This is part 3 of my first work, a fan continuation of the unfinished Kemeia Ascending. It is entirely inspired by Armond's magical world of Argentia and its Goddess Selene.

Link to the book here Kemeia Ascends - A Fan Continuity

You can read the prior parts by Armond from the links below

Kemeia Ascending Part 1
Kemeia Ascending Part 2
Kemeia Ascending Part 3

More of Armond's work can be found here

Amidst the kingdom on its path to recovery, Ravela faces a haunting personal truth and pledges to seek justice and atonement for her transgressions. A deep conspiracy comes to light, intensifying the political intrigue. Ravela's strained familial relationship comes to a head as moral debts are called into question. Meanwhile, Kemeia's mystical powers surface in response to declarations of loyalty, further complicating the tangled web of emotions ensnaring those involved. As love, guilt, and redemption intertwine, the future of the kingdom hangs in the balance, with the possibility of new beginnings emerging from the chaos.

Amidst soft moans of the slumbering earth, the sentinel bows before the altar of trust. A testament to the strength in surrender, she too shall become a confluence of power, where petals unfold beneath her gaze, bathed in the moon's tender hymn.
- Whispers of the Waning Moon, Selene's Ethereal Embrace, Volume IX, passage 44

RAVELA


Palace Courtyard
Evening

As Kemi turned to flee, the realisation hit me like a thunderbolt. All the signs I had overlooked suddenly came together with piercing clarity. The muteness that I never questioned, the familiar glint in her eyes, her fear of me, everything pointed to the unspeakable truth. Kemeia, the woman I had grown to respect and desire, was the very person I had destroyed – Cormac, my Cormac!

I saw her run but I could not stop her, words wouldn’t escape my lips and my legs refused to move. The torrent of memories and truths were bombarding me, keeping me frozen still, each more damning than the last.

The unspeakable horrors I unleashed upon him... 'Oh dear Selene!', upon HER, in the barracks. I remembered the chains, the cold, merciless metal that bound her, to that cursed bed. The ‘love spell’ I cast on her friends and comrades, turning them into the unwitting instruments of my twisted retribution. In my blinded rage, I had condemned Cormac, Kemeia, to a fate worse than death.

Worst of all, I had observed, hidden in the shadows, as life was brutally raped and beaten from HER eyes by the very men she once commanded, the men she had loved and trusted. The horror of this act was unspeakable, the part of me that needed to witness every moment of his no HER downfall was worse than me just being a ‘mad queen. I had become something far worse. I was a spectator to the atrocity I had authored, finding some perverse satisfaction in seeing my vengeance exacted.

How could I have used my power, my sacred gift, in such a monstrous way? The realisation was a searing blade through my soul. Every shred of fear in Kemeia's eyes, every tremor in her voiceless sobs, now made horrifying sense. They were not just the reactions of a healer who feared a tyrant queen; they were the scars left behind by the monster that I was.

In that moment, I understood the magnitude of my sins. I had not just broken a body; I had shattered a soul. My use of the goddess’s gift had become my damnation, a curse that I had inflicted upon the one person who had ever truly loved me.

My knees buckled beneath the weight of this revelation, and I fell to the ground, a broken. My cries filled the courtyard, a lament for the love and life I had shattered. "Don't leave me, my Cormac, don't leave me, my love," I pleaded, but the words were nothing but an echo in the emptiness, a futile attempt to reach out to the ghost of my past and fleeing Kemeia who was already distant.

Lying there on the cold ground, my sobs were the only sound in the echoing silence of the courtyard. For a long time, I remained there, paralyzed by the magnitude of my sins. My Sorgente, a divine gift from Selene herself, had been twisted into a tool of terror, terror that I had inflicted upon my own Cormac. How had I fallen so far? How had I let my heart and mind be so thoroughly corrupted?

Many moments passed when finally, I found the strength to stand, though my legs trembled like autumn leaves in a storm, and my hands shook as if possessed by a will of their own. The kingdom, my rule, the power I wielded - all insignificant now, fleeting shadows compared to the stark reality of my actions. I had condemned an innocent man, a man I loved, to a fate worse than death. The realization was a weight so heavy, I felt it might crush me.

As I stood there, regaining my composure, a cold clarity settled over me. This was not madness driving my thoughts, nor was it a fleeting surge of emotion. It was a calculated, deliberate resolve, born from a newfound understanding of my actions and their consequences. There was no chaos in my mind, only a focused, icy determination.

There was justice to be served, a reckoning to be had. ‘Ambassador’ Aldana, that deceitful Truthsayer, and every soul complicit in the betrayal and destruction of Cormac would feel the full extent of my fury. I would be their judge, jury, and executioner. My retribution would be as swift as it was merciless. Once justice was served, I would embrace my own damnation, whatever form it might take.

Yet, moving forward, each decision, each action, would be tempered by a rational mind, fully aware of the gravity of my choices. I was no longer blinded by rage or grief, but rather guided by a clear vision of justice and reparation. In doing so, I would finally confront the truth of my own being, accepting the consequences of my deeds.

This was the necessary passage towards a conclusion that I had to face, devoid of delusions or excuses. My journey forward was set, and I would walk it with the full knowledge of what I had become and what I needed to do.

Unlike me, my kingdom would not suffer for my sins. Before I am gone though, I will ensure that Wildevale would thrive under the guidance of Lunete and Sechnall, be protected by the valour of Myrrine and Marta, and flourish under the divine grace of Kemeia. As for me, I would depart, leaving behind the legacy of a queen who finally understood the true cost of power without control and the unfathomable pain of destroying her own self.

LUNETE

Palace Courtyard
Late Evening

I had been walking in the shadowed alcoves of the Palace Courtyard when I saw them. Kemeia and Ravela together, their hands intertwined, sparked an idea in me. I could gather fodder for some light-hearted teasing later. It was a welcome distraction from the weight of recent events, and I couldn’t help but hope that something beautiful might bloom between them, especially since Ravela had been so tight-lipped about how it had ended with Cormac.

But as their walk progressed, the atmosphere shifted. Kemeia’s sudden flight from Ravela’s side and the ensuing despair in my sister’s voice shattered the evening's calm. “Don't leave me, my Cormac, …” Ravela’s words, laced with pain and desperation, echoed through the courtyard.

As I heard those words, I froze in my hiding spot and the pieces started falling into place. Ravela’s cryptic behaviour, Kemeia’s persistent fear, and now this declaration. It was clear, though unfathomable, Kemeia was Cormac, transformed by Ravela's own hand.

Ciro's revelations about my poisoning, no my bespelling incident resurfaced, casting a new light on the past events. He had explained how Cormac was initially presumed guilty, leading to his disappearance, believed by many to be dead. Even uttering Cormac's name had become illegal, a forbidden act shrouded in mystery. But, with the recent exposure of Ambassador Kijek's true role in the spell, it now seemed that Cormac had been wrongfully accused all along.

But now, the true extent of Ravela's vengeance seemed to be unfurling before me. It wasn't merely a change in form; it was a deeper, more harrowing transformation. In a fit of vengeful rage, Ravela had not just altered Cormac's gender; she had most likely stripped him of his very identity, recasting him into Kemeia. A person even she couldn’t recognize until this accursed moment.

Clearly, she had stripped Cormac of his voice, his identity, and remolded him into Kemeia. But what else had she done? I knew all too well of Ravela's tempestuous wrath, but this revelation suggested a level of cruelty that I did not yet understand but knew to be true. My heart ached for Kemeia, and a dreadful suspicion gnawed at me – what if this was just the surface of my sister's dark deeds? The fear that there might be more, unknown and unspeakable torments inflicted on Kemeia, haunted my thoughts.

As I pulled myself free from my thoughts, I observed Ravela rise to her feet, her stance a familiar yet unsettling sight. The hard, unyielding resolve that seemed to be teetering on the edge of something I couldn't quite grasp. The look in her eyes was one I recognized, one that spelt doom for whoever was in her path.

As she began to move with deliberate purpose, my apprehension grew. Her path seemed to lead towards the dungeons where Ambassador Aldana was held, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear. It was not just the potential confrontation that worried me, but the shadow of something darker, an erratic undercurrent in Ravela's demeanour that I had noticed before but never fully understood. It was a fear of what might lie beneath the surface, an unease about the true extent of whatever it was brewing within her.

As she was walking, she directed a guard to bring the truthsayer to the dungeons, chained. I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him but, this provided crucial context to the rapidly evolving situation. The arrest of a truthsayer, known for their inability to speak falsehoods, was no small matter. It signified a drastic escalation in Ravela's campaign.

In that moment, I knew that I needed to intervene, yet – how does one sway a sister so deeply ensnared in her own vengeful crusade? I paused, reflecting on our sisterhood – a tapestry woven from threads of love, the shared grief of our parents' passing, and Ravela's role as not just my sister but in place of the mother I needed.

My heart ached with the realization that I, unwittingly, had been the catalyst for her unravelling. If only I hadn't been so vulnerable, so easily ensnared by that cursed Arcum mind spell, none of this would have happened but NO! 'No time for guilt, Lunete,' I scolded myself silently,

'Focus. This is the time for action, not regret. I am no longer a child and capable of challenging the Queen herself.'

With this newfound resolve, I stayed in the shadows, following Ravela discreetly.My thoughts racing, desperately seeking a strategy, a means to breach the walls she had built around her. This was more than a mission to rescue Aldana or to save Ravela from her own destructive impulses; it was a battle to salvage what remained of her and I knew that the gravity of the situation left no room for hesitation.

As I trailed behind her, the moon casting long, solemn shadows on our path, I braced myself for what was to come. I was yet to figure out when or how to intervene, but my resolve was clear. Tonight, a reckoning awaited. A confrontation that needed to reach the sister I once knew, to perhaps salvage the fragment of her that had been frayed by time and tragedy.

The uncertainty of the outcome scared me, yet I was driven by the hope that somehow, through the darkness of her current plight, this moment onward, I would be the shield that guarded her and the guiding hand that leads her back towards the light.

RAVELA


Palace Dungeon
Late Evening

The cold stone of the dungeon corridors echoed under my steps as I made my way to the cell where Ambassador Aldana was held. The damp air was thick, heavy with whispered secrets, betrayals, and the silent screams of those I had condemned. 'Oh, Selene!' I thought with a tinge of irony, 'What tales these walls could tell.'

“Lesser prisoners. This country needs lesser prisoners for its own conscience.” I muttered and while I felt the familiar stirrings of rage within me, the emotions were now well under control.

This change within me was unexpected, and I knew Kemeia, my Cormac!, was the inadvertent architect of this transformation. It was a bitter irony; the soul I had condemned was the same that brought about my healing. I was not worthy to be Queen. Not even worthy to be considered human anymore, given the depth of harm I caused and still my love protects me.

Oh Cormac! Kemeia!

As I approached the cell, I magically summoned a stool and seated myself with deliberate poise. There, in the dim light, stood Aldana, chained to the floor and a far cry from the figure she presented at court. Stripped of her ornate robes and heavy white makeup, she was clad in nothing but rags, her magic shield her only remaining armor.

I gazed at her, my smile sharp and mocking. "So, this is what you present as your true face, but I suspect otherwise." I mused aloud. "All this time hidden behind a mask of powdered rice and pomp. Now, nothing more than a pig in rags." My voice carried a cold, merciless edge as I leaned forward. "But this pitiful ‘facade’ you uphold with your nique magic, it too shall ripped apart. We us see the raw, unadorned truth of you, stripped of everything."

She held my gaze defiantly, her eyes betraying a hint of fear as she realized the gravity of her situation. "Parasia will hear of this!" she spat, but her voice wavered, betraying her bravado.

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Parasia? Oh, my dear, I think not." My fingers danced in the air, weaving patterns as I prepared my first spell. "You see, you're not in Parasia's courts anymore. You're in my dungeon, under my ‘mercy’." The air crackled with the building energy of my magic.

Leisurely, and with an air of malevolent grace, I began to cast my spells. Each movement was deliberate, a tangible manifestation of my will and malice. I watched her closely, her eyes widening in terror as she realized the relentless nature of my assault. The room hummed with the energy of my magic, each attack a heavy blow against her dwindling shield. The barrier flickered, strained under the onslaught, and finally shattered, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

As the magic dissipated, it revealed a new face, not that of the Parasian diplomat, but a young woman with the brown hair and the distinctive features of the Arcum people.

The knowledge that this woman was an Arcum infiltrator, masquerading as Aldana, was as I suspected. "An Arcum spy, in the heart of Wildevale, playing the role of a Parasian ambassador? How utterly daring," I remarked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "And here I thought Aldana’s taste in makeup was merely atrocious."

The woman before me, now bereft of her magical protection, seemed smaller, almost pitiful, yet there was a defiance in her eyes that I couldn't ignore. It was the defiance of a cornered animal, dangerous and unpredictable. "What was your role in Lunete’s enspellment and what have you done with the real Aldana?" I demanded, my voice hard as the dungeon's stone.

Her response was a mixture of fear and defiance. "You think you've won? You know nothing of the depths of our plans," she hissed, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.

My laugh echoed off the walls, "Plans? Oh, I am sure they are as intricate as they are doomed." My eyes narrowed, and I leaned in closer. "But you will tell me everything. I promise you that. And your suffering will depend on how swiftly you spill your secrets."

For a moment, there was silence, then, without another word, I cast a spell, a simple yet effective one, designed to cause pain - a tool to loosen tongues. She cried out, her body writhing in agony on the cold stone floor.

And yet, as I watched her suffer, a strange feeling crept over me. This was not the satisfaction I had expected. Instead, there was a hollowness, an echo of the person I once was. "Kemeia, what have you done to me?" I whispered to myself.

"Speak!" I commanded, my voice now laced with an urgency that surprised even me. "Tell me everything, and perhaps I'll show you the mercy that is rapidly becoming my new companion."

As she struggled to gather her breath, I pondered over my next move. This moment was pivotal, not just for the information she might provide, but for what it signified in my own transformation.

And so, I waited, the dungeon's oppressive silence weighing heavily upon us, a silent witness to the unfolding drama and my own internal conflict.

The woman, still gasping from the pain, lifted her eyes to meet mine, a mixture of defiance and resignation flickering within them. "Your mercy?" she rasped, her voice strained. "Your mercy is as hollow as your promises, Mad Queen of Wildevale."

Her words stung, more than I cared to admit. Once, such insolence would have fueled me further, spurring me to inflict even greater torment. But now, something had shifted within me.

With a heavy sigh, I settled back onto the stool, fixing my gaze intently on the Arcum spy. "Tell me everything," I demanded quietly, the words almost a plea, "about how this conspiracy was executed."

The woman, still writhing in pain, met my eyes with a blend of defiance and resignation. "You expect me to betray my people for your mercy?" she spat, her voice hoarse with pain and disdain.

Ignoring her retort, I cast a quick spell to enhance my strength. Rising, I reached out and lifted her effortlessly by the throat, my magically augmented grip unyielding. As I watched her struggle, her breath faltering, a wave of disgust washed over me. This wasn't me, not anymore. Reluctantly, I released her, setting her back on the ground.

"I ask for forgiveness," I whispered, more to myself than her, "but understand this, a woman who has lost her love is the most dangerous being in the world." My words carried a weight, a confession of my own loss and pain.

I reached into her mind, probing for information. She screamed, the pain clearly excruciating, but her mental defenses were formidable. Even with my sorgente powers, I couldn't breach the protected recesses where the conspiracy's secrets were hidden.

Therefore, I shifted my focus, delving deeper into her memories for something more personal. Names began to surface, hers and her family. A husband and a daughter. Good this was all I needed.

I leaned in close. "I have found them, Elara," I whispered, my words deliberate and cold. The look of terror that replaced the defiance in her eyes told me she understood the gravity of my words. "My agents will fetch Jarek and Mireya to these very dungeons. Your eyes shall bear witness to their end, an end that will be etched into your very soul."

The words tasted bitter in my mouth, yet, I watched as the spy's composure crumbled, her eyes brimming with tears. "Please, no!" she begged, her voice breaking. "I'll tell you everything, just spare them!"

I stepped back, feeling a hollow victory.

As she divulged her secrets, Elara laid bare the intricate web of Arcum's deception. For over a year, they had orchestrated this charade, with Elara, a master of magical disguises, at its heart. She confessed to being the one who laced Lunete's food with Kijek's spell, a poison intertwined with her essence, allowing her to carry it safely. Kijek's role was as insidious as I had imagined, planting the Arcum spy with the explicit purpose of orchestrating a confession from him, planting the false evidence and that damn ‘blood gold’.

Arcum had infiltrated lands far and wide with trained frauds posing as truthsayers to influence politics outside their own lands. Even the Parasians were complicit, granting Grithra their consent to proceed with this plan. The real Aldana, it turned out, was safe at home, far from the dangers of our court. The rivalry displayed in public was a charade to keep me off balance.

But the most shocking revelation was yet to come.

In a moment of careless honesty, Elara let slip her knowledge of Cormac's fate. She knew about his transformation and the cruel ‘love spell’ I had cast upon his soldiers. As the words tumbled from her lips, her eyes widened with the realization of what she had just revealed. Panic flickered across her face, but it was too late to retract her confession.

As I processed her words, a seething anger began to simmer within me. Yet, I remained outwardly composed, my fury contained like a tempest within a bottle. I stood silently, fuming but restrained, waiting for Elara to finish.

Her shame was palpable as she admitted her role in his torment, having disguised herself as one of the soldiers on more than one occasion to spy on HER and to partake in the vile rapes to avoid raising suspicion, yet thankfully she had kept this dark secret to herself only, burdened by the guilt of her actions.

But now it was too late, a red haze clouded my vision, the old familiar fury boiling within me. Seizing Elara by the throat again with my magically enhanced strength, I drew her close, my voice a venomous whisper. "You, who dared play a part in Cormac's torment, shall now taste the same bitter fruit," I hissed. "Not just you, but your entire family. You will all suffer as he suffered, a fitting retribution for your unspeakable crimes."

My grip tightened as I leaned in, the fury in my eyes unmistakable. "Your husband, your child... they will all know my Cormac’s anguish and despair. It will be a slow, relentless agony, a mirror to the pain that he endured. This is the justice of Ravela, Queen of Wildevale."

As I stood poised to seal their fates, Lunete emerged from the shadows, her voice sharp and commanding. "Stop, Ravela! I bore witness to everything. Remember the Law of Personal Retribution. It forbids you from passing judgment in personal vendettas. Violate this, and you forfeit your crown."

Her words pierced through my fury, and I hesitated, my grip loosening slightly. "I don't care about the crown," I turned my head and snarled at her, my anger barely contained.

Yet Lunete's gaze was unyielding. "The kingdom needs you…for now. You cannot let personal rage dictate your actions. Be who you are meant to be, not what your anger makes you."

With a reluctant sigh, I released Elara, stepping back to let Lunete take control. Watching quietly as she addressed the trembling spy. "Your sentence is a lifetime in prison, Elara. A gais will be cast upon you, one that will hide the names of your loved ones from your memory. Their faces will haunt you, a constant reminder of your deeds, but their names will escape you. Whenever you think of them, it will be your actions against Cormac that come to mind. As for mercy, it lies in Kemeia's hands, should she ever choose to visit you."

Upon hearing her sentence, Elara's facade of defiance crumbled. "Please, not their names," she pleaded, desperation lacing her voice. "I beg you, leave me their names."

Lunete's response was unyielding, her voice echoing in the dank dungeon. "This punishment is meted not just for your role in the conspiracy but specifically for what you did to Cormac. Your actions as a woman, against one who was forced into that role, must reflect the gravity of that betrayal."

As she finished, I noticed the truthsayer being brought in, his face etched with fear, Lunete's voice was cold, "You'll be sentenced soon. For now, enjoy the solitude."

Lunete's gaze, now filling with tears, pierced through me. "Your actions against Cormac, and what you've done to Sechnall, have torn my faith in you apart," she declared, her voice a mix of sorrow and resolve. "The pain you've inflicted, the manipulation through your spells... they have consequences.

Sechnall's suffering, his headaches, they're not random ailments – they are most likely the results of the mind spell you imposed on him to protect his own conscience from what you forced him to commit.” I nodded shamefully, acknowledging the truth in what she had peiced together.

"You've crossed lines that can't be uncrossed. You are my sister, yes, but that relationship has been strained beyond measure. From now on, to me, you are the Queen, and nothing more… unless genuine forgiveness is sought and granted by all those you have wronged."

Her words cut deep, like a frost-edged blade piercing my heart. Her command was clear, "You must lift the memory blocks from every soldier, ‘Queen’ Ravela, but this must be done with utmost care and the outcome shall be discreet, to protect the reputation of this nation.

The trauma buried in their minds could devastate them if not handled delicately. They will need extensive healing for their souls. This task is not just your penance, but also a path to possible redemption, if such a thing is within reach for you."

She paused, her eyes reflecting an understanding of the complexities involved in such a task. "Kemeia's consent and involvement are crucial in this process. Without her agreement and active participation, the journey may not be complete. And Marta... her wisdom and insight will be invaluable. I am confident she is already aware of Kemeia's plight and can provide the guidance we need."

Her words underscored the weight of the task ahead – not a mere lifting of spells, but a careful unravelling of deeply entwined traumas, requiring the combined efforts of those most skilled in the arts of healing and understanding.

Her final words to me resonated in the echoing halls of the dungeon. "It's time to reflect, to rest. You have a long journey of atonement ahead, and it begins now."

As I turned away from her, a tumult of emotions churned within me. I felt shattered, a fragment of the person I once was. Yet, amidst the ruins of my soul, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at Lunete's newfound strength and resolve.

Retreating to the solitude of my quarters, each step was laden with the weight of my sins, the ghosts of my past actions haunting me. 'Lunete has seen through the veil of my misdeeds,' I thought, 'and now she carries the burden of truth.'

Her words replayed in my mind, a relentless echo reminding me of the irreversible changes I had wrought. 'She possesses the clarity and vision that I lack,' I admitted silently to myself, 'Lunete is the future of Wildevale.'

She was the beacon of hope and change that our kingdom desperately needed. 'In her, our people will find the guidance and compassion that I failed to provide,' I reflected with a mix of regret and admiration. And I, in contrast, was its troubled past, a reminder of the cost of power unchecked by conscience.

'My reign as Queen is over, not just in title but in spirit. My time has passed.' In my heart, I knew Lunete's ascension to the throne was not just inevitable but necessary for the healing of our land. 'She is no longer the child I had presumed her to be and she will be the one to mend what I have broken,' I thought, 'She will lead Wildevale to a brighter, more just future.'

The night air was still as I gazed out of my window, the moon casting long shadows over the palace grounds. My pursuit of vengeance had now started the delivery of justice instead. In that moment, I understood that my journey forward was not as a ruler, but as a penitent, seeking redemption for the wounds I had inflicted upon those I loved or otherwise. This clarity of purpose was entirely Kemeia’s gift to me, my debt to service.

A debt? A soul debt? , a memory of Cormac's words echoed in my mind, a recollection from his journey to the Anatol isles. He had spoken of a Kuumas belief, a cultural axiom that despised indebtedness, viewing it as a 'soul debt.' A situation fraught with complexity and obligation,' I recalled him saying. 'And now, I find myself in such a debt to Kemeia, a soul debt that binds me more profoundly than any physical chain.'

This journey wasnt just about penance. It was about giving my all to the one I've wronged, the one I've loved and hurt the most. My heart throbbed with a mix of pain and longing for my Kemeia. 'To hold her, to feel the warmth of her lips, to show her the depth of my remorse and love... Oh, how I crave her touch.'

‘Could this be the path to salvation? A life by Kemeia’s side, as whatever she desires?.’ Fueled by this thought, I rushed from my quarters, my heart leading the way.

'I must see her, feel her, be with her. The path to healing, to absolving my soul debt, begins with her, with us.' My steps quickened as I headed for the stables, desperate to find a horse to bring me to Kemeia, to start the necessary journey of mending the fractured pieces of our lives.

Yet even then, an afterthought snuck in. 'Winning my love aside, I still need to beat that Myrrine Dungdaisy. Can't let her think she's gotten the better of me, now can I?'

KEMEIA


Selene's Hall - Apprentices' Dorm
Night

I sat in the quiet of my dorm room at Selene's Hall, my heart aching with a mix of confusion and pain. The unexpected visit from a palace soldier, inquiring about my safety, only added to my irritation. 'Why can't they leave me in peace?' I wondered, struggling to contain the turmoil of emotions swirling within me.

Suddenly, a knock on the door jolted me from my thoughts. I hesitated, unsure of who it could be at this late hour. The door creaked open, revealing Myrrine, looking concerned.

"I rushed here when I heard you fled the palace," she said.

Surprised, I couldn't help but question how she knew about what had happened. Myrrine's casual response made it clear. "I have my ways of keeping informed about palace affairs," she said with a wry smile.

I smacked my forehead, realizing the obvious. Myrrine hailed from a lineage of assassins, deeply embedded in spy networks. 'Of course, she would know,' I thought, almost amused by my own naivety.

Anticipating her next question, I tried to keep things light with Myrrine, so I signed to her about memories of an old heartbreak. I carefully avoided mentioning the real events that were on my mind. My signs were brief, trying not to give away too much.

Myrrine watched me sign, her eyes following my hands. But suddenly, before I could finish, she moved in and kissed me. It caught me off guard, and I froze for a second. It was gentle and unexpected and despite my surprise, I found myself feeling a bit better, comforted by her warmth and closeness.

Breaking the kiss, Myrrine grinned at me and said,"Save the sob story. I suspect that the tyrant hag is involved and has you twisted up. Trust me, I'll have you untangled and writhing for very different reasons.” mmm…this was not the time…

But then she kissed me again, hard and deep and I let her. Her hand gripped the back of my neck, yanking me closer. Her tongue slid past my lips, demanding and drowning me in her heat, teasing out silent moans I couldn't control. We only stopped kissing to snatch desperate breaths before diving back in, lost in a raw, wild urgency.

Locking eyes with mine, Myrrine growled, “Kemi, you are mine now.” Her lips crashed onto mine once more, fierce, claiming. Her breath scorched my skin, marking me with every hot exhale. My neck, my shoulder, she was laying claim on me and each touch told me where I stood with her. In that instant, with her hand in my hair—firm, controlling—I was hers, completely. I was the pet to her mistress, utterly alive and consumed by a willing surrender to her command.

As we struggled for breath, Myrrine's gaze pierced me anew. "Here's an assassin's word," she rasped, "to love, to claim, to shield." She spun me around, pulling me onto her lap in front of the small mirror in my quarters. Her lips grazed my neck, setting off a trail of fire as she murmured, "Look at yourself," even as her hand coaxed my robe to fall open, unveiling my full breast to the cool air. Her fingers traced the outline of my nipple, taut with arousal. My eyes fluttered, vision blurring as breaths came in raw, heaving bursts. "So exquisite, so alluring," her whisper tickled my ear, insisting my gaze stay fixed on our intertwined images and my unconditional surrender. "Completely, mine."

In that moment... Cormac just... disappeared. Heat surged, almost too much, and a wave of... wetness, undeniable, submission... swept over me. Thoughts scattered, only feeling... Myrrine's touch, the heat, my own surrender.

Then it hit me... the bells, those tiny bells around my waist, I had forgotten to remove them. They had been singing softly all along, a delicate chime with each shift and twist. Myrrine's old tease echoed in my head, "I wonder what secrets those bells might tell." Now, they rang clear—ringing for her.

As the thought flickered in my mind, the bells at my waist tingling faintly, Myrrine spoke the words, as if plucking the very notion from my tangled thoughts. "Seems these bells jingle just for me tonight," she murmured with a knowing smirk.

She whirled me around in her lap until my breast was in front of her lips, the bells chiming a secret tune at the sudden movement. One hand holding both of mine behind my back, her lips latched onto my nipple, her tongue swirling leisurely while she teased the other with a tug and flick that sent shockwaves through me. A carnal shock, one I had never known, intense and wholly new reminded me of who I was now.

Her other arm snaked firmly around my waist, my entire being enslaved by her touch willingly. I shivered, every sense heightened, my back curving in a silent plea. In this moment, I was hopelessly and utterly hers, helpless, a plaything to do with as she pleased.

Then that accursed noise shattered our private world; that damn knocking. Myrrine grumbled a biting "Bloody timing, bugger off!"

But it kept up, persistent, desperate. Then it stopped. The door's bottom edge glowed like sunrise, the sign of a fire spell about to bust it wide open.

Panic gripped me, I signed to Myrrine with wide eyes and quick hands, "Say something!"

"Calm yourself!" she spat out, interrupting the blinding glow. In a madness of haste, we grabbed our robes, fumbling to cover bodies still thrumming with arousal.

We scrambled, robes snagging on still-eager limbs. Mine barely tied, Myrrine’s half-open. Hair tousled, chests heaving, I looked down, and felt the ache. My nipples pressed hard against the fabric, wanting more, even as we tried to look somewhat presentable.

I sucked in a deep breath, dishevelled and buzzing with frustrated desire, I crept towards the door. Skin still flush with wanton need, Slowly, hand shaky, I cracked open the door.

There stood Ravela, her face a mask that swiftly crumbled into desolation as she took in our unkempt hair, flushed skin, and the bed's state.

Myrrine, upon glimpsing Ravela's stricken look, growled softly, "Ah, the brooding storm queen graces us. Time for me to find clearer skies," The undercurrent of tension was clear in her gruff voice as she hastily made for the door.

Ravela, her eyes downcast in gratitude, turned to me once we were alone. "May I?" she asked, her voice a brittle shell of its former command. With a reluctant nod, I granted her entry to the space I called home.

She perched uneasily on my bed, her eyes searching mine before she uttered the question that seemed to lodge in her throat. "Kemeia or Cormac – who are you now?" My hands hesitated before they shaped my reply in the air: 'Kemeia is all that remains.'

Her hand reached out, and I let it come to rest on me without retreating. She bowed her head into my lap, her words tumbling out in a horrifying flood, confessions of the brutal spell she had cast upon ME, how she had witnessed my agonies unfurl. Through broken sobs, she lamented the soul she had destroyed, her unfit rule as a queen, and her irrevocable transformation at the hands of the person she had tormented….me.

"I saw what they did to you, those days in the barracks... on the day..." Her voice broke, choked by the memories that haunted us both. "The day they left you for dead, and threw you in the river like refuse." Her confession spilled forth, raw and unsettling in its honesty.

Ravela's grip on my hands tightened, a silent plea for... for what? Forgiveness? Understanding? Her sorrow was palpable. "I did not only watch; I relished it, convinced of your guilt, taking pleasure in your torment," she admitted in a hushed tone. "It’s a realization that suffocates me more than those waters ever did to you."

"Your form, your spirit... those men, your men!, Oh Selene help me, the silence you've endured, I imposed that on you. I shaped the dagger and drove it into our hearts myself." I heard her words and something reached into me and gripped what little of Cormac remained.

"I'm here to beg for…but no, not for forgiveness, I have no right. I'm here to beg for a chance to make amends, my Kemeia."

My touch was instinctual, fingers threading through her hair as she laid bare her guilt and the pledge she made: to strive toward redemption, to atone for her sins by serving the one whose life she'd shattered.

As she gathered herself, Ravela's eyes finally met mine with a clarity that seemed newly found. "Seeing you with Myrrine," she said with bitter finality, " I'm resigned to my destiny, to be of service to the one I love without hope of return."

Before I could dispute what she said, before I could sign even a single word, she knelt at my feet, her face the very image of anguish. In a hushed whisper laden with the weight of ultimate surrender, she uttered the sacred words no one should state to a Sorgente, "I give you my life."

An avalanche of power burst forth from within me outside my control, a torrent I could not dam. Energy flared from my fingertips, an unintended bolt striking Ravela as she fell, motionless, to the ground. That once voice echoed in my mind, " I told you that all the kings and queens will fall to their knees before you, my precious one. Look, the first submits to your command."

RAVELA


Selene's Hall - Apprentices' Dorm
Night

Consciousness returned as I lay on the unforgiving ground, the chill of the floor biting at me through my clothes. The softness beneath my head was a stark contradiction to the hard dirt though and, with a jolt, I recognized it was Kemeia's lap supporting me.

I gazed up into her face, fraught with concern, her hands carving desperate messages in the air with a language that was still alien to me. Her signs, swift and urgent, flickered away from my comprehension like evening's first shadows stealing over the land.

Amid the foggy daze clouding my thoughts, I a crystal-clear voice, pure and mesmerizing. "Understand!" it it sang out, a command that threaded through me with the carrying the haunting beauty of a forbidden song. Suddenly, Kemeia's signs snapped into focus, the alarm in her silent language now as readable as any shout of concern, **Are you alright? What have you done?**

Straining against the whirl of thoughts that churned within me, I righted myself, muscles protesting. 'Selene's judgment,' a conscious choice accepted, but how had i changed? What mark had the goddess, and… Kemeia stamped upon me?

With unsteady legs and a mind still reeling, I reached toward Kemeia. Her arm a lifeline. "Help me up," I rasped, "I need to see... myself in the mirror."

As her firm grasp guided me to stand, I could not shake off the peculiar sensation constricting my chest—a tightness that circled my heart like a band of anxiety. I locked eyes with my reflection in the small mirror in her room, the likeness staring back at me unchanged, yet the feeling of inward constraint persisted.

Kemeia, catching the question in my eyes, offered a silent nudge of encouragement. I let out a stiff breath, and with a voice more composed than I felt, addressed my reflected image, "Perhaps the goddess's judgment is not for the eyes but for the heart alone?"

I turned to Kemeia, "my heart feels caged now, What tricks has Selene played within me? What has she woven into the fabric of my spirit that tightens its hold with each beat of my heart?"

My thoughts were whirling when Kemeia's hands carved out her scorn in the space between us, **You fool. You are bound to me now. To my commands forever**. They weren't just signs—they were the unvarnished truth. I had laid my freedom at her feet like a dog dropping a kill it hoped would please its master.

"Fool," I spat at myself, turning Kemeia's accusation over, tasting its bitter truth. My rant broke from me like a flood, wild and torrential. I shrieked my admission of guilt, clawing at the invisible shackles I had wrapped 'round my soul. "For what I've done, for the nightmares I carved into your flesh, this... this is my punishment! I deserve every shard of hate you shoot through my heart!"

Before reason could take hold, before the echo of my own rant could die away, Kemeia struck me. It was a slap so resounding that the world seemed to pause in shock with me. Pain flared, bright and undeniably real, steering me back to the present.

Her next words were signed with a clarity that left no room for misinterpretation, **You dolt. I loathed your very shadow. I wished to never lay eyes on you, but damn it, the love...** Her hands hesitated, trembling with the heavy burden of an emotion that refused to die, **...the love won't go. Hate never did stand in contrast to love; only indifference has that power. Love will always thaw the frost of hate when the heart yearns to forgive. That's the creed of the goddess. As the old saying goes, 'Wherever you are, whatever you do, be in love.' I've loved you through it all, and I will love you still.**

Her words pierced deeper than any weapon she might have wielded. Choking back the knot in my throat, I edged closer, my soul aching for the balm of her touch, but she warded me off with a raised palm. The wounds weren't ready for the bandage I longed to be.

And as if the gods themselves laughed at my plight, Myrrine burst into the chamber. Seeing what she saw, the swiftness with which she shielded Kemeia told me more clearly than even Kemeia’s own signs that she was untouchable—for her protection ran deeper than skin, deeper than vows; it was rooted in the same feelings I felt for her.

With a blade in hand and with a steadiness that belied the storm of her emotions, Myrrine dared me with her gaze. "Kemeia is mine to sheild. Step forward without her wishing it, and you're a dead woman walking."

My eyes narrowed as they met Myrrine's, a smirk twisting the corner of my mouth as I straightened to my full height. "My, aren't we the gallant guardian, Myrrine?" I jested.

"As if I, bound by my own surrender, could bring harm to Kemeia." I turned to Kemeia then, my smirk growing as I added, "You see, I've passed Selene's judgement. I've laid bare my soul and carved out my very essence for her scrutiny. I stand here without malice, my intentions as transparent as the tears Selene shed by the banks of the River of Truth."

Myrrine eyed me cautiously, then looked towards Kemeia who nodded in affirmation. She then looked me in the eyes, her expression softening just slightly, "Consent, though. You cannot lay a finger upon her without it."

I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Oh, how delightfully tiresome. Must we now play at courtship rituals and chaste permissions? Or perhaps you'd like written consent notarized by Selene herself?"

The air between Myrrine and me crackled with the kind of tension that's ripe for devolving into the pettiest of battles. The jabs and insults would now come naturally as if they were second nature.

"Ravela, I'd bet my best dagger that you danced on Selene's last nerve so fiercely that even she is rethinking this whole 'judgement' endeavor," she quipped with a smirk.

"And you, Myrrine," I retorted, "you are always so puff-chested and ready for battle. When was the last time you healed anything besides your fragile pride without my dear Kemi’s help?"

"You insolent foggy harridan," Myrrine scowled. "Never mind healing, I'm surprised you can see past the haze of your own vanity to spot Kemeia's affection."

"Oh, charming!" I sniped back. "This coming from the queen of quacksalvers, a fraud so bent on ‘fixing hearts’ you'd shatter your own out of sheer contrariness."

"Harsh, dragonhag," Myrrine spat. "You'd think someone who fancies themselves a phoenix risen from caches of ire would possess a touch more grace. Hope springs eternal, I suppose."

And our exchange would've likely continued, each volley surpassing the last in creative vitriol, if not for Kemeia's intervention. With a sigh that somehow echoed through the room despite the absence of sound, she stepped between us, arms outstretched as if to hold us both at bay from each other and possibly from our own worst instincts.

Myrrine and I both fell silent for a moment, our glares still locked, but now with Kemeia standing between our duelling presences. She gazed at each of us, resigned amusement flickering across her features, before beckoning us closer. Unable to resist the pull of her silent command, we hurried to her side, nearly knocking into one another in our eagerness, and then we smothered her in a joint embrace that could best be described as lovingly suffocating.

Kemeia's laughter, soundless to most but as clear as a bell in our hearts, somehow made the mayhem of the moment feel less like a battle for dominance and more like a comedy of errors. She kissed us both, her lips meeting each of our cheeks in turn. It was a sensation of a love so wonderfully whole it could make the goddess weep with envy.

But suddenly, I became acutely aware of the tension in my chest as if a knot was being pulled tighter around it, suffocating me. I pulled away abruptly, distancing myself as I fought the urge to gasp. There was only one thing that could bring such constriction.

Turning my back to them, I found myself instinctively reaching towards the confining pressure. My fingers found the laces of my dress, frantically pulling at them in a bid for relief. My mind raced with wild thoughts, 'This cannot simply be fear or nervousness... it's not sorrow, nor regret, but...'

I noticed the only apparent alteration to my form, my breasts. They were now voluptuous, standing out with a magnetic allure that was impossible not to acknowledge. Ample and ripe, rising and falling with my every breath, the pink of my nipples prominent and succulent. The hue a delicate rose akin to the first blush of dawn.

They were larger now, each one puckered to a proud and tender point, pulsing with their own life, with an assertion that they were crafted for ecstasy. They were longing to be enveloped, to receive the tender attention of a lover's mouth, to be suckled with reverence and hunger.

I remembered Cormac’s whispers the night he confessed them: the mesmerising breasts of the Elven courtesans. In our bed, under the blanket of night's shadow, he had spoken hesitantly, only after much persuasion from me during a conversation where I had asked him to describe the ideal female form which he had repeatedly insisted that I possessed.

I remembered his gaze growing distant, enraptured by the memory of their enchanting forms. I knew these were the very breasts he had dreamily described; I possessed each trait he had envisioned, the full, tantalizing curves that he had hesitantly revealed were his fantasy.

‘Cormac you liar!’ I chuckled to myself. ‘I was only near perfect in your eyes…until now’. The literal embodiment of Kemeia’s deepest desire, the perfect woman, mostly unchanged but now adorned with the two ethereal delights that were entirely Kemeia's to possess.

Reveling in the vision of carnal satisfaction, I could only conclude that Myrrine, for all her bravado, stood no chance.

There, even in these moments of supposed enlightenment, here I was, vying for victory, competing, even with Myrrine. If this was the toll demanded by fate, then so be it, and I was certain Kemeia would savor these newfound gifts as greatly as I would cherish her indulgence.

Oh, Selene! It would seem the transformation also includes a Libidinous mind. And Kemeia, ever the man in certain appetites. Some things, it appears, remain steadfast.

The moment to unveil the truth had arrived, a show and tell of the latest twist. I made a deliberate half-circle, the gown cascading off like a fallen leaf, I stood before them in unveiled glory. I met Kemeia's gaze with a playful challenge, "Look upon what you've won, a body meant for your love's deepest desires.”

The rush of blood to my cheeks did not escape my notice, but neither did Kemeia's reaction and of course, Myrrine. I couldn't resist the biting jest aimed at her more ‘moderate endowments’, "In the garden of desire, the little buds have a way to go before they can contend with the magnificence of ripe femininity."

There was no reaction from Myrrine; she simply stood resolute, turning ever so slightly towards Kemeia, with a sense of finality, and declared with a clear voice, "I give you my life."

Neither Kemeia nor I could react before the room suddenly lit from sparks flying off Kemeia’s fingers, a wild and uncontrolled burst of her Sorgente energy.

And then the joyous laughter, oh how it soared within my mind. The same divine voice that had commanded me to ‘understand’ just moments ago.