen’s vacant smile, the more confident Nyl felt that the queen had not understood Nyl’s absurd statement. Nyl rolled her eyes and gave the queen her shoulder.

An army of servants rolled in a train of carts piled high with stuffed bird, breads, cheeses, and fruits. They lined their bounty along the walls then distributed servings in a well-rehearsed choreography, evidencing the king hosted many feasts such as this.

Wine poured freely into metal cups. Nyl hardly noticed, finding she hungrily anticipated the heaping portions she saw thrown onto men’s plates. Her mouth watered at savory scents. She could not recall eating once in her short life, but when she picked up knife and fork she found them familiar and knew their use. She already envisioned how she would carve the cooked bird’s flesh once a cut made its way to her.

She saw the king scan the room. Once all his guests had full cups, the King stood and handed his wine to an adolescent boy that appeared from seemingly nowhere. The boy took a sip and returned it to the king. The king watched the boy for a few seconds, nodding in satisfaction when the child did not immediately perish from poison.

The king raised his cup in the air and shouted: “A drink offering!”

Guests nearby pounded the table with their fists again. The signal spread, all knights hammering their palms with enough force for cups to bounce and spill some of their contents.

All now paid attention (except for the servants still delivering food) and the king signaled for silence. The hammering ceased.

“For three weeks the dragon terrorized our serfs. All present heard the wailing of your peasants. Hardly a holding in my kingdom went without harm. I summoned every knight of my house as swiftly as I could, but still I regret that it took me so long.”

Knights howled a loud objection to the king’s guilty admission. Nyl saw their love for their liege lord, and congratulated her wise decision not to attack this man when they had first met.

The king smiled graciously and signaled for quiet, then continued: “Every fearless one of you answered the summons. I cannot lie, your courage and loyalty moves me to tears. Not a single knight of my realm made an excuse, not even you, Bijan!”

Men in the hall laughed. Sir Bijan, a heavily scarred man of thin and fizzy gray hair, pushed his chair back and stood. He seemed to be approaching seventy and displayed a weathered, gap-toothed, smile. The knights beside him stood to embrace him and pat his back. Bijan laughed together with his comrades until a wheezing cough forced him back down into his chair.

“We rode out to slay the beast.” The king said. He slammed his cup down, spilling a copious amount of wine. “Imagine our surprised to find it already dead!”

The men cheered and hammered tables again, this time adding the stomp of their feet. The hall quaked with their vigor.

Nyl could see these men had much to celebrate, and celebrated often. She wondered if the castle’s stones had ever toppled from such abuse.

The king signaled for silence again. “We feared heavy casualties, yet a mere three knights and their small retinue killed the beast before we got there! All hail Dame Nyl!”

“Nel! Nel! Nel!” the men chanted.

“All hail Sir Arcade!”

“Er-cod! Er-cod! Er-cod!”

Arcade stood then. Men noticed, and a hush spread.

“All hail Dame Garuna,” Arcade said, holding his cup high. He overturned it and spilled his wine onto the floor.

The cheers turned to murmurs. Men looked to each other, sharing whispers and questioning looks.

One knight slammed his fist on the table, stood up, then raised his own cup and poured its contents onto the floor.

More knights followed. Within the next few moments, the whole room had stood to flood the hall’s floor with emptied wine.

The king raised his wine. “This was my finest vintage,” he said, then added: “To the brave. And the fallen.”

The king overturned his cup.

Nyl’s guilt burned hot. She barely noticed the tear roll down her cheek, thinking she might go numb if put through much more. A servant heaped a heavy portion onto her plate, but Nyl’s appetite had gone.

“Now, eat!” the king said, handing his empty cup to the child poison tester.

The knights’ next cheer came a bit subdued after Arcade’s grim tribute.

The king sat and grabbed up a fork and knife. He carved himself a slice of bird then seemed to notice Nyl’s discomfort. He leaned in close and whispered:

“None have slain the dragon before my men and I arrived.”

Nyl looked down and squirmed in her seat, unready for talk.

“A million, perhaps a billion times I have hosted this feast,” the king persisted. “More often, this feast never happens. You hedge knights come, and even if you survive, Sir Roland or Sir Bertrand normally slays your champion.”

Despite her foul mood, the king’s words piqued Nyl’s curiosity.

“You wonder who they are,” the king said, sensing Nyl’s interest. “When you adventurers come yow always find us already engaged with the dragon. We then battle the beast together for the whole afternoon. And always, Sir Bertrand, the knight with the demon skull, finds himself in a dispute with your champion. Who performed the greatest feat? Who landed the killing blow? And he condemns your meddling, accuses you of causing unnecessary death.”

“This one event is your entire reality?” Nyl asked.

“No,” the king said. “The dragon comes once a year. I cannot truly explain how. I run my kingdom to the best of my ability. Justly. Wisely. I think I am good in this role. But the sun rarely sets when it should. Days stretch into weeks, sometimes months. My men arrive from homes they never return to. My serfs harvest a crop that is never plante. Winter seems short, and I cannot recall the last time I saw spring.”

“None of this is real,” Nyl concluded.

“No, it is real,” the king insisted.

“Do you have a name, then?” Nyl asked.

The king did not seem to hear her. “Nine times out of ten, you all perish to the dragon. The sun sets then, and this feast never happens. Should you survive, nine times out of ten, Sir Bertrand, the knight with the leering demon face for a helmet, kills you champions in one-on-one duels until none of you stand. Should one of you be lucky enough to best him, his brother Sir Roland always challenges you next. He is the man with the sunburst helmet. After the fight with the dragon and the duel with Bertrand, hardly one in a thousand of you survive Roland’s avenging wrath.”

“But they did not challenge us,” Nyl said.

The king shoved food into his mouth, chewed a few times. “You killed the dragon before we arrived, a feat I thought impossible. You changed everything. Sir Bertrand and Sir Roland seem to have…” The king frowned. “They live, yet they are not present when they should be. The brothers are my two best men and would never leave my side. Perhaps, thanks to you, I can finally finish the last ten years of my reign. Retire, and pass my lands and my throne to my son.”

Nyl tried again: “My liege, do you have a name?”

But the king already made to stand before Nyl got two words through her lips. “Arcade!” he shouted.

“Yes, your majesty?” Arcade said, rising in answer.

Nyl did not look at him, instead noticing the king’s beautiful daughter and her smile. The girl sat next to Arcade, and upon seeing both their plates untouched, Nyl felt certain the two had talked.

The king pointed a fork at Arcade: “The mood has darkened. Tell us the tale of how you slew the dragon!”

Nyl scowled. In an effort to hide her face, she tried the wine, and found it bitter to her taste.

“Very well,” Arcade said, and the room hushed. Every man’s ear seemed queued to his voice at this feast.

Arcade launched into the story. He spoke of how Garuna the Swift lived up to her namesake, charging ahead of the group. He described Garuna’s equine mastery, dodging the dragon’s deadly breath twice. The third blast of flame killed her horse, but she leapt safely away.

The dame landed and found the dragon’s nest - by luck, or by the instincts of a huntress-born, he knew not. This forced the mother to land, and Garuna met the she-dragon with her lance’s tip.

Enraptured by Arcade’s telling, none noticed the wetness fill Nyl’s eyes.

How can they condemn her to a lonely death, then suddenly care so much? Nyl knew the hypocrisy of her private thoughts. She tried to convince herself Garuna had died from weakness. But Nyl knew this to be false. Garuna had been strong. If not for her, Nyl might not have bested the beast. She had not considered that the dragon might pick them off from the air, or that the king’s men would challenge them for glory. Garuna, by luck or intent, had solved both problems.

As Arcade continued, Nyl changed her mind about the bitter wine. She emptied her cup in one draught.

“The dragon, roaring in pain, back-handed Dame Garuna away. Not a breath later, Dame Nyl streaked in, the tip of her lance glinting above the muck, steady above the charge of her horse…”

A servant came with a pitcher and refilled Nyl’s cup. Again, she tossed its contents down her throat.

Arcade told of how Nyl sank her lance to the handle and the beast’s scales tore it away. Still the she-beast would not die, roaring, turning, unhorsing Nyl with its thrashing tail. Its pain and panic left it wide open to yet a third lance, this time Arcade’s.

Nyl’s head swam. Warm fuzziness spread through her limbs, though her heart turned to ice.

“My lance, the third to strike, sank only half as deep as Dame Garuna’s, who caught the beast under its own weight. And my lance sank only a third as deep as Dame Nyl’s, her strength and technique unmatched. These wounds finally slowed the beast. An arrow caught it in the eye. Dame Nyl’s horse fled, but she persisted with her sword, hacking at the beast’s limbs and slicing it across the snout.”

Nyl’s grip upon her cup tightened as she lived through the fight a second time. The real fight had been horrifying and glorious. And while Arcade told the tale true, this second time felt far from that. It shamed her.

Arcade moved to center of the room. Not a single fork or knife moved, so engrossing did the knights find Arcade’s story. A few men sipped their wine, their cups barely tilting, daring not to obstruct their eyes and risk missing a detail.

A servant again refilled Nyl’s cup. She pushed the cup away, regretting how much she had imbibed, the strong drink hitting her hard.

Arcade reached the climax of the story, recounting strikes with swipes of his arms. Another retainer’s lucky bowshot put an arrow into the wounded beast’s nostril. A recovered Garuna sank her sword to the hilt betwixt the scales in its hide. The dragon reflexively raked its teeth at the pain, scraped Garuna up in its jaws, then threw her armored body aside like a ragdoll.

Nyl hacked one of the beast’s wicked claws off at the wrist. Before it retaliated, Arcade swept past on his horse and raked two long cuts with his sword, flaying a dozen scales from its hide with each impact.

Still the beast fought, though it weakened further. Its jaws snapping at her, Nyl bashed in its teeth with her shield and cut its face several more times. The dragon retaliated with its breath, scorching Nyl’s shoulder. Arcade made another pass on his horse to flay its other flank. Finally, Nyl, her armor aflame, leapt atop its neck to stab her sword down into its brain. The dragon thrashed one last time then died.

The end of Arcade’s tale hushed the room again. Arcade’s proud, smiling face turned on Nyl then, seeking her approval. His expression wilted into concern at her sadness. He took a step her way, his mouth opening in question.

The king’s eldest son stood and began to clap. The sentiment spread at the speed of blazing oil, every man standing to give thunderous applause. The ovation evolved into hands pounding tables and heels stomping the floor.

Nyl felt every pair of eyes in the room settle on her.

“Nel! Nel! Nel!” the men started to chant.

The adoration Nyl once sought and cherished meant nothing to her now. She looked back to Arcade, head spinning from the wine, her heart aching from memory of Garuna’s courage.

Through her swimming vision, Nyl spied a shimmering shape of gold approach her companion, Arcade.

Arcade turned at her touch, unable to help a smile at the princess’s beauty. The girl plucked a flower from her hair and secured its stem in the crook of Arcade’s ear.

If Nyl had thought the hall loud before. the princess’s act set off an explosion. Knights reacted many different ways, all of them loud. Some pretended to swoon like maidens, some feigned broken hearts. Some made maudlin promises of immediate suicide at losing her courtship. Others simply shouted nonsensically, their minds struck blank with exhilaration and shock.

The stones quaked, torches rattled on the walls and candle chandeliers swayed from the rafters. Pewter plates clanged to the floor and toppling fruits rolled dangerously underfoot. The shouting and merriment grew so loud not even the king could silence his men.

Amidst such noise none noticed Nyl shoot to an intoxicated stand, her face scrunched and ugly with jealousy. Furious, Nyl cast her full wine cup at Arcade and the princess.

Arcade stepped in front of the princess and slapped the tumbling cup from the air. Red liquid splashed his face. Wine sprayed past him onto the princess’s expensive dress, redecorating it with ugly drooping stains.

None saw the assaulting cup’s origin, and few noted Nyl’s sudden departure. The princess, after despairing at her ruined dress, looked up to find her chosen handsome knight had gone.

Nyl pushed angrily past servants hurrying this way and that. None paused to question her passing, not even the two she knocked over, all of them too busy with the logistics of the king’s feast.

Nyl’s restless step took her up a spiral staircase. Panting, she reached the tower’s battlement and threw open a pair of wooden arrow shutters. A pink and yellow evening sunset poured through the gap, along with a breeze that blew loose hairs over her ears.

She recalled her previous visit to a tower. It had hardly been hours since she held a besieged wall alongside men in bronze. This tower’s narrow confines and uneven steps reminded her of the blood-soaked gatehouse and the desperate fight. The thrill of that battle and the glorious sensation of a thousand warriors chanting her name felt like yesterday, yet simultaneously seemed an age distant.

Her heart beat twice as hard now as it had during that battle.

“Why am I still here?!” Nyl demanded from the sun.

The sun, still and timeless, did not respond.

Nyl fingered the tip of the serving knife she had lifted from a cart at the feast hall, testing its sharpness. Its edge chipped her nail with little pressure.

A voice startled her: “Only one may survive this test.”

Nyl stuffed the knife under her buckled jerkin and spun to face Arcade.

Arcade seemed winded, evidencing a chase to find and catch her. He came up the last few steps cautiously. His shirt dripped with wine. He no longer wore the princess’s favor behind his ear.

Nyl’s heart ached at the sight of him. “Only one? How do you come to this dreadful conclusion?”

“After the bath, I tried to follow you. I somehow fell asleep before I got far,” he explained. “Then the voice told me this.”

Nyl’s blood ran cold. She rested her hand over her chest, closer the hidden knife. “So you are here to fight me.”

“No, Nyl.” Arcade spread his empty hands and continued his slow approach.

“Why did you come here, Arcade?” Nyl stepped away from him.

“To explain myself, and ask a question.”

“You misunderstand! Why did you abandon Garuna, you fool! Why did we…” Nyl felt the pressure of sadness in her eyes, but she had reached her limit, too dry for tears.

Arcade stood still then. “You seek to prove yourself, Nyl. As do I. As did Garuna.”

“To prove what?” Nyl hated the whimpering petulance in her voice.

“To prove who is the strongest.” Arcade resumed his slow approach. “Now answer my question: why the restraint?”

“Restraint?” Nyl said, flabbergasted. She backed away, eluding Arcade’s advance. “That is what you think of me? Restrained?”

“You are the strongest,” he said simply. “I could never beat you fairly. And I am not some sulking assassin. End me. End this,” he gestured to window through which the sun poured light.

“The voice did not come to me,” Nyl said. “I heard no instruction to kill you.”

“Then why do you carry a knife,” Arcade said.

Nyl’s retreat orbited the room. She stumbled, nearly slipping down the open stairway. She corrected course, hastening to keep distance between them.

“I thought to kill the king,” she explained, wishing he would stay away, wishing she could let him come close. “Perhaps his death would end this pointless charade.”

“Even you could not survive his men’s wrath,” Arcade said. “He is just a pawn, like us.”

“That imbecile princess then. I would kill her for the sheer joy of it!”

Arcade laughed humorlessly. “This would achieve nothing, and you know it.”

“Stay back!” Nyl said, feeling at her rope’s end. She pulled the knife out and threatened him with it.

“Kill me,” Arcade said, stepping closer

Nyl saw clarity in his blue eyes, felt his determination. “I will, if you force me!”

“I will force you,” Arcade said, stepping faster.

“Why?” Nyl shouted, plaintive, dancing away from him.

“You should know why.”

He leapt at her knife. Nyl spun away from him, dodging under his wide arms, his grab at her half-hearted.

“Why!” Nyl shouted again. She tried to summon anger but managed only sorrow.

Arcade stopped, said: “I fear myself falling in love with you.”

Arcade’s normally stoic lip curled at this admission. He turned aside to hide his face behind his hand.

A moment of incomprehension. Then, Nyl’s heart shattered. Heat flushed her chest, flowed down to her fingers and toes. She could not imagine being happier or more upset. She felt an utter fool. A shard of ice still persisted in her gut.

“Now you have the truth,” Arcade’s voice sounded unusually thin. “Kill me and be gone from here.”

Nyl flexed her fingers on the knife’s handle, her hands numb and leaden. Certainly, not a single day had yet passed since she first came to self-awareness in the middle of a savage battlefield.

But she also felt as if she had sleep-walked through a lifetime of trials.

Arcade sniffed once, then recovered his composure. He stood up straight and looked her stonily in the eye. “Do it. Make it quick, however you like. Or plunge it into my heart, so that I may look at you one last time.”

Nyl thought herself too drained for tears. She had been wrong – they dripped in lines from her cheeks.

She charged him. They embraced.

Arcade’s jaw went slack.

Nyl opened her hand. The knife clattered to the wooden floor.

“Perhaps we’ll meet again,” Arcade grunted, hugging her tight.

“Shut up,” Nyl said, releasing him just enough to look up into his eyes.

Arcade noticed he had not been stabbed, his eyes spotting the bloodless knife on the floor.

“What?”

“I said shut up,” Nyl repeated. She pulled his head down and kissed him.

He wrapped his arms around her to pull her in.

The sun sank swiftly beneath the horizon, plunging the companions into darkness.

Nyl grabbed at empty air, felt nothing but the wetness of Arcade’s lips still fresh on her lips.

“No!” she howled.

The hollow and metallic voice spoke like it always did.

You slew the dragon. You survived where others perished. You triumphed-

Nyl resisted the calming pleasure the voice normally brought, held fiercely to her hurt and anger.

“Silence!” she shouted. “Return me to Arcade!”

The voice said nothing for a moment.

Then it resumed: You have earned a title: Knight-

“I don’t care!” Nyl tried to stomp her foot, but her heel connected to nothing. Either she floated in nothing or suffered through disembodiment, she could never tell a difference.

The voice ignored her outburst: You have risen from contender to candidate.

You have earned a question, to which an appropriate answer will be given.

“What happens to Garuna? Who is that boy who said she is his mother? Why did you tell Arcade only one could win the last trial? Where has Arcade gone? What is the purpose of these tests?” Nyl’s tirade ran her out of breath.

The voice paused. While normally slow to answer, this silence lasted longer than any before.

Nyl worried that her impatience may have cost her an answer, and her heart sank.

But the voice did speak, finally: Your five questions can be totaled into one and answered. On your path to become “Basilissa,” you and Arcade became one in advance of the curve.

“I no longer care for this farce,” Nyl said.

The voice ignored her vain rebellion: Your statistical chance is more favorable than the average at: five-point-nine million to one.

Defy the odds. Face destiny. Seize your legacy. Become “Basilissa,” your true namesake, still unearned.

Be born again. Be victorious again. Be rewarded again.

The sun rose, bringing Nyl to another new world.