She stared down at the floor, the hardwood looking back up at her almost expectantly. What did it want from her? To get up and leave? How could she do that? She felt so powerless, so uncomfortable like something was pressing down upon her from all sides. This could not be happening, it should not be happening. She had done everything in her power to stop it and yet it still crept up on her. Looking up to her left, she saw the visage of her husband. A large brick wall of a man, standing at full height nearly a foot above her. His muscles rippled, he could crush a watermelon between both of his thighs if he so chose. When she first met him, she was instantly infatuated. He was a mystery, a shut book with a tight lock, and she had to find the key. She regarded him and smiled warmly when he looked over. He smiled back but she could see there was no emotion in her eyes. It was a dead glare, devoid of anything. Not lust, nor anger. She wished he could give her the same look she did when they were young. 

The door opened, and a woman stepped in. She wore a purple robe and golden metallic gloves. “Mrs. Evanteus D’Oiler,” she said proudly as if a mythical hero was sitting in her office. It wasn’t entirely untrue. Sometimes, Marella Evanteus D’oiler was considered the most beautiful woman in the empire. Long perfect golden curls fell around her face, and she sported high cheekbones and olive-colored skin. She had a tall slender figure, though not as tall as her husband’s, and freckles all over nearly every part of her body. She was a noble, from the wealthy family Oiler, but she could be seen as a pseudo-celebrity. Her portrait has been painted many times, she lost count after twenty. Everyone in the entire empire adored her. There was just one person who couldn’t see her beauty… “I’m Dr. Rivett. I’ve just been going over the formalities. It looks like you were approved! Though I don’t see why you wouldn’t have been,” she forced an awkward chuckle. “Anyway, shall we get started?” Marella looked at her other half for just a split second, before nodding. 

Dr. Rivett didn’t say anything after that and simply fell to her knees. Marella bit her lip, watching the doctor intently. She focused, holding her hand out to Marella’s stomach, and a light blue light began to creep up her veins and into her palm. Marella waited patiently, dreading what was coming next. She couldn’t help but let her mind wander into the past, to a time she would rather not remember. 

There she was, in the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror. How was she going to do it? The question bounced around her head and echoed itself back onto her periodically. Finally, she heard clomping up the stairs. The door swung open and he walked in, her husband. Marella looked over at him and bit her lip. “My love…” she said softly. He grimaced at this, and took his shirt off, revealing much of his upper body. She could see the detail in his large brown nipples, and the chiseled lines of his chest and abdomen. Blushing, she gulped and entered the bedroom. “I erm… I missed it, my dear…” She said softly. He sat down on the bed, and it sagged under his immense body. He looked up at her, and then down to between her legs, and nodded. “I’m-”

“You don’t have to say anything else,” He said to her. It didn’t seem to be meant in negativity, it was rather reassuring. 

“Congratulations!” The voice of the doctor pierced through her ears and invaded her memory. Marella looked down to see the doctor staring up at her with a corner-to-corner grin spread across her mouth. “I think it might be a girl!” 

“Oh!” Marella said softly. She tried her best to sound surprised, and excited. She looked over to her husband, who stared back at her blankly. Dr. Rivett stood up and regarded the awkward moment. 

“Erm- well, you seem to be about three weeks along,” she said. “Just make sure to listen to your body. When you’re tired, rest. When you’re hungry, eat. If you have any complications with the baby, you can always come back!” She gave them both a warm smile, but it was mainly directed at Marella. They both thanked the doctor and stood, making their way out of the office. He said nothing to her as they walked down the corridor. She looked at him, walking in front of her. What a perfect specimen he was, but such an impenetrable shell around his body. Reaching out, she wrapped her arms around his bicep and walked alongside him. He let it happen but just stared on awkwardly.

“I’m going for a walk,” he said as they left the clinic. She let go of his arm and watched. She could say something, could break the ice completely through. She could throw herself at his knees and beg for his forgiveness. But there was nothing she could do now. He looked back at her. “Is that okay?” She nodded, and he disappeared into the crowd. It didn't matter, there were other plans that she had made. Having her husband gone complicated them less.

The empty mansion she entered loomed over her as she pushed open the large thick wooden door. “My Lady,” A servant said immediately, offering her a hot towel. She held up a hand dismissively and sighed. No one asked about her husband, this was expected. 

“Tell the other servants to take the rest of the morning off,” Marella said. Antoins, the servant, tilted his head in her direction and soon disappeared. Marella took the next few minutes to sulk around her large empty house. At a point, she undressed and adorned herself in a thin silken robe. Finally, there was a large knock on the door. This allowed her to push the constant anxious thoughts from her mind. When she opened the door, he stood there. Just a couple of inches taller than her, with a slender frame, in blue silk robes. “Lucillo!” she said, throwing her arms around his neck. It was the Empress’ brother, very powerful even for a man. He wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed her tightly. 

“How are you, my love?” He said softly, “Is it true?” She nodded. 

“It’s yours…” Marella said softly as if someone was listening to them from across the room. 

“You’re sure of this? Jean did not…?”

“No,” she responded as if he should have known that. Her husband, Jean Evanteus D’Oiler, did nothing of the sort. When she met him she fell instantly in love, but she could tell he never reciprocated. He would never stare at her longingly, or caress her naked body. The most frustrating part is that she loved him deeply. She knew that his heart was in the right place, that he wanted badly to love her. But his heart was completely incapable of feeling love. This he explained quite frankly to her. He considered her a very close friend, but not a lover. It made things hard. Sharing a bed was devoid of emotion, love, or sex. Eating together was a bleak affair of small talk. But she could not leave him. She loved him too much to do that. Her Jean, her husband. He would be the father of her child. “Kiss me,” she suddenly said. 

She did not wait for a response. Both of their lips locked together and they shared a small kiss that got deeper and deeper as they tilted both of their heads. She felt Lucillo’s hands explore her body, before slipping inside her silken robe. She wore nothing under it, and his soft hands on her flesh left a sensation that made her quiver with desire. Breaking the kiss, Lucillo trailed his lips down her neck. She tilted it for him as he guided her up the stairs. The bedroom door was just at the top, and it swung open to reveal her beautiful master bed, covered in a velvet comforter and lined with red curtains. She stepped back from him, and with a smirk pulled him by the hand into bed. Both of them fell in together, sinking into the soft linens. Lucillo pressed her hands up against the bed by the wrists and bit down on her neck as hard as he could without hurting her. This forced a small gasp out of Marella, and she bit her lip. Letting go of her hands, he trailed kisses down her neck to her chest. She shut her eyes, smiling to herself as she felt the tender kisses. As his hand slipped between her legs, his tongue grazed her nipple, and she opened her mouth to let a moan escape. 

“Fuck,” was all she could manage to stammer out as his fingers swirled around her clit. She could not stop her mind from wandering as he trailed his lips down her stomach. As much as she wanted to pay attention, there were other things on her mind. She remembered that day. The day she decided to bring someone else home. The day she decided to be unfaithful to her husband. There was no faith between them to begin, though. He obviously didn’t love her, so could she call it unfaithful? Lucillo was never worried about being caught. He was proud like that, an Empress’ sibling and all. He thought himself to be invincible and free from all punishment. It was nearly enough to make Marella laugh. She knew that his sister Allura would let him burn without a second thought. Nonetheless, she remembered the look of fear on Lucillo’s face when Jean came home early. 

They were in the bedroom, completely naked. Lucillo was deep inside of her, and thrusting weakly in and out. The door swung open in a split second, and in he walked. Her large muscular husband stood in the doorway like a foreboding statue brought to life. Both of them looked at him, and Jean looked back. There was nothing in his eyes, nothing behind his pursed lips. “Dinner will be ready soon,” is all he said, and shut the door. She still remembered the stomp of his boots as he walked back down the stairs. 

Marella tensed up as Lucillo prodded his tongue between her legs. She wrapped her thighs around his neck and tried her best to enjoy herself. But his touch felt meaningless right now. He had implanted her with his seed, a babe conceived out of wedlock. It would be a bastard child. And a niece to the Empress! But no one had to know. She hoped that Jean would be a good father. Jean… what a waste. What a hollow name. She knew what his real name was. After a minute of licking, Lucillo rose up her body again. He never orally pleased her as much as she would like. She wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back as he positioned himself at her sex. Grunting, he thrust himself in, and Marella let a moan escape her lips. As he continued she imagined his muscles bigger, his hair longer, and his cock thicker. She closed her eyes and tried to envision the face of her husband, passionately making love to her on their wedding night. That was the night he whispered his deepest secret into her ear. A secret she would now let escape her lips, though she promised she would never tell. 

“M-” she began to stammer, moaning out. “M-M-Magnus! Bore yourself deep inside of me, Magnus!” She was writhing and twisting in pleasure, arching her back at the thought of the man she loved the most, loving her back. Lucillo didn’t seem to mind, or he did not notice. He was beet red in the face and thrusting as hard as he could, breathing heavily on her neck. “Spill yourself inside of me, Magnus!” She groaned. And with one final thrust he came, his cock twitching and throbbing as it dispensed itself into her. Both of them breathed heavily, and Lucillo collapsed down on top of her, pulling himself out. 

…

“Magnus…” The name was carried on the wind. He swore he heard it as he was strolling through town, deep in thought. It was enough to pull him from his memory, and he looked around. He swore that he knew that voice. A voice that teased the back of his memory, something that he hadn’t heard in many many years. And that name… there were only a few people alive who knew that name. He was imagining things, past glories, battles fought. He shrugged it off and continued down the road. Stopping at a vendor, Jean Evanteus took the time to admire a long brown overcoat he thought would look good on him. “She’s coming, Magnus…” the voice tickled his ear, and he turned around. Furrowing his brow, he looked around. He had definitely heard it this time. Who was the voice talking about? It was at that point that he saw her. 

She was walking confidently through the crowd, observing all of the vendor’s wares. Black hair bobbing in the sunlight, sword at her hip, the crest of house Eloux on her right breast. “Ember Eloux…” he whispered. His hand instinctively reached up to the top of his head, and he felt a sting as he remembered a sword boring into it at lightning speed. How long had it been? When he first met her, she wasn’t a day over seventeen. She must have been at least twenty-seven now. Would she recognize him? When he came back, his face was changed to hide himself. But his body, his height, his muscles, everything else was the same. He tried to hide, nonchalantly looking at the other coats in the vendor's stand. He wasn’t paying attention, however, and when he looked out of the corner of his eye to look for her he realized she was standing just next to him. She looked back, having to trail her eyes upward to look into his face. And she stared, deep in thought.

Magnus Evanteus was suddenly filled with a deep-seated rage. The woman who had toppled his empire and killed him was standing just next to him, casually shopping for clothes. If only he had his sword, he would tug it out and challenge her to a fight to the death. He would be ready this time. “Are you going to stand there or are you going to buy that coat? Because I would like it if you are not,” she finally said. It was a jarring statement, and Magnus looked down at the coat in his hands. Saying nothing, he handed it to Ember, who snatched it from his hands. “I’ll take this!” She declared, handing it to the vendor. Magnus stepped away after this. That was too close for comfort. 

Magnus decided to go back home. His wife was probably still fucking the Empress’ brother, but it was no matter. Some things around the house needed to be done, and he needed to take his mind off the strange voices and old enemies. 

That night he went to bed early, the stink of sex still faint on his sheets. It wasn’t something that bothered him. He loved Marella very much and loved her as a human being completely. But he could not bring himself to lay with her, it was something he was not capable of. Even when he was the emperor of a vast and expanding land he could not. Men and women from all over the realm would throw themselves at his feet and offer up their bodies to him freely. And he would say no every time. He had the capacity for deep and complex love in him. A love that pushed the boundaries of what was acceptable. He desperately wished he could give his wife the romantic love that she craved. But he could not. 

Marella padded into the bedroom from the bathroom and sat down on her side next to him. Nothing was said for a while, and Magnus remained silent. Marella looked over her shoulder at him and bit her lip. “My love-” she started. 

“I know she isn’t mine,” Magnus said. “You don’t have to say it… I’ve barely touched you since we met all those years ago…” Marella didn’t answer. She sat there, deep in thought, a sad expression on her face. Magnus turned to face her and gave her the best reassuring smile that he could. “I want you to know, however, that I will do my best to love this child with all of my heart and soul. I will treat it as if it will be my own,” he rested a hand on her stomach and felt her quiver when he did.

“I love you,” Marella said. Magnus smiled at her, and embraced her, wrapping his burly arms around her waist and squeezing her tightly. “D-Don’t let go, Magnus,” she said after a moment of being held, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Please don’t let go…” she didn’t just mean the hug. She meant everything else, everything about them. She harbored deep and immense guilt for all she had done. For all the times she had been unfaithful, for all the times she had thought about someone else. For all the times she had craved the touch of her husband but did not get it. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. 

“I love you,” his deep voice graced her ears, sending a shiver down her spine. Everything was okay, and both of them were okay. But was she happy? Was he happy? They continued to embrace for what seemed like hours before both of them let go. Magnus turned from her and pulled the velvet comforter over his immense body. Marella pursed her lips and did the same. 

He woke up somewhere else. 

…

Standing in the center of a cold, dark, stone room. There was a cauldron of green fluid glowing in the center, the only source of light in the entire room. “Magnus,” a voice whispered, carried on a wind that didn’t exist. It was the same voice from earlier. It sounded so familiar, could he have forgotten who it belonged to?

“Who is there? What are you?!” Magnus demanded to know. The voice didn’t answer clearly. It completely ignored his questioning. 

“Blood, Magnus! Blood! I need your blood!” Magnus furrowed his brow. He looked around for a point of exit, somewhere he could leave. Was he dreaming? It felt too real. Suddenly he was moving, he hadn’t tried to move his arm, but he suddenly lunged over to a nearby table and grasped a dagger from it. “Blood…” the voice repeated over and over. “Blood of the family, the blood of the brother,” 

“What the hell?!” Magnus stammered as he stumbled over to the cauldron. Looking down into it, he could feel the heat as the thick green fluid bubbled. He thrust a hand out and hovered the dagger a centimeter away from his palm. 

“Blood, Magnus, BLOOD!” He slit his palm, and blood began to gush from the wound, dripping down into the liquid. It stayed there for a minute and then disappeared into the fluid. Nothing happened for a minute after that, and Magnus regained control of his body, stepping back. Before he could get very far, however, a solid tentacle of green fluid leaped from the cauldron and bored itself into his head. He could feel it invading his mind, and before he could scream the memories came flooding back. 

He remembered falling to the ground in a pool of his blood, bleeding out on the floor. Dead, he was dead. Everything was dark. There was no god to answer to, no angels to sound the trumpets of his coming, nor demons to torment him eternally. It was just black nothing. Perhaps at one point, there was something. But the gods were all killed to give humanity magic. He awoke next to a young boy, scrawny and malnourished. Who was this? He tried to remember, but it was so faint. It was coming back to him, however. In the memory, he held up his hand to stroke the boy’s cheek, sunken and wrinkled like a prune. Magic, it cost everything. Long ago it was the gods, now their dead bodies had nearly been siphoned of all magic. In some cases, you had to use yourself. “Drake…” Magnus heard himself say, and it all came back. The smile of his younger brother, the laugh as he played in the courtyard. Yes, his brother, Drake Evanteus, heir to the throne if Magnus was ever to perish. He had brought him back to life at a heavy cost of his own body, and Magnus’ memory. 

“I will find you again, Magnus,” he said. Drake’s body crumbled in front of him after that, reduced to dust. The tendril pulled itself out of his head and Magnus fell to the ground, vomiting. The murky green glowing fluid sloshed and rippled after this, and something rose from its depths. A full human skeleton, dripping with sludgy ichor. Its bony hands gripped the rim of the bowl, and it cocked its head to the side. “Brother,” it said. “It has been too long, hasn’t it?” 

“D-Drake?” Magnus scrambled to his feet. “I… I forgot. I’m so very sorry.”

“I should be the one apologizing,” Drake said. “Controlling you in your sleep like that to bring you here was not appropriate. But I had no idea how else to get you here. Please accept my apology.” Magnus didn’t answer and simply stared in awe. His brother, a skeleton? Devoid of flesh? 

“Your body, Drake,” he stammered. “Your skin, your muscles…” 

“Will come back in time,” Drake finished his sentence for him. “It’s taken nearly a decade for my spirit to take form, now. Finally, I can interact with the world.” 

“Wh-what do you need from me?” Magnus asked. The skeleton looked at him with hollow eyes, sitting back into the cauldron. 

“I cannot yet leave until I have regained my full form. For now, I must rest. But soon I will call on you again if you are willing to help.” He said. “After that, we can work on rebuilding the empire, taking it back!” 

Rebuilding the empire. Something Magnus hadn’t thought of. He had spent so long trying to live his life, trying to survive. Was this even something he wanted any more? He said nothing of this to Drake, not wanting to upset him. But the world had changed in the ten years Drake had been gone, and he would have to learn to accept that a new empire had risen from the ashes of the old one after it had been burned.