“Upon the darkest day of winter, that people called the Long Night, midnight’s shroud enveloped the fortress city of Evereign, and all was quiet beneath the watchful eyes of the slivered moon.

“By day the city gleamed like a beacon of strength that rivaled the gaze of the jealous sun, but it was the nighttime sparkle of flecked granite walls that gave it the nickname Twilight City.”

“Hold on,” the child interrupted, “you promised this was a book about a lost princess, not a city.”

“Yes,” the golden narrator agreed, “this is true. The story is about a princess. And about her brother, the lost prince, though less-so for now. I am coming to her, but I must set the scene, as the playwrights say. May I continue.” It was not a question, though permission was still required.

“Yes.”

“Very good. The Twilight City, ahem. Built by Humans and Dwarves – masters and thieves of stone whose like has long disappeared from the world, you know – no safer place could be found in all the lands of Empyrelia, which stretched from the Frozen Blight in the north to the Shimmer Pale of the south. It was said that not even a storm of Dragons could take this city, were they led by the lost Father of Firewyrms, child of the very Mother Sun herself. Evereign had withstood the Giants Three of Korst, the Hundred Hands of Haggerfore, and the Great Ram of Melismat that had split the Hills of Nordt in days of old. Such tales had grown to legend, and then myth, little remembered save in sagas of the hearthside or in the fable of bedtime story. Faded words upon a yellowing page.

“This City of Monarchs stood immortal upon the Whispering Prairie, impregnable as the moon and unassailable as the sea. Though peace had ruled the lands for several generations, this place beat with a heart of war, an unending fastness designed to endure when all other Human cities had been conquered and crumbled to dust.”

The child interrupted again. “I know all this. Everyone knows all this.”

“Did you forget what I said about setting the scene?”

“I remember the promise of a story about a princess.”

The golden narrator sighed, though it was a sound more for effect than an actual exhalation of breath. “If you keep interrupting, this tale will take forever.”

“I can listen for that long.”

“Mmm yes, I daresay you could. There is too much of your grandmother in you.”

“Thank you!” the child said brightly.

“I suppose there are worse things a person could take in compliment.” The golden narrator turned a beady eye toward the child. “Have you quite got your wiggles under control?” which of course meant, “Are you done asking questions?”

“Yes!”

“You know, this is twice you have interrupted, and I haven’t even introduced the princess yet.”

“You should get to that part.”

The golden narrator muttered a less flattering comparison to the child’s grandmother, but the child ignored it, preferring a return to the story.

Continuing, the golden narrator said, “Atop Evereign’s tallest tower, a concave pillar of mountain stone named the Children’s Hourglass, sat the nursery: a broad room with wide, encircling balconies. Its windows stood shuttered and curtained against the cold, a job they performed well, though Winter’s Breath put them to a hard task. Within slept the royal children, the greatest treasures of the king and queen, and no better protection could the regal Straverian family provide.

“All the fortifications of the mortal world known as sphere of Malthreare, whether raised by hands or the eternal growth of the land, were nothing to the being that drifted through the nursery. Darker than shadow, an impenetrable blackness, going on for-never, the Shape of Delosh had arrived, colder than the dawn preceding the Mother Sun’s first fiery breath and more ancient. The Shape, the Evershadow called by many whispered names.

The child hissed. “We’re not allowed to use the Dark God’s name!”

“You are not, but I am,” the golden narrator corrected. “My people have no superstition upon the name ‘Delosh’.”

The child did not reply, though wide eyes conveyed a certain delight with the golden narrator’s apparent wickedness.

“Perhaps you should be more concerned for the royal children, whose Fates are about to be forever changed.”

Again, the child remained silent, though they had pulled their blanket up a little further. With that, the narrator continued, spoken words transforming from sound into image as the world took shape and grew before the child’s eyes.

* * * * *

Knowing that It was alone with the children, Delosh drew near their cribs. While It had nothing to fear in mortal lands, success in this endeavor came from absolute secrecy and the remaining ignorance of those who would oppose the undertaking. A single being could bring ruin to all.

“Bahruhk,” the Shape whispered. Come.

A wisp of swirling light appeared; its illumination siphoned by the Evershadow until only a pallid cloud remained. The Mellifluent spoke with a voice seeming to emanate from a thousand mouths: “This one comes at Your bidding, my Dark God.”

Delosh did not deign to answer Its servant, but bent over one twin, and then the other. They were identical in the night, It noted, though It knew they were unique in form by daylight. Delosh was pleased the appointed hour had come at last, yet surprised that It had waited so long. Much preparation had been completed for this night, but the approaching day, oh, that day would be the first step toward the final vengeance.

Delosh said, “I have but minutes upon this mortal world. And here I am, needing only to reach out and take what I desire, yet I hesitate.”

The Mellifluent drifted around one crib, away from the Dark God, where it regained some of its radiance. “Do You fear the Heraden will divine Your plan?” its millenary voices asked as one.

“No. My sibling cannot comprehend what is sought this time,” Delosh replied, swelling in confidence, “for it is born of an understanding that came whilst languishing in the Abyss, gnawed by misfortune and bereft of life.

“For ages, We have been locked in a contest of wills, equal in immortal strength and infinite cunning. Never victory, only shared defeat. What a bitter realization,” Delosh lamented, “to know the change to the Everealm is permanent. Always will there be that balance of light and dark, of chaos and order, of life and death. Of Delosh and the Heraden.”

“My Dark God,” the Mellifluent ventured with an obsequious tone, “You are the First. Eventually, in Your inexhaustible strength, You must triumph. Surely this cannot go on forever?”

The Evershadow surged forth from all directions, enveloping the room in despairing darkness. The god’s voice crashed down within the Mellifluent’s mind like the destruction of a mountain. “It has already gone on forever. Continue it will, forevermore. For a being of infinite possibilities, of eternal chaos, I cannot abide such certainty. I tolerate it no longer.”

The shadow receded across the room, returning to Its previous shape. The children slept on, mercifully oblivious. The Mellifluent, however, shivered as its light returned from the brink of extinction.

Delosh continued, “Tricked by the Heraden into placing a protection over this world, I needed to add My Own pieces on the board, and so I brought forth creations, beings of mockery to the Heraden’s own living creatures. I did not understand until recently – and I am certain My sibling did not appreciate the irony – that I had become a creator Myself. The embodiment of things I despised.

“So intent on winning was I, I forgot My Own desire. Do you see? I lost who I was, the Nothing that came before all else. The Absence of life and the Endless. All I desire is the dark and the quiet. I would have the Everealm as it was before. Devoid of all life and light,” Delosh said, Its voice souring. “And so, this time, I do not play to win. The Heraden, a being of growing things and continuance, cannot fathom My goals. I seek The End. The Grimborlen.”

The Mellifluent did not reply, although its worst fear had been confirmed.

The Shape swelled again. “In the creation of things, the Heraden was too clever. Connected is everything, interwoven. Remove the locks of the foundation and all will collapse: the mortal earth where dwell Human, Elf, and Dragon, the encircling Lun, the Mother Sun. For without the mortals, there is no purpose for sun and moon, or the far stars beyond. All bodies of the firmament will fade and die without the eyes and thoughts of Gods and mortals upon them.

“The living creations will tear their world Malthreare asunder and all will crumble into fire and chaos. We Gods will battle alongside them, having given up immortality to stand in corporeal form upon the mortal realm. Destruction will be sowed, while reapers fill the lands. The creations of the Heraden and their own cursed progeny will finally understand that it is not about winning nor is it about balance.

 “When the foundations falter, all beings great and small will descend into nothingness, serving as catalyst for the end of all else. Then the Everealm will be as it once was. Nothingness. The void I knew before the Heraden came.”

“There will be Delosh,” said the Mellifluent. “Only Delosh.”

Delosh returned Its attention to the Human children who lay in peaceful slumber. “It begins with these two.”

* * * * *

The Mellifluent shimmered with disapproval. “‘Two ants upon the mountainside,’ the Dwarves would say.”

“As to Me is the entire Dwarven race and all its ancestors, back to their Stone-Mother,” Delosh responded with contempt. “You found the children who are the embodiment of the words.” It was not a question.

The Mellifluent acknowledged this with a shimmer. “They were born during the Midsummer Starfall, coming to life as Lun’s children died.” Its response faltered as it wondered whether reassurance was required. Delosh must never doubt. “You take the path of destiny, my Dark God, which has granted lesser travelers all they desire. It was foretold by the wise Elf-seer Vistalen, who tried to kill herself lest her words become known.” It shivered as it considered her doom. “In the fates of gods and mortals, there is but one ending to the tale of this age. Well do You know the words.”

“They have twisted within Me like the unquiet dead since you faithfully reported them.” Delosh began to chant, words falling from Its mouth like stones from the precipice:

Twins they be in birth alone

Different tales, they walk unknown

Of the other with sim’lar fate

Ends entwined ‘round another’s hate

Curs-ed gifts they were bestowed

Doomed to restlessness ‘pon the road

Bone from the earth, immortal stone and clay

Poisoned flower, burst forth in dark decay

The blackest shadow behind them falls

Its voice from the oblivion calls

Death behind and death ahead

Marks them as Its one true dread

The fall of mighty god at hand

A true successor from darkest land

To rise higher than it has before

To rule the faithless on ev’ry shore

The fates of all ‘pon earthly plane

Lay in the grasp of the mortal bane

Lost royals two shall conquer none

Unless death’s challenge truly won

Faced with storm, with fire, with cold abyss

The kingly son, the regal miss

Bone from the earth, immortal stone and clay

Poisoned flower, burst forth in dark decay

As Delosh finished, an expectant tension filled the air and the Mellifluent dimmed. At last, the Shape spoke. “Amethestra and Adamantin. ‘Twins they be in birth alone.’ They await my gifts.”

* * * * *

“You have limited time, my Dark God,” the Mellifluent urged. Already an unseen force pulled at the Shape. The protections upon this world are strong indeed, it thought. A push was required. “You must tether Yourself to the first child to give Yourself time to attend the second.”

“Mmm.” The Abyssal god chose the sleeping prince first. A dark limb disengaged from the shadow and swung down to scoop up the babe. The arm slid through the crib rail and feather mattress like an apparition but had substance enough to lift him.

The dark shape of Delosh studied the boy. “Such frailty. Such innocence. And yet for My plan to succeed I must bind Myself to these insubstantial wisps of flesh in the mortal realm.”

The Evershadow’s voice assumed Its typical arrogant tone. Whatever trepidation there had been, it was gone. “In time, the Heraden will consider the possibility of such a scheme, although in wisdom, the use of the Human monarchs’ own children is unfathomable to one who would never consider such a stratagem.”

“My Lord,” the Mellifluent said cautiously. “To introduce such impurity into Your perfection, such weakness into the potency of Your strength, this one worries for the risk.” It was pleased with the subtleness of the goad.

“You mistrust My judgment.”

The light of the Mellifluent diminished further until it was little more than roiling grey smoke. “No, my Dark God. This one simply cannot comprehend Your wisdom, prophecy or no.”

“The Elves say one cannot dye the sea. He is but a droplet in an infinite ocean.”

“As You say, my Dark God.”

The Shape continued to study the child. “He will be protected, will he not?”

“My Dark God, there will be none so protected in all the realms of Humankind.” The Mellifluent drifted to each balcony as it spoke, gesturing toward lands far away. “Dragons and Elves and lesser beings pledge their lives to the throne. Given even the choice between his sister and he, Humans and others will choose the prince, the heir to the Monarchy of Empyrelia.”

“Amethestra is older.”

“A curiosity. Nothing more. The protection of the Crown shields most strongly the firstborn male.”

“Firstborn male,” Delosh mused, before addressing the boy. “Like your sister, I also came first, though rule of the immortal realm was given to another.

“Stolen, by another,” the Mellifluent added, unctuously.

“Indeed.” Another appendage appeared, a sun-bright globe within Its grasp. It pushed the golden light into the boy’s chest. The prince stirred, cooed, and was silent. The limb retreated, holding a red spark. The boy was returned to his crib.

“A piece of My immortality now hides within you, Adamantin. My estradillion, My safe harbor. A painful gift it may be, but it will be a protection for you, nevertheless. I must trade essence for essence, sessellimiss nin sessellimiss, as the Elves say.”

“You condemn him to living,” the Mellifluent suggested.

“For a time, and longer than he should.” Delosh inspected the spark, the light of which did not diminish beneath Its gaze. “There is strength in you. There is no quail of fear, despite a measure of your mortality resting within the grasp of one such as Me.” The god held it up for the Mellifluent to see. “This. This is My first of a thousand steps. ‘Bone from the earth, immortal stone and clay,’” It repeated. “My tether.” The Shadow absorbed the spark and Its edges shimmered as Its size diminished. As the light subsided, the shapeless had form. Substance.

The black silhouette of a man.

The Mellifluent glided closer to observe. And comment. “You feel the pinprick of mortality puncturing the veil of Your immortality, my Dark God. To one who has never experienced pain,” it said, withholding its relish, “there is likely nothing worse.”

Delosh, Dark God of the ancient world, The First, the Evershadow, Bringer of Death, Warden of Lost Souls, dropped to His knees, gasping. The flood of sensation overwhelmed Him, surprised Him. For the first time in unnamed years, Delosh experienced curiosity.

The Mellifluent said no more, though it slowly became more radiant as the Shadow diminished.

The Dark God struggled to newly formed feet and looked at His hands. “I do not have words to describe these sensations. I feel,” He paused, looking for the right word, “I feel imprisoned behind an insubstantial membrane. Yet I am torn between desiring more and wanting this agony to end. It is troubling and intriguing.”

* * * * *

He turned to the princess. “I, too, am more deserving of rule than My sibling. You seem fated to a life of suffering, little Amethestra, so it is fitting that I bestow this upon you.” His arm shrank into His body before rematerializing, a second golden light clenched in His fingers. As the hand passed through the baby’s chest, her skin paled and a shadow crossed her face. The princess began to whimper. “Always will others wish to use you against your brother, and so I do, My second tether.”

“You place her forever in the shadow of her brother, an unending cruelty.”

“For a time.” His hand retreated, holding a red spark identical to the prince’s. “I sense you are as strong as your brother. Maybe stronger! Truly, a sign that the children of prophecy have been found.

“Yet, I am no stranger to Fate. I foresee that your brother’s path will someday cross Mine and I have given him a dangerous strength! I make this trade as guarantee of his compliance. Hidden within you resides what your tongue might call a poison or an evil. It will flourish, like a parasite, and none but I may remove it after today, even from your corpse. ‘Poisoned flower, burst forth in dark decay,’” He recited, absorbing the radiant spark from the princess. His form glowed in outline like the horizon that masked the sun.

Delosh, Dark God of the Old World, Enemy of the Light and Living, Poison to the Blood of Mortals, inhaled His second breath.

If the first touch of mortality had been unbearable, the growth of Human life coursing through Him was a hundredfold worse for this most ancient being. Delosh collapsed.

The Mellifluent watched impassively. “What You feel, my Dark God, are pathways of blood and breath tunneling their way through new muscle and flesh. Organs and ichor struggling against the restriction of growing bone. A deluge of emotions floods Your developing brain, a riot of sensation that cannot be overcome.”

The Shape of Delosh struggled to stand, His form more clearly defined within the shadows of the room. Heavy breaths escaped His mouth.

The Mellifluent knew better than to offer assistance, but having some experience in corporeal alteration, it added, “The pain will fade, yet it returns as You revert to Your full immortal form. This one suspects it will happen every time You return to the mortal realms of Malthreare.”

Finally on His feet after a hundred beats of a new heart, Delosh looked down at the children, His voice scornful as He panted. “You have paid a price, but none such as I this night. It is nearly too much to endure.” He vanished, leaving His servant behind.

* * * * *

“Yet too little have you absorbed to remain here a moment longer,” the Mellifluent observed. Long did it watch the sleeping children, a glimmering silhouette that grew in size and brilliance as Delosh’s presence faded.

At last, it spoke again, its discordant tone rising and falling as though many voices fought to be heard: “As I hoped, the Dark God is on the path. But one such as Delosh does not look back to consider consequences.”

It floated around the chamber, growing angrier as it talked to itself, its words a mix of disgust and jealousy. “Gifts of the Dark God are not bestowed on mortals! Four ages of the living world have I stood beside Delosh, and never have I received such favor. Never!” It paused between the cribs. “Quite the opposite, little ones. It has taken everything!

“As Delosh said, I am here, needing only to reach out to take what I desire, the vengeance I have long planned for, and yet I hesitate! What if It discovers—” it broke off with a moan. “Oh, the fury! No. The Shadow will not know. Yes, it will be too late even then,” it said, speaking aloud its internal debate.

“‘Poison’ Delosh says. ‘Immortality’. To mortals, yes. But to I?” The Mellifluent mused its words as it floated. “To I, they are but power, keys to freedom. Yes. The deeds I could do! The heights I would achieve, rising higher than ever before.”

Its upper half split so it could hover over both cribs. “I sense your power. Like a beacon it shines within you, children. Perhaps, my Dark God Delosh underestimated the magnitude of the gifts. Yes. Infinite strength little understands the weight of such generosity.

“Yes. But I can’t. But I will. Yes.” The argument was ended. Caution had fled before the tempest of desire.

The Mellifluent merged its halves and perched on the crib rail above one of the sleeping children. It sat there like a glistening gargoyle whose features had worn to shapelessness after weathering centuries of storms. “Yes. I take this one first, then the other! Sessellimiss nin sessellimiss.” It descended like an expanding cloud, filling the crib and obscuring the child.

As it traded a piece of itself for the gift of Delosh, the Mellifluent screamed, the sound of a thousand creatures tormented at once. Flowing from the crib to the floor like spilled water, it writhed in agony. “N-no more. The bestowal…it is…too much!”

Delosh, with Its meticulous scheme, the one designed and reimagined for nearly an age, could not in Its infinite wisdom have imagined such a betrayal. And while it would be many years before this or other treacheries revealed themselves, already the perfection of the plan began to unravel.

The Mellifluent vanished, having stolen only one of the Dark God’s gifts. It would not attempt to steal the other. The echo of its agony rang in the room like a shattering bell.

Both babies woke in terror: one possessing the gift of a god; the other, a gift of the servant. Cold breath clouded the air above them. Lun’s watchful crescent passed overhead. The wet nurse soon arrived, but she would bring no comfort until daybreak.

And even then, the King and Queen knew something was wrong.

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