Thanatos: The Dawn of Blood

Prologue: You Know His Name

He was staring outside the window again.

Opis never knew exactly what his master was looking at. Perhaps it might have been the sky, if only his eyes weren't avoiding its dying blue hue painted across the horizon. The clouds seemed to be a plausible case, but his eyes only looked blankly in between them like a foggy mist. The sun, while it slashed across his face with its setting glory, didn't make him stare back at it.

To his lord, the world beyond the glass was a frozen relic of what once was, a memory trapped in the annals of time. The view beyond the panes was a tapestry of stillness, unchanging, and unchallenged. The lord's gaze was fixated on the frigid scene, his eyes a window to the past, as if he sought to uncover the secrets hidden within the frozen wasteland. It was as if he searched for something—some glimmer of hope or truth—buried deep within the ice and snow. And so he gazed, his eyes unwavering, as he delved into the depths of his own thoughts and memories, forever seeking what lay beyond the frozen world outside.

Lately, his master had taken to sitting in the far reaches of his chambers, by the window, near his bed. The chair he occupied was a stout piece of furniture, crafted from the finest wood, its sturdy frame not permitting the slightest slouch. Unlike the plush cushions that adorned the chairs in the rest of his quarters, he acquainted himself with this one easily.

Opis set the cup of tea down—a steaming brew of mint and honey—by his lord's side. The lingering scent mingled with the lavender's smoky essence. The old butler needed to replace those flowers dangling from the ceiling again. He crossed his arms behind his back and awaited his lord's command.

He was the very image of divinity, a god made flesh. Yet, he was more than just a mere depiction, for reality was always harder to capture in words. He was attired in a tunic of the darkest black, its hem brushing against his ankles. His cloak lay draped across the back of his chair, a shadow made substance, and the solitary ruby pendant that hung from its folds twinkled like a star in the night sky.

With his hand just shy of grasping at his own throat, he took slow, deep breaths. Opis felt somewhere in his heart clench. "The tea will grow cold, my lord," he murmured.

And still his lord chose to look outside the window. The steam from the cup growing fainter and fainter.

Then a knock came, rapping against the doors of the chambers. Opis pursued his lips slightly and went to the doors at the wave of his lord's hand. A young thing greeted him on the other side. Treading along the cusp of boyhood, the lad still had the fat of his cheeks plump his face and that youthful blush that coated his skin. He shuffled his feet a few times at the sight of the butler and then squared his slumped shoulders.

"I am here to deliver a message from His Grace." The boy declared, and Opis couldn't help but linger on the jiggling fat of his cheeks as he spoke. His voice didn't align with his face. With a glance towards his lord, who sat silent and still as stone, Opis motioned for the boy to enter.

He gestured towards the bedroom with a sweep of his arm and said, "Please follow me," and the boy obeyed, trailing behind him like a timid duckling.

The boy trailed his eyes around every inch of the room, stopping when he felt a new pair of eyes trailing over his own figure. The sudden red blush on his cheeks clashed with the cold waves licking up his spine when he turned and met two crimson infernos.

Opis stood in between the two and observed how the boy's bones seemed to rattle beneath his skin as his lord stared.

When the boy continued to shake in his place and not say a thing, Opis took pity on his young, dead soul, saying, "He is a messenger from Hades, my lord."