Worlds of Waves and Shadows

Epilogue

Emotions evaded him, obliterated by the overwhelming sense of helplessness and resignation as he awaited his trial.

A thousand eyes, cold and calculating, pierced through the fabric of his soul as he knelt in the centre of the throne room, icy locks obscuring his vision as he stared at the dark marble—a lone survivor amidst a sea of obsidian.

Whispers, like serpents slithering through the ranks of courtiers—their cold malevolence coiled around him—sneers sharper than the blades hidden beneath their finery.

The court was gilded with gold and black—a glamorous prison with pillars carved with twisted, bloody victories instead of metal bars to keep him trapped. He knew all too well of the frescos on the ceiling; to him, they had always been akin to haunting spectres, their contorted form pressing down on him with an inevitable fate.

The stone seats that lined the sides of the room seemed to loom over him, their ragged structure exuding harsh judgement devoid of any mercy and yet somehow, even colder and harsher than the chairs they occupied were the figures perched atop them—radiating icy disdain—their eyes like chips of obsidian, devoid of even a morsel of warmth or compassion. In this room, every smile was a grimace disguised, every word a weapon poised to strike you down.

"Aeryx, Son of Tenebris, the Supreme Sovereign of Eternus," A raspy voice echoed through the cavernous hall, devoid of any spark of humanity, "You stand accused of colluding with the outlaws of the Rebel Sect, Vel'Korin."

He didn't need to raise his gaze to recognise Corvus, his father's right hand, and his mentor for as long as Aeryx could remember—a bony silhouette sculpted from shadows and whispers.

A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips as he gazed at the man, all but skin and bones with a mind that worked faster than the speed of light. The man's beady eyes, as vacant as a starving hawk, met his in a flicker of cold judgment, lips pressed in a hard line.

"Is there anything you wish to say in your defence, boy?" A deep voice rumbled through the air, forcing him to meet the gaze of the figure that loomed over him, seated on his throne of shadowed nightmares, placed high on the dais, metres away. The throne's head held the emblem of a Shadow Wolf, howling in front of a crescent moon.

Sunlight dared not fully grace his form, as if afraid to touch the darkness that clung to him like a second skin. His body was adorned in rich swashes of silver and black fabric. It did little, however, to cover his torso—lined with weathered muscles, stretching across the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders. A jagged scar—starting just below his left collarbone—ran across his abdomen. His taunt, pale skin was marred by many such markings, testaments to his brutality. They seemed to echo the lives of those crushed under his wrath.

A disgruntled laugh bubbled up within him, emerging from his throat as it filled the room and before he knew it, his laughter was bouncing off the walls. Aeryx sat there on his knees, laughing like a madman for a good long minute before he raised his shackled wrists to wipe at his eyes.

"I didn't do anything wrong, father." Aeryx said, "Helping the people of Eternus should hardly be condemned this way."

The king's face, a marble mask carved with perpetual fury, held no hint of mercy. His raven hair, slicked back like a predator's wing, seemed to absorb the fading light, an equally intimidating beard framing his lips, thin with scorn. But it was the eyes that unnerved Aeryx the most. They always had, ever since he had been a little boy.

They were bottomless pits of pure onyx, always hungry for violence, never sated no matter how many souls he consumed. In their fathomless depths stirred something dark...something ancient, primal and terrifying—a storm brewing in the depths of a dead star. And he knew all too well what it was capable of.