THE MOBIUS CHRONICLES
Death
By: Seiferre Quintesce / 2o12

RATING: T
PAIRING(S): USUK, GerIta, Spamano, GiriPan, France/China, LietPol + Various Others. This fic is very pairing-heavy, so I'd be surprised if at least one of your OTPs didn't turn up in it.
GENRE(S): Thriller/Romance/Fantasy
WARNING(S): A well-exercised suspension of disbelief is REQUIRED to read this story. Some material not suited for children, including (Possible) sexual themes, graphic death, etc.
COMMENTS?: Yes, please. R&R to your heart's desire. I'll love you for it.
CONTESTS: None right now.
DEDICATIONS: To all you wonderful reviewers, of course.
DISCLAIMER: 'Axis Powers: Hetalia' is © Hidekazu Himaruya. I do not own it, or the characters, and only claim any non-canon characters as my own. This piece of fiction was created for entertainment purposes only, bearing no intent for profit or gain.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This started in my head as a one-shot and evolved into a three part series. I'm hoping that you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoy planning it out and writing it, and I dearly hope my betas Glaze and Mary enjoy their hard work come to fruition. xDD I do have to say that this is going to be one wild ride; you will be confused, you will go WTF, and (I assume) you will probably cry. But it'll all be worth it in the end.

As always, if you'd like a personal reply to your review (i.e., an answer to a question or something), you can feel free to send me a message. Or find me on Tumblr. :3

TODAY'S FOOTNOTES INCLUDE: Background on some countries, for those of you who don't know them.

It is easy to get caught in the wheel of Eternity. We are born, we live, we die, and – before we know it – we live again. The world spins on an endless axis, a truth, a pattern so deeply ingrained that it has been forgotten even by those who would covet such knowledge. This is, simply and purely, a fact: the world will turn, and the masses will follow. They will live again and they will die again, forever.

There are those who would think that Nations would be exempt from such a cycle. They would be wrong. Countless realms have been lost to the ages: Ancient Greece. The Babylonians. The Mayans. They are not favored by God, or graced with a heavenly presence. They are, in fact, much more fragile. A man needs only the blood in his veins and the strength of will to live, but a Nation's lifeline is his people. What is left if the humans are gone? They are controlled by the whims of the populace, without even the freedom to die on their own.

It is easy to get caught within the wheel of Eternity. I have watched them live. I have watched their rise to power, with their heavy swords and heavier ideals. I have watched them love and be loved (Of this, I admit to my guilt, though I loved from afar). I have watched them lay their lives down for the blood in their veins, for the people in their hearts, for the lands that birthed their very souls. Atlantis. Avalon. Cuccagna. Ker-Ys. My friends. My comrades. I will see them rise again, greater, more powerful than ever before.

But first, they have to die.

TIME: IMMEMORIAL
+ 0
High Noon

"Men, we have come to discuss the impending issue — "

"Shut up!"

Inevitably, he would have had to host a conference whether he volunteered for it or not. It had become a sort of tradition of theirs to one-up each other with their décor and banquets, so of course he had decided to bundle each of his fellows into a blazing hot (beautifully detailed) chamber bedecked in gold and jewels of all colors. The high ceiling and its encrusted treasures shone down upon them, casting their faces in a myriad of blues, greens, reds, purples and golds.

" — You surly, foul-mouthed, fairy-loving — "

" – rich, coming from an orgy-lover like — "

It had become a sort of tradition. That did not, of course, mean that too many people noticed. At the head of the room, standing behind an ornate podium carved of his native trees, El Dorado offered the four other men in the room a strained smile.

"If you would turn your atten — "

"Avalon, you would do well to keep your temper do — "

"Just a moment, Atlantis, I need to teach this ingrate a les— "

High above, the sun peaked and glossed bright rays upon the gilded tabletop which ran a tight circle about the room. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed to assist in amplifying the already flared tempers of those presently in attendance. One of his hands knifed his fingers through brown hair as he shut his eyes. Avalon and Ker-Ys were well known for their age-old quarreling. He should have known better than to place them so close together.

Opposite him, Shambhala was pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly not having expected anything less from a conference. Together, they exchanged an empathetic look. Some things would never change.

"No — !"

"Avalon, keep your magic away from Ys and sit down for goddess' sake."

El Dorado smiled as the green-eyed man was forced bodily onto the bench by the much stronger Atlantis, his waifish form no match for the younger's rough musculature. Avalon protested until he realized who was guiding him, then settled into a dense cloud of irritation. Without an opponent, Ker-Ys sniffed in disdain and took his seat, all poise and grace, as Saguenay smiled and tugged at his sleeve in a small show of affection. Ichtaca was truly grateful for the brothers, as it seemed that they were the only ones able to sooth such easily aggravated men. Giving himself a pat on the back for thinking two steps ahead of the hot-headed pair, El Dorado began again.

"If I may continue, it is clear that we must re-establish our guidelines in lieu of the recent boost in global population. If allowed to continue expanding in this manner, the humans will create a significant decrease in — "

"If I might interrupt, we should simply move them around accordingly."

"You cannot expect people to move out of their homes on someone else's whims." Mengyao bit out, lips twitching in disapproval.

"It can be done."

"Oh? Pray tell, how?"

"We will craft a city. A city under the sea, which they will reach by means of a sinkable ship." Grinning like a fool, Atlantis gestured in the air as he pictured entire populations being submerged and rushed through the depths to their new homes. Avalon pressed his face into his palm and gave a long-suffering sigh.

"You absolute imbecile. The trouble of maintaining a place like that — "

"Nevermind that," Ker-Ys interjected, earning himself a glare. "How do you propose to compensate for the fact that you are stealing the pretense of my fair city?"

"Well, it would be different in some ways, and certainly not as orgiastic." The blue-eyed Atlantean rolled his eyes, looking affronted. "And Avalon could — "

"No."

"But wait, let me finish — "

"I know where this is going. The magic on my island is sacred and I will not be using it to fuel some underwater wonderland."

"Oh, but Avalon — "

"Be quiet, both of you." A man further down the table massaged his temples; no small feat considering the veritable ball of energy attached to his arm. "I already have a headache to contend with."

And indeed, Pilatusstadt's long time lover was babbling incessantly at his side, clinging for all he was worth to the one man who had truly accepted him for who he was. True, in Paese della Cuccagna the idea of want did not exist. But he was still the only man to refuse every luxury that Cuccagna had to offer. Food? No thank you, I am here on business. Wine? I can brew my own. Women? I have no need for pleasures of the flesh. To him, Nordemann's presence was both an enigma and a godsend. Since they had met, he had made thousands of trips across the land not for his endless supply of food, not for the innate sense of peace that the land brought unto its people, but for him, and him alone.

"The two of you ought to be careful," cautioned a voice to Pilatusstadt's left. Shambhala was eyeing two of the aides who were charged to offer wine to El Dorado's guests, but instead were looking at the two of them and communicating in a series of hushed whispers and hand gestures. The blonde followed his gaze.

"I took that chance when I asked for him to be with me."

The other man's eyes flashed a subtle warning. Not only were they homosexuals – they were Nations. Their superiors did not permit them to fraternize in any manner aside of political, too afraid of the consequences to their people should any relationships fail. It was for this reason that the men in the room periodically avoided getting too close to one another, trying (But quite obviously failing) to prevent the development of connections beyond their control. Shambhala stared across the table and caught a flash of homespun gold paired with eyes like crystal, and his heart seized in his chest. If only.

They lived in such a volatile world. He glanced away again.

"Does anyone else have a solution pertaining to this issue?" queried the man dressed in gold. He watched his comrades with something akin to amusement and shook his head. They came from different backgrounds, but try as they might, their leaders would never truly diffuse the bond which had formed between them.

"We should limit the amount of children to one per family."

An immediate uproar followed this statement as Shambhala watched the men dissolve into chaos.

"What would happen if a family bore twins?"

"They would still get to keep one." He shrugged.

"That is immoral!"

"That is politics."

"You cannot honestly believe that the population would be saved by killing off infants." Avalon's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline; a new record for brows with such volume.

"How is it immoral if they are not conceived in the first place? Just how many people do you think will have twins, exactly?" Shambhala looked exasperated. If he was anyone else, El Dorado would have no doubt that his hands would be waving in the air right about now. But Mengyao was always poised, always collected, always dignified. Such antics were beneath him. "You ask for an answer and I have given you one. Until someone else can offer up a better solution," he glared at Atlantis, who opened his mouth to offer his two cents again. "I suggest that this is the best course of action for us to take."

The men looked at each other, lost, on edge, not sure where to take the conversation. What could they say? Ys cleared his throat his throat as the others gathered their thoughts.

"I vote in favor of this proposal." Atlantis looked scandalized and moved to object, but the man shook his head. "Every other solution is too dangerous. Plague. Draught. Famine. They would all lead to genocide." His eyes darkened as he rubbed his temple. "At least this way we will be able to control the amount of blood on our hands."

"We will have blood on our hands regardless!" the impulsive young nation boomed, his voice echoing off the chamber walls. "Infants are still people. You would kill your own people?"

"Sit down." Avalon tugged on his tunic as Atlantis fumed. "Do not embarrass me more than you already have."

Looking around the room, he saw apprehension and something very akin to guilt on the peoples' faces. If there was anything else that they could do, Avalon knew that they would do it in a heartbeat. As it was, however, the world at large was expanding at an entirely alarming rate. It needed control and stability, and who were they to deny a possible solution when it was staring them right in the face?

"Very well. Since no one else has offered a suitable solution to this problem, this meeting is adjourned. I submit that we all discuss this matter with our superiors and reconvene at the earliest possible convenience."

Various murmurs of assent scattered the room as the men stood to leave, eager to rush home before their journeys were impeded by the rising tide. As they dispersed, El Dorado set the servants about cleaning the room, looking after his comrades with a troubled expression. The world was never meant to be peaceful. It was an unsteady place with a number of issues, but lately they just seemed to keep piling up. He sighed, ruffling his hair and closing the door behind him.

He couldn't help shiver as the jolt of trepidation curled around his spine and settled about his shoulders, nearly lowering him to a stoop with its burden.

"Avalon, wait! Av — "

"Will you stop?" the smaller nation hid a smile as he turned his head just slightly. "I have always waited for you. I didn't intend to leave before you caught me."

"You seemed as if you were in a hurry." He huffed, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his face. "Come. I will take you home."

"Unnecessary." Replied the man, who quirked an eyebrow even as he was being led by the arm to the docks. "The island and I — "

"— are bound, yes, I know." Atlantis rolled his eyes, quoting his friend's old adage. Avalon and the island named thereafter were bonded to each other in a way no other Nation had experience with. As the humans put it, 'Avalon does not send you where you want to go; it takes you where you need to be.'

"Then you would know that I do not need to be taken home." He preened and Afriit released an undignified snort, guiding him toward his garish vehicle.

"Come now, Albion," sighed the younger man. He pressed the point with the use of their human-given names, a soft point for all the Nations as it meant inclusion into their countries' societies. "I know you enjoy the scenic routes I take."

Avalon gasped and swatted the man's face away from where his nose nestled against his ear. They were still so close to the doors of El Dorado's massive palace, enough to almost hear Ker-Ys whisper lewd suggestions into Shambhala's ear as it echoed around them. Ker-Ys was thusly pushed into the crystalline waters below them, and while Saguenay laughed uproariously, Albion gave a little sigh.

The nerve of that boy, goading him, teasing him, when others were still clearly about. He caught Atlantis' grin and fought valiantly not to swipe it off his face. "Very well, if you cease this reckless and juvenile behavior at once. Do you want us to get caught?"

"No sir." Atlantis' eyes narrowed in amusement as he seated himself behind his charge so that the elder man was pressed against the bare expanse of his chest. A laugh rumbled deep within him as their transport hummed to life under the raw thrum of his power and jetted through the ocean waves. Albion jumped in his embrace. "What do you think of all this?"

"I think that you need to stop giving so much credit to those men that you call engineers! This is a death trap!"

The young Nation rolled his eyes. Avalon was such an old fart.

"Besides, why do this when the sea is so beautiful and the sky so clear? You need to enjoy your youth, Atlantis, before you start getting too old and creaky, like Dieudonné."

"Well, genocide will certainly take that off the table, won't it?" He shrugged and lowered his speed, cruising along at a safe pace that allowed them to take in their surroundings but not stall out in the middle of nowhere. He wrapped an arm around Avalon and pressed his face into his neck with a small smile. "I have missed you, by the way."

"Keep your hand on the damn controls, Atlantis. Who knows how many ways we could die if Goddess forbid you so much as tilt the wrong way."

"What, you mean like this?" The boy shifted his weight to his left side, nearly tossing Avalon overboard as he squealed and clung to the other's muscular arms in an attempt not to be consumed by the resulting spray. The watercraft leveled under Atlantis' careful guidance and slowed considerably as he fought to gain control of his snickers and blocked a slap to the face, courtesy of his aggrieved lover.

"You are a maniac. Why did I ever agree to this? Let me down. Let me down this instant, Atlantis."

"Oh, have a heart, love. 'Twas only a bit of fun, and you need to let loose a little."

"I do not need to 'let loose'. What does that even mean? Let me down, I say!"

"Oh hush, just enjoy the scenery." He used his hands to turn the older man's head, taking note of the ringed island – his island – passing them by as they floated along. Avalon bit his lip (such a sap for nature), but said nothing.

"You aren't going to ignore me the entire way, are you? This is a vast ocean."

His lip twitched.

"I very well could just leave you here. I doubt you would enjoy that much though. I know that you dislike wet clothing, so like a cat."

He shut his eyes.

"I love you." Whispered in his ear, the perfume of his breath mixing with the salty sea air.

He grunted and fell back against Atlantis' chest in a huff, secretly pleased by the rumble of a laugh that made his entire body tremble. "Absolutely insane."

"Well, fine then. You enjoy the ocean like a good mermaid, I'll just keep quiet and not kill us."

"I am no mermaid!"

The boy huffed a laugh and steered them through clear skies and whistling winds. True to his word, he was silent for the rest of the trip, and Albion certainly had to give him credit for it. It was dark by the time they even spotted his home on the horizon.

Indeed. Even without reaching out with his mind, he could feel the air crackling with wisps of arcane magic, the likes of which mortals would never see. A gust of straying wind lifted a smile to his lips as it carded through his shaggy blonde hair. Home would always greet him this way, as if a mother to her wandering son. The apple trees lining the shore shook their branches in welcome and danced to the whims of the breeze. He breathed in the magic and the scent of home as Atlantis approached behind him and wrapped his arms around the too-thin waist presented before him, allowing the man a moment of utter peace only associated with homecoming. Avalon twitched and brought a hand to rest on top of the knot formed by his lover's wrists.

With a smile, the Atlantean knotted their fingers and swayed, matching the dance of the branches. Avalon was a beautiful place. He had always been mystified by its simple tranquility, ensnared by the inherent magic of the island and more than captivated by its wielder. Not that he was the only one – the entire island was twisted around Avalon's little finger, bending and shifting to his every wish and whim. He was, by principle, a man of science, but Atlantis was not so blind as to see how easily the man commanded the very land which had birthed him, and how, in every way the island moved (From the coiling leaves to the churning rivers to the wink-twinkle-blink of the effervescent fae that populated its woodlands), it was forever exalting adoration for its master.

"Avalon?"

"Oh dear. Here I was beginning to think that you could actually rein in your need to be obnoxious for more than a day." He squeezed the younger's fingers to cool the heat of the jibe.

"Avalon, you really are…" Breathtaking. Immaculate. Resplendent in your timelessness. "Beautiful."

A scoff. "You say that whenever we get the chance to see each other. Will you never learn to hold your tongue?"

"How can you say that?" The sound of linens shifting against bare skin. Avalon lifted his green eyes to meet the Atlantean's, his head haloed by the slowly sinking sun. The look of exasperation was exaggerated by his overlarge eyebrows, which the other took the time to brush a finger across as if in some affection. Instead of being touched, however, the smaller Nation rolled his eyes in disdain. "You are beautiful, Albion. I would have you know it. Unto my dying breath."

"I told you to keep such thoughts to yourself — "

"But why?" The ever-passionate young man dropped to his knees, the better to stay eye-level with his much shorter companion. "Why must we hide? Ciro and Nordemann are together and they have no want or reason to be ashamed of their relationship — "

"How dare you presume that I am ashamed — "

"And we have been lovers for much longer, Albion. I even thought to ask for your hand at the next meeting, though our marriage would not be public — "

"Marriage!" The man screeched, taking hold of his lover by the cheeks and guiding the boy's face to align to his own. Afriit was so young, so powerfully idyllic. His ideals were untainted by the perils of age and time, and as yet, he left no room for wisdom there. But he needed to make him listen. Make him see. "Listen to me, Atlantis. A love such as ours does not leave room for such luxuries as marriage. We cannot. Do you understand? Our world is not a forgiving one. You know the penalty for what we are doing - death. Our people would be made to disperse. Our leaders would abandon us. There would be no loyalty or love for their country if any of them were to discover what we have been doing for the past century."

"But — !"

"No!" He pressed the pads of his thumbs to the high cheekbones of his boy, gaze softening if but a smidgeon underneath his harsh glare. "Do not mistake my logic for anything more than it is. I said do not!" The old bones in his wrists creaked with effort, shaking Afriit as he opened his mouth to protest for the umpteenth time.

"I know that you realize how deeply I care for you. And I know beyond a doubt that you recognize my love for you and what we have built together, too. I have raised you, fed you, clothed you, and now I lay with you as your equal, Afriit. Atlantis," one elfin finger coiled around the boy's most stubborn lick of hair, a generally irritating strand that Avalon nonetheless had always found rather endearing. "I have given you my life and my love. What use do we have for a title that would only bring more problems down upon our heads?"

The young nation shut his eyes and frowned, bowing once again to the shrewd perceptions of his teacher. Atlantis understood perfectly well what it meant to ask a man's hand in marriage. Humans would have their genitals cut off, or worse, they would be tortured, but at least they would be kept alive for 'entertainment.' Nations did not serve such a purpose. If they were caught, they would be purified, their kingdoms dissolved and their lands burnt to the ground in an effort to stave off the curse of a stagnant populace. He twisted his lip into a wry smile. If they wanted a way to ward off overpopulation, they could always just expose themselves.

"I… Understand, Mentor." Atlantis bit the inside of his cheek as he watched Albion's lips press together in amusement. He had left behind his friend's arcane teachings ages ago – had, in fact, discovered things to add to Avalon's personal well of knowledge. But calling him Mentor (A name which he had given the man at a young age) was a nasty habit that he still had yet to grow out of, particularly when subject to such harsh lessons as these. It was in the tone of voice that his lover carried, and the attitude presented to Atlantis – a complete about-face that caught him off guard and knocked him back down to his bare instincts. Atlantis had a sneaking suspicion that Avalon had grown a little too fond of the title and very well enjoyed poking and prodding him, making a game of drawing the word from his lips. It would be just like him to stroke his ego at someone acknowledging him a superior, intentional or not.

"What I do not understand is what difference there is between the ways we love and the way two humans love. Why are we to be persecuted when Ker-Ys boasts a new notch in his belt every hour on the hour?"

Avalon sighed and shook his head, the lock of hair still coiled like a spring around his nimble finger. "You think too much, Atlantis. Accept that the world is a simple and barbaric place and you will be all the wiser for it. Now go; the sun has long since set."

He tilted his head, pressing a too-gentle kiss on his lover's pliant lips and nudging noses in a fair but quiet goodbye. Afriit flashed him one of those dazzling smiles – the confident one, the one that won wars – and settled back down on his hulking metal deathtrap.

"One day, Avalon, you and I will need no caution. We will declare our love from the highest mountains and be hailed as good and faithful men."

Avalon rolled his eyes and smirked off into the darkness, watching as the craft sped the Atlantean further and further away. From his lips, a parting goodbye was whisked and carried on the winds, and the sea whistled its reticent reply.

TIME: IMMEMORIAL
+ 105 DAYS
Early Morning

The mystic airs of Avalon dissolved into a distinct tang that he recognized as Atlantis. It was a strange mix of sea air and heavy metal alloys that greeted him, the shine of gold and the bite of silver. He breathed it all in and smiled. He had spent decades training his mind: I need to be here. I need to be near Atlantis. I need to see for myself that he is holding his own. And now, finally, it took but a breath and a thought to land him on the outermost ring of the vast island. His second home.

Around him, children chased each other through the tall blades of untamed grass and climbed up the array of trees, which towered over their people so far away from the heart of the island. Women picked fruits from the trees and placed them into intricate woven baskets, creating veritable rainbows against the backdrop of green, green, green. Such peaceable surroundings.

Avalon reached high, catching a branch and shimmying his way up through the leaves of the old olive tree. It was one of his favorites; the one he used to sit under and create spells as his young charge climbed high into the brambles and proclaimed himself the greatest adventurer ever lived. Both of them had fond memories of this tree, but of all that it had bestowed upon them, he loved the view the best. Without squinting, Albion could make out the heart of Atlantis – the crux of the burgeoning scientific community. Its metallic sheen glistened proudly in the harsh early morning rays, rigidity juxtaposed by four enclosures which melted the metal away to reveal the picture of simplicity with modest homes and sprawling farmlands. The isle and its rings were anchored together by a stone walkway, the bridge as straight as an arrow. It was the only thing on the entire island that did not remind him of Atlantis' deep-seated penchant for chasing wild ideas and hunting down his dreams. The only thing that, after all these years, still said yes, Teacher, I know. I know where reality lies.

So rarely did he feel that his associates were well represented. He saw their lands and thought too much, too modern, too far from the truth. But here, yes, he could see Atlantis here, see the brilliance and the intricacy of his mind wrapped up in the trappings of a simple young man. And all of it was held together by an iron will to see his people through to the future.

A threemonth had given him time enough to consider his love's words. Albion knew that he was right; there would be no love lost between the Nations and their people if they were to be caught. But the conversation had struck a heretofore ignored chord within him. The idea of marriage, of holding true to one woman in his entire lifetime, had never really appealed to him. But a lifetime with Afriit… A lifetime of picking up his messes, of keeping him in line, of being the one to ground him in reality when his dreams lifted him too far away…

There was some appeal in that.

He was resting on a branch now, extending out over the water encased between two rings of hard-packed soil. With his thoughts so deeply rooted, Avalon never noticed when a man's shadow cast its rippling dance upon the water below him, or when the stranger carefully hid a mischievous smirk and lifted a booted foot into the air. He did, however, note the almighty splash that drenched him from head to toe, and, spluttering, glared down at the little menace that he dared to call his consort. Perhaps he had spoken too soon.

"What?" Afriit grinned at him, holding his palms up in as innocent a gesture as he could manage. "I had to get your attention somehow."

"And I am to believe that this is the reason for soaking my finest clothes?"

Blue eyes analyzed him from down below as Albion subconsciously crossed his legs a little tighter. "That does not look like formal garb to me."

"I said finest, not formal, for Goddess' sake." The man leapt off the tree with a grace asserting his woodland heritage. He all but floated down beside his companion; hair and clothing still dripping cold water and bringing with them the fragrance of the sea. Atlantis guffawed at him.

"Very well then, what brings the mighty Avalon here of such importance that he must wear his finest clothes?"

"I thought I might solicit an answer from you."

"Oh?" the reply was full of intrigue. "Go on, then."

But the older Nation shook his head and tilted his head toward the coves, a silent gesture that Afriit was well familiar with. When Atlantis was young, a small and unexplored islet with plenty of promise, his first king had beaten and bribed the small Nation for political favors. It had been Avalon to pull him aside and tell him that he must stand true to his beliefs and carefully consider all of his options if he was to grow. He could never have done that out in the open, however, instead taking the boy into small caves near the mountain or away to the grasslands of his home, safe from the prying eyes and ears of Atlantean royalty.

With a nod, Afriit led him away from the crowds toward the shore, where the grass gave way to sand and the sand piled up an expansive field of dunes. Avalon bit his cheek. Not exactly the place for such a query, but at least they had their privacy. The children were not allowed to play on the dunes, as the sand concealed sharp rocks and a variety of scorpion from which the Atlantean coat of arms drew its image. He had never allowed Atlantis here as a child, but it nevertheless seemed to be one of his favorite places to visit.

"So," the young man prompted, dusting the patch of ground that he had chosen and taking a seat when assured that it did not nest any scorpions. "What is it that you want of me?"

The flesh of his lip pinched under his teeth as Albion considered his next words. "Have you given any more thought to asking my hand?"

"No." he responded immediately, wary of being lectured on the dangers of such a prospect.

"Afriit. Be honest."

"Well… Well, yes. Of course." He looked away, unwilling to admit as such lest he be scolded. He had never brought it up again in the three months since they had last seen each other, as the subject was too sensitive for the written word and the infrequent missives that they received from each other were too precious to ruin with a potential argument. "Why?"

"…Iwanttoaskforyourhand."

"Excuse me?" He laughed, finally swiveling his head back toward Avalon to stare into his eyes.

"I want…" a pant, a sigh. He ran his fingers through the mess that was his hair in frustration. "I want to ask for your hand."

The smile disappeared.

"What?"

"Do… Do you not want — "

"No!" Atlantis held a hand to the other man's mouth, firm dissatisfaction etched in his features as he shook his head. "No. I simply thought that you disapproved."

"I never said I was asking for your hand in marriage." He replied, brushing the hand away gently. A smile curled his lips as he watched the boy's face morph from surprise to realization to disappointment. The moment sustained, he held his silence for effect and eventually continued, "I doubt we will ever be recognized within the sanctity of marriage. But I know of a spell, and if you would permit it — "

"Yes!"

"Wha – ?"

"I want to. We should do it." The smile was back on his face.

"Don't be so eager. You have no knowledge of what the spell is or if it works."

"I suppose, but you would never intentionally harm me." A nonchalant shrug. Afriit took his hand and squeezed it, unafraid. Determined to finish, however, the older Nation continued on.

"It will bind our souls together. They would be connected, entwined."

Here, the expected confusion marred the boy's otherwise excited look. "What does that mean for us?"

He fixed him with a stern gaze. "No matter where a soul traverses, no matter how far or long they are apart, its companion will always find it. The spell acts as a tether, tying each of the essences together by force. Even should we die, we would find each other in the next life, and the next, and so on."

Atlantis was silent. He seemed to be weighing his options, for which Albion was glad. He could no more make the decision for both of them than his lover could demand the rights to marry another man, but it was still a large and daunting step to take.

"You would… Wish to tie your soul to mine?"

"Yes." Obviously, since he had brought it up. "If that is also what you wish."

"Forever." The word fell from his lips softly, like a prayer. Like a mantra. It made the elder smile to hear it. "When? Can we do it now?"

Avalon gave an undignified snort. "Why must you always be so impatient? Yes, we can do it now. I have all that I need."

"Come, then."

The two set off to the north, where mountains sprawled over the island's circuits. Atlantis had long since memorized the route which would take them to Albion's favored altar, a secluded cave mostly hidden to the naked eye. Once it had become apparent that it was much more practical to tutor Afriit on his own lands when he had been young, he had built the shrine himself over a period of several years. Of course, nowadays it was always covered with a thick layer of dust and a distinct air of neglect, but Atlantis still studied the arts from time to time, and had kept up his studies fairly well for a man who had devoted himself to the sciences.

It took them the better part of an hour to reach the cave, by which point the Atlantean had managed to work himself into a knot of excitement and Avalon was feeling far less charitable having been exposed to his babbling for so long. He drew on the last remnants of his patience and managed to get away with merely the look in his eyes and the snap of his tongue, citing his need for concentration if the spell was to work. It had the desired effect; the young Nation set immediately to taking the proffered wineskin and cleansing the altar and the surrounding cave floor, taking fragrant herbs and kneading them into the earth.

"Good," Avalon commented, offhand. "I see you remember the proper arrangements."

A grin. "Of course. It's difficult not to when you whipped them into me." He was pouring almond oil onto his fingers now, drawing runes. Albion came to inspect them and bit his lip to prevent a smile. He was taking careful consideration of the markings, attempting to make each one as straight and uniform as possible (A futility, as Afriit's rune-carving was among the worst he had ever seen, even after a lifetime of tutelage.)

He took the wineskin himself and began to bathe the five pillars surrounding their stone tablet, his own runes quickly scribed and written with a steady hand. When all had been cleansed, he turned to his lover and shot him a shrewd look. "Disrobe."

"Oh, it's one of those, is it?" The boy chuckled, and Albion bit down against a retort as he released boots, belt, and the loincloth riding low on his hips until he stood naked in the semidarkness. He went ignored, of course, as the wine sluiced over his muscles and down from his hair into his eyes. A shudder shot through his spine as Avalon slicked his hands down his sides and over his hips, down to his legs and up again. Soon, the whisper of his touch was matched by the cadence of his voice, and Atlantis desperately tried to calm his racing heart as he felt the familiar pull of magic wrap like a cloak around his body. The runes hummed against his skin.

At last, Avalon placed the wine into his palm and stepped back, robe and inner tunic sliding smoothly from his form. He was doused with the liquid and continued to chant as Atlantis retraced Dagaz-Algiz-Sowlio. Then, as he scribed Ehwaz, then Hagalaz, the glyphs shone against his mentor's alabaster skin. The power shimmered gold and silver against the dull grey pillars of the cave. Under his calloused hands he could feel the heat rise and reach for him, and as he finished with Kenaz scribed upon Avalon's forehead and Avalon reached for his favorite blade, he felt the first stirrings of arousal.

But Albion turned away from him, kneeling before the altar while still whispering reverent prayers and weaving ancient spells as the tip of the knife bit into his chest, pouring red blood into his waiting palm. Afriit climbed atop the altar without instruction, quietly watching as his lover moved to stand at the foot of the stone and knelt between his ankles, marking Uruz-Gebo-Ingwaz in bloody symbols that glowed silver with his sorcery. He drew his breath, feeling the press of the younger man's thoughts as the magic reared to envelop them both with the warmth and presence of a mother's arms.

The knife bit into Atlantis' skin.

Atlantis lifted a hand and dipped two of his fingers into the makeshift paint, and together they reached closer until the tips of his fingers were tracing Desire against his breast. Avalon fought to keep his arms from trembling as he balanced above the man, the barrier between their minds crumbling to dust. The brush of Afriit's nervousness – the sensations of hurt and cold bit at his nerves – but he focused only on the solid footing of his love, simple, unasked, freely given. The younger smiled up at him, traced Balance over his heart and Avalon had to fight to keep his face as impassive as possible (Another futility; his own exaltation was laid bare for his love to see, and their mingling stimulation together increased twofold.)

Home brought with it a brilliant shower of energy; the air around them crackled with the ancient magics of Avalon. He pressed both of his palms to the growing pools of blood on their chests and held them up above his head, chanting spells of binding and longevity and protection. Atlantis barely understood a word, so archaic were the forces he was invoking. He watched in awe at the show of power displayed to him, for him, and wondered at how anyone could ever begrudge them their love. Who was so devoted, so giving, so great as Avalon?

The drying fluids burnt brands onto Atlantis' wrists as Albion leant forward to mark them, warmth he was unaccustomed to with his back pressed against unyielding granite. He met the man in a chaste kiss and leant back again as the marks lanced power around his arms and down through his veins. The magic flared and the air sizzled as Avalon fell atop him, ankles scribed with their blood, and pressed their bodies together as they panted, barely able to breathe as if the magic had filled their very lungs.

"By this may our lives be joined." He intoned, holding Afriit's face in his hands. "Let us be twined together in the eyes of the Goddess."

Atlantis let out a quiet groan, head thrown back at the sheer force of the power as it closed in on them, binding them together. In his mind's eye, he could see his body burn bright as each of the runes was imprinted upon his very core. It began with Dagaz as he listened, conjoining each benediction with its name as if a child learning from his master once more. Each mark burned unto his soul like a beacon, bright as it searched for its partner.

"Grant us your protection…"

Algiz.

"…That we may always be as one in mind as well as body…"

Sowlio.

"…That we may find each other through the realms of time and space…"

Ehwaz.

"…As we walk the path of eternity…"

Hagalaz.

"…Lend us your power…"

Uruz.

"…Let us be balanced in all things…"

Gebo.

"…And forever claim sanctuary in this, our home…"

Ingwaz.

"…To these covenants we are bound. May we have the strength and forbearance to endure as we forge our lives together by the power of the ancient scrolls. May we find peace and sanctity in the bond that we share, for we are united for now and evermore."

Kenaz.

Avalon held his lover as he moaned and twisted, panting with need. He frotted urgently against him as the power surged and flared, rearing above their heads. But Albion could not, he could not lose focus, could not risk what would happen if he turned the slightest bit of attention to the desperate keening of the boy and so he grit his teeth and buried his face in Afriit's hair as the magic overtook him, spreading through his limbs, coursing through his veins, setting his skin aflame, as it seemed to whisper, are you sure?

Yes, he thought, and knew as he looked into his lover's eyes that he had not hesitated either. Yes.

So be it.

Together, they were engulfed.

Together, they were blinded.

Together, they screamed.

Together.

Water.

Water everywhere. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see.

He was drowning.

No, Gods, no, please. I am a prosperous country, a good servant. I bring my people joy; the lands are luscious golds and greens. Why, I beg you, why cover their beauty in muted blues and blacks? Why kill my people? We have done nothing wrong. Why make us suffer? Why? Whywhywhywhywhy—

—is it still so bright out? Can'tbreathecan'tfeelcan'tthinkWATER—

There is a wall here.

The waves carried him in their depths, lovingly pressing him against the frigid stone, grinding his skin against the granite.

Push, grind, push, grind, push, grind-push-grind-pushgrindpush—

No walls.

He swam with the churning waves, the sea chilling his bones, stinging his eyes. Salt. Copper. There was blood in these waters. No, the gods were not feeling merciful tonight. But better him than any of the others. Better him than… Than…

Someone was pulling him, dragging him through the froth of the waves. A mermaid?

No. Flesh. Hard muscle. Flat chest. A man.

…Blood?

"See."

Don'twanthurts.

"You must. See."

He did, and left by horseback the next morning.

TIME: IMMEMORIAL
+ 105 DAYS
Late Afternoon

Ker-Ys was still the most beautiful city in the world, the man thought as he stepped over another one of Dahut's 'little accidents'. It simply needed to be cleaned up a little.

To clarify, he wasn't at all ashamed in participating in the trysts that lined the streets. In truth he felt that his citizens were much more liberal than any other nation's, and it made him proud. It did, however, rub him the wrong way to have all his laws governed by a mere girl. King Gradlon was a fine man and a fair judge, but when it came to his daughter, he would melt like wax in the sun. Dieudonné would grant that he would (occasionally) deny some of her more ridiculous requests, but things were going to get much worse if he allowed the king to turn a blind eye to the plague that was fast encroaching upon the city.

No one's fault, really – they were used to the king taking orders from his daughter. They simply weren't used to dealing with the repercussions of taking pleasures of the flesh with people whom they barely knew. When she began to organize excess gatherings and trysts in the fields, who would blame her? Everyone wanted to be part of a free community, and Dahut had a fresh face paired with a winning personality (And more than a few assets). The kingdom had been built in her honor. No one saw any reason as to why the laws would not bend that way, too. It was no one's fault but her father's that she had turned into such a spoiled brat.

He turned the corner with a sigh. Ys had arranged to meet with a couple of his good friends for some old fashioned fun and a few drinks, but for some reason, he felt old tonight. His bones were weary and his eyes drooping; the friends he'd passed in the afternoon said he looked twenty years older. Perhaps it had something to do with the problems brought forth by the Conference. He never did well when saddled with such issues, and often took to bedding several women a night in an attempt to relax. All he wanted tonight, though, was a load of mead and a few quiet hours to sleep.

It seemed as if fate had different plans.

"Oh, my lady. Pardon me."

"That's quite all right, dear." Dahut's smile glittered like the early morning sun on water; she seemed unaffected at all that he had bumped into her by accident (Which was rather odd, since she'd have had his head for just about anything else). The fact seemed to be directly attributed to the man helping her to her feet, dressed in heavy armor tinted in red. A practical once-over revealed that the man was not at all the princess' usual type, with pale, paper-white skin contrasted by a shock of jet black hair. As he watched, the man wound a sinuous arm around the princess' waist, and though he felt no shame in wanting a night to himself, Ys found relief in the fact that he would not have to endure a day-long tirade for leaving her to her own devices. The man was clearly her escort. "This is Michel. He arrived just as you were leaving for your silly conference, so you would do well to extend some courtesy."

"Of course." Mumbled the Nation, grasping the stranger's arm and biting back a hiss as they shook. His armor was as cold as ice. "I hope that you have enjoyed your stay thus far."

"Indeed, it seems to live up to its title, at least. Yours is an empire of beauty made for both the body and the soul." As he spoke, Michel lifted a hand and tucked a lock of long brown hair behind the future queen's ear. She gave a girlish giggle and casually brushed his hand away.

"Michel and I were to meet some friends by the gates, if you would be so inclined." Whispered the girl conspiratorially. "The night is young yet, milord. We might still have our fun. You would simply have to share."

"Perhaps." Replied Ker-Ys, more than used to indulging his princess by now. "Whereabouts would you be staying? If I might be so persuaded, I would hope to find only you; boldness is not my forte this night."

"Out to shore."

"Shore? Impossible." Dieudonné's brows shot into his hairline as he stared down at his friend. The kingdom had been built below sea level, but a dike had been built to keep the waves at bay. The key to open the gates lay solely in the hands of the king, who kept it on his person at all times. There was no possible way to get around the veritable wall without it; how could Dahut possibly believe that anyone would be out by the shore at this hour? For that matter, how did she plan to get there?

Dahut lifted a finger to her mouth and smirked, a pretty twist of her lip that brought men flocking. But they were alone, and just as well, because from her bosom she produced an ornate key derived from bronze. The head of the key formed a wing – carved for Gradlon's horse, which he had for so long claimed a Pegasus. Its teeth were as mountains, forming peaks and flat plains in a design no other locksmith had dared to recreate. His jaw dropped at the sight.

"Thievery!" hissed Ys. "Treason! What you have done is treason!"

"Oh," tsked the princess, waving a hand. "'Tis but the folly of a young romance. We would be back before the moon peaks. He will never know."

"No. Princess, I cannot allow this. Do you hear that?" A pause – he allowed the sounds of the high tide crashing against the kingdom walls to permeate the air around them, a beast roaring after its prey. "You would allow that into your kingdom for a romp in the sand?"

"We are but a breath away from the shore; you are acting like an old man." She snapped, suddenly quite annoyed. "Either join us or stay, but I forbid you to question the actions of the woman who would soon be your queen. And you are not to tell father about this – Unhand me!"

"Winwaloe had warned me that our fair city would fall under the weight of its own excesses." Ys frowned, keeping a tight hold on the girl's wrist. "I did not believe him that night, but I believe him now, if you are to go on with this foolishness. Come back with me, princess. Leave this stranger behind. We must return the key to your father."

"That is unacceptable, I'm afraid."

"You are not a part of this." Snapped the Nation as he eyed Michel. "I would advise you to walk away now, bef — "

He couldn't finish before everything went black.

"Donné. Dieudonné! For God's sake, man, we have no time!"

Blurry vision; there was water in his mouth, in his lungs. He coughed.

"That's it. Up with you now, come on. Come on!"

Bile in his throat. Dread in his heart. Death all around him. No.

Ys stumbled atop the horse with the King's offered hand, looking around in horror. Every home, every building, every nook and cranny was drenched in water. Bodies floated past as Morvarch sloshed through the debris with his powerful legs, heading somewhere. Ys didn't begin to guess where; there was no surviving this.

"…So glad I found you." Gradlon was saying through his haze. "I only awoke to the sound of the waves crashing through the gates, and my daughter is nowhere to be found."

A snort; she had good reason not to be found, the little traitor. Hopefully she was resting at the bottom of the sea, atoning for her too-many sins.

"You must head for the shoreline. For the Hills."

"Are you mad?" the man roared, angry and frustrated in his loss of power. He was still speeding in every direction, looking for his little witch-girl. "Morvarch is but a horse; he cannot make it to shore!"

"You will die, then!" snapped the Nation. "I would know; the people are drowning and their leader has been reduced to a mere victim of circumstance. I am without government, without my people, without my lifeblood. I will die tonight, Gradlon, but at least have the decency to live on in honor of your own kingdom."

They locked gazes for a few moments. He was dead and he knew it; could feel his essence ripping at the seams as blood slowly leaked out of his mouth, coating his tongue in a bitter taste. The moment Dahut opened the doors of their citadel, she had doomed him. The nerve of this man to think he had the right not to live, to drown in his misery as much as Ys was drowning – literally – in excess. He would see to it that his great and beautiful nation garnered the respect it deserved. Stories would be told of its magnificence; he would never be forgotten so long as Gradlon braved the sea.

The water sloshed around them, churning in dizzying spirals and crashing against the carefully built walls of stone. It was nearly up to their calves, causing the great steed to struggle even under their weight. Dieudonné pushed away from the walls as they were swept through the tall bronze gates of their sanctuary and out into the sea. It was something out of a nightmare, his people scattered in clumps as they choked and gurgled. The bodies of children floated listlessly along like marionettes, water pouring from every orifice. Ys watched as slowly, slowly, each and every one of them was consumed by the elements. Every lost soul cost him another mouthful of blood, every empty gaze another tear in his perforated lungs. Their deaths cost him his blood, but the pain was nothing; nothing compared to the loss of life caused by one selfish woman.

"Father!"

She was being tossed to and fro by the vicious maelstrom, the flower in her hair long lost. Her clothes – the ever-expensive dresses and jewelry that were her trademark – weighed her down, until she was nearly swallowed for her insolence. Gradlon reached for his daughter in a desperate lunge, driving himself sideways to catch her arm and drag her to the overburdened horse. Morvarch, his body cold, his limbs aching, tossed his great head as the ocean frothed about them. He would not be able to make it to shore with this many people. Ys knew it, but he would not give in; the sea was a monstrous creature indeed, but he would rather choke on his own blood than taste that which forever stained him with dishonor.

"My daughter." The old man sighed in relief. She clung to their legs as the horse sank deeper and neighed in distress. Donne clapped a firm hand to his shoulder and hacked a wretched-sounding cough.

"Your majesty, you must let her go."

"No! Father, Father, I am innocent! I did not do this!"

"Your selfishness brought this upon all of us!"

"Be silent!" screeched the maiden. "You have no right to speak to a woman of my status. You are a liar and a rogue who would besmirch God and country to save face!"

"I am Ker-Ys!" he growled, bringing her up by a wrist and twisting her. Gradlon yelped in protest, but could do nothing when maintaining control of their transport. "I am this country! I will not have my name sullied by a mere girl, a harlot who would seduce her father's own men only to throw them down to the gates of Hell. You care not but for tricks and lies, ways to twist men around your finger. You are a fool to think that I would let you live after what you have done to my people!"

"Dieudonné, what are you doing? What are y – no, wait! NO!"

But he tossed her away, as far as possible (Which, in retrospect, wasn't very far at all in his condition), so that she landed atop a bundle of dead chambermaids who had been gossiping near the gates earlier. Her soaked dress dragged her down until she was clawing for air as wave after wave enveloped her in its embrace. Her absence brought upon the king a fury as yet unseen – he let go the reins and twisted, tackling the envoy into the festering waters, his every instinct now honed to destroy the man who had severed the one remaining link to his wife.

"What have you done? Look what you've done! My daughter, my daughter!" His grip tightened around Ys' neck every syllable, forcing blood and bile from the man's lips to dribble down his chin as he fought for purchase against his captor's hold.

"No, no, no." tutted Gradlon, bringing their faces close. Ker-Ys flinched away from his eyes, cold and empty, and continued kicking at the man, digging nails into his wrists. "You must repent for your sins, my boy. You must repay your debt to me – you stole my daughter's life; how are we going to rectify that?"

It was no use; he'd grown too weak – lost too many people, too much blood. He could hardly resist as the old king forced his head underwater and pushed him down, down, using all of his considerable war-honed force. Looming death chilled his bones as the remaining air was forced from his lungs. In its place, he stained the water a deep crimson red and tasted the tears of ten thousand innocents.

What had he done to deserve this? His thoughts blurred, his mind half gone, alone in the water – perhaps the king had drowned, himself – he wondered vaguely if this was a punishment for all of the Nations to bear. Was this the foretold Judgment Day that so many of his associates had raved about? Who was still alive? Who was already gone? And Mengyao, oh, Mengyao, with his fleeting glances and secretive smiles, his hard-nosed ranting and quiet patience. Ys' heart nearly burst in shame for ignoring the blatant affection that had passed between them. It all seemed so trivial now, not to pursue a relationship with the revered Shambhala because he was too much of a coward to bare his true feelings to the public. No, he promised, never again. He would never lock himself away that way ever again.

But he could do nothing now. He was powerless now. He was dying now. So he forced his last breath to the heavens and beseeched the gods.

I will accept this, thought the Nation as he forced his eyes open, wanting affirmation, an answer, something in exchange for his words. I am not ready, I do not want this, but I will accept it, if only to appeal to you that I be forsaken in their place. God save the souls of my people. God watch over my fellow Nations. God bless the king; he knows not what he does. God take my soul. I am but a wretch, unworthy of the kingdom from whence I take my name, but I am a humble servant, so I offer my immortal soul in place of theirs that they may be spared your wrath. Do with me what you must, but please, please, I beg of thee, O Eminence…

Protect the ones I love.

"I told you. I told you that they did not care for you."

Father?

"They tossed you away."

My father? Cold.

"I know, lovely one. This is your new home."

Ocean. Home.

"Come with me now, dear, it is time we pay our respects to another old friend of mine."

The mermaid flipped her tail and sliced through the waves, cutting a path due west. She followed the guidance of a slender crimson serpent. Behind them, a fleet of ships sailed under a golden flag.

TIME: IMMEMORIAL
+ 105 DAYS
Evening

There was a storm coming in from the east.

He could feel it in his bones; pity, that. It had been such a beautiful morning for a beautiful ceremony. Neither of them knew how much time had passed, but they had woken sticky with sweat and blood and something else altogether, husbands in everything but name. Afriit had taken the braces from his wrists and pressed them both into Avalon's shaking hands. When he demanded an explanation, the younger had simply shrugged and said "I may not call you my husband in public, but every couple has something to mark the other theirs."

And the braces had been slipped up to Albion's much slimmer forearms without question.

It was the one thing that Avalon had looked over, really. He was a simple man with simple tastes, and never had worn anything of excess if he could help it. The best he could hope to offer his new partner was the locket he kept stowed away in a chest, which his old king had given to him upon his coronation, many decades ago. It was a treasured part of Avalonian history that contained a single lock of unicorn hair. The trinket was ornate and too heavy to be worn around his neck, but Afriit would have no trouble bearing its considerable weight. He had left to grab it some hours before, and had stayed behind to wait for some critical point in the day which would grant it blessings, or something-or-other. Atlantis had sent him on before he'd managed to finish explaining exactly what he was doing, sensing a lecture on magical theory not far behind.

He was still waiting for him hours later, watching the moon rise beside the mountains and tracing the lines on a new set of cuffs. These were newer, and clenched down on his skin moreso than the ones he had given away, which had been worn in after nearly a decade of constant use. They had been clunky and slightly warped by the consistent upgrades required by their electric technology, but he'd been fond of them all the same. It was fitting that Albion should end up with them; his boss had pressed him to conform to the newer, sleeker models anyway.

Looking out toward the sea, he watched the rolling clouds gather steam and turn a dark, foreboding grey. They were on a clear course to his island. He couldn't help but wonder when Avalon planned to return. After all, he knew that Afriit didn't particularly care for rain. Surely he would understand if he went to find some shelter for the time being?

Atlantis squinted, seeing silhouettes against the clouds that stirred a well of discontent within him. He moved to the viaduct, cutting a clear path amongst the curious onlookers as they crowded the edge of the coast and gawked. But no, no, there weren't supposed to be any ships coming in, especially at this time of night. Warning bells sounded in his head as he sprinted down the bridge, heading for the Elder Hall.

He had to warn his people.

"Get to the city!" he yelled, and people turned to look at him, shaking their heads as they passed. Though they knew of his status, they often never took him seriously; he cursed himself for not listening to Avalon and not building himself a stable reputation. At this point, what little respect he had garnered from his people would serve futile in comparison to the looming threat of pandemonium that was drawing ever closer. Still he called for his people, dragging children with him when he could and placing them in the safety of their parents' arms, and gradually people began to follow him.

"Get inside," he found himself saying, not even processing the steps of protocol that had been drilled into his head for so long. "Get the women and children inside and stay there. Men, get your weapons. Arm yourselves. Make sure the barriers are secure – we must avoid a fight at all possible. Spread the word!"

And then he was gone, flying down the stone walkways and zigzagging through the statues and people that blocked his way. He came upon a towering fortress bedecked in jewels and gold, bursting open the doors so that the King's guards were at his throat before he even reached the throne room.

"We have no time for this! Set up the perimeter; sound the alarms. Let me see the king — someone is coming!"

"Who?"

"I'm not sure. Why don't you have a look?" Grinding his teeth, he pushed past them and into the lavishly decorated Great Hall, where upon his throne sat the figurehead of Atlantis; the man who guided the hearts of his people.

"We have to lock down the city! There's — "

—screams in the air and the distant clash of thunder and the squelch of human blood on grass —

"Sound the alarm! Rally the troops! Ready the boats! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"

And suddenly the wizened old king was a whirlwind of action, sending his aides in every which way as he made his way into the War room, dragging Atlantis behind him.

The room was sparsely kept, made for emergencies; wooden chairs, a simple, circular table carved out of sturdy wood, and one window which encompassed the entire circumference of the room. In the middle of the table sat a small, globular device, glowing ethereally in the overcast gloom. The men that sat about the table looked harried and confused, most of them rushed away from their wives or their beds. At this hour, Atlantis couldn't blame them. The five men (Minus the king, who sat furthest from the door as a security precaution) reached with simultaneous movement to touch the orb, instantly bringing it to life with five rapidfire pulses and depicting – to each individual man – one specific ring of the island. Atlantis blanched, watching the invaders creep further in from the shore at a steady pace.

"Those men are from El Dorado."

"What did you do?" The accusation was sharp and clear. Being young, Afriit flinched away from the tone, but kept his resolve.

"Nothing. As far as I know, our relations have been peaceful at least. Ichtaca and I are on good terms."

"Then explain this!"

"There is no explanation! I do not know what has caused this, but I do know that we need to move now, before they overrun us. Look: we will move our men in three circles around the city. A regiment will be placed at each of the four gates and we will dispatch a group to search and evacuate the captured area. Does that sound — "

of the cries of dying children, could hear their sobs as soldiers cleaving their flesh from bone. He looked into the eyes of his would-be captor and saw empty, soulless sockets, oozing pus and decay. His mother was dead. The children were dead. Everyone was deaddeaddeaddead —

" — Goddess' sake, boy, pull yourself together! This is wartime!"

" — dead, oh Goddesses, those men are dead." surging from his chair, the Nation pressed his shaking palms to the wood of the table and looked around at the men who were unwittingly preparing for their own annihilation. "This night spells doom for us all. The men out there, attacking us, they are not even men. They are corpses. Demons. Minions of the underworld sent to reap our souls."

They gaped at him, not believing what he was offering as an explanation. Afriit shrugged helplessly in response; he knew what he had seen, would never be able to forget it for the rest of his life. "Put me in charge of the search and rescue. I will lead them out."

"You?" Incredulous, the Commander shook his head. "We have no need for a mere boy — "

"I am not a boy! I rank higher than you, Commander, and I have no patience for this at time present. I am ordering you to give me a squad of men, and to have them meet me at the castle steps in exactly five minutes."

Pursing his lips, the grey-haired man gave a tight nod. He never had respected Afriit, nor had Afriit exerted power over him in that manner before. The Nation turned on his heel and headed out the door and down the staircase, toward his room.

What would Avalon think, he wondered, if he could see just how much it took to get him to act this serious? What would he do if he had El Dorado himself snapping at his heels, waiting for him to fall off his perch? Atlantis grabbed an old-fashioned bow and arrow, the quiver resting at his back charged with a nearly-lethal amount of electricity. His favorite pair of lambskin gloves was donned afterward. He switched his casual sandals for a tougher pair, made to withstand varying amounts of terrain and retain the wearer's speed, and — as a habit — blessed himself with water from a small bottle that had been taken from the groves of the Avalonian forests. He had bathed in the water as a child, and it was a comfort to be rechristened in it now, when it almost felt as if he was walking into the depths of Hell himself.

He was ready.

Through the doors and into the fray, the assembled team of twenty-five men followed Afriit through the deserted kingdom roads. Now that the alarm had sounded, most people were cowering in their homes, waiting for the danger to pass. They knew that they were going to have to open their doors again — every emergency protocol for the state of Atlantis required that all citizens stay behind protected lines, which meant that the people living in the outskirts of town abandoned their homes in a time of crisis. There were, however, always a few who decided that sentimentality was justification for staying inside their old homes, and so it was without preamble that Afriit dispatched two teams of five to gather the citizens and herd them toward the center of the island.

"Remember," he directed the rest of the group, each stone-faced young man grouped accordingly. "Do not attempt to engage our enemy. The Commander will deploy — godless — when we return and give the all-clear, so we need not — ghoul, mouth twisting in a perverse sense of amusement as he pound-pound-pounded into her flayed and flagellated flesh — are we clear? Repeat: no one is to engage — thank the Goddess. Finally, finally, merciful death — Move out."

The men balked, unwilling to go far when their leader was in such a state. A few stepped forward to help, noting the steady stream of blood that had begun to drip from his chin to the soil, staining it a dark brown. He chose to ignore the looks, waiting until the troops had the grace to look away once more. After all, none of them ranked high enough to merit an explanation on his condition, and though he didn't often agree with the laws put upon his status as a Nation, this was a time of crisis. The literal death of one's home was often traumatic and a difficult burden to bear without a physical manifestation to go with it in the first place.

The less people knew, the better.

With the teams dispatched and the distant ring of battle growing ever closer, Atlantis split the teams and headed them in opposite directions, planning to meet the rest of the cavalry in the mountains and take the routes back to the city to regroup. They threw common courtesy out the window as, one by one, families were brought from their homes and ushered toward the hills, following the direction of two nervous-looking sentry guards. He was just about to follow them but —

— couldn't hear, his head hurt, GodsGodsGods his legs, can'tfeellegsohGoddess…

He was only a humble fisherman, meant to live a simple life with his wife and three children. How had it come to this? Now the strange man was standing ready with hordes and hordes of troops and there was no savior in sight. Flags raised high and swords swinging low, the man with red armor stepped onto the soiled Atlantean shores with an unnatural twinkle in his eye.

He tried not to shiver in fear. Lie still, they might not notice.

"Kill them. Kill them all." The man's lips were moving, though he still could not make out any sounds. "I want the boy to suffer before he dies."

Why did they have to suffer? Mind drifting, he clung desperately to the thought of his wife and children hiding safe in the city, holing away until these unholy demons finished what they had started. He fervently prayed for them to remember him as he was, not like this, not like this because he couldn't move and couldn't hear and now he couldn't see Gods no it hurts please stop please stop Gods save my children save my wife save me savemesavemesaveme GODS —

In the middle of a richly decorated living room, he retched.

Blood stained the ground as he kept his eyes shut from the phantom pain, feeling yet another one of his people lost to El Dorado's selfish desires. The sharp pang of anger and betrayal bit at his skin as he choked and waved away a couple of his subordinates; they had no business knowing what he'd just seen.

Ichtaca and his forces were near-insurmountable, an unstoppable allied force between the Seven Cities of Gold. But if he wanted to wage war on his home, then he would be damned if he went down without a fight.

"Secure the area and follow the civilians through the mountains." He gathered his team as fast as possible and gestured; they had little time now, with nothing to prevent the onslaught of sheer force coming their way. "We have done all we can here."

"But sir," said a younger subordinate, eyebrows rising — Afriit felt a sharp pang of longing for Avalon's guidance at the gesture. "We still have yet to cover the far side of — "

"Leave that to me." If he was to face these men, then he would face them head on. Perhaps torturing him and having their way would satisfy them enough to leave his people in peace. At least he could try to hold them off until the Commander's men got there. "Just go. That is an order."

"...Sir." the young soldier nodded and turned away, heading for the cover of the peaks and leaving him defenseless. He turned and wordlessly set off down the bridge, where El Dorado's minions were hounding for more hapless victims. He recognized some of the pieces of gold and silver on dismembered arms and legs; the five meant for search and rescue on this part of the island must have been overtaken some time ago.

But he didn't waste time on sentimentalities. Four of the monsters went down before he continued on his way, bow and arrow at the ready. There was no telling what could happen to him if he got closer than he already dared.

"Ah, the mighty Atlantis has arrived."

The Nation clenched his jaw around the myriad of expletives he wanted to sling at his once-friend, forcing himself to keep calm. "Why are you doing this?"

"Oh," tsked the elder with a wave of his hand. "Just a little sport. The world needed some more excitement."

"Excitement?" he roared. "This is mass murder! Genocide!"

"No," chuckled El Dorado, a dark look shadowing his features. "but it will be."

It was only then that he saw them.

He was a sharp man; one of the better hunters on the island thanks to his mentor's patient instruction, but in the black of night even he could not spot the sheer numbers; the dead shamblers which stained his soil in ugly browns and crimson reds, the sheen of their eyes as they turned their hungry gazes upon him — a lone prospective meal amongst the rotting flesh of their horde. Afriit glared them down; there were enough that he feared for the safety of his people, but they lacked motive and direction. If he could take El Dorado down now, it would be easy to cut down the straggling crowd of dead-eyed soldiers.

"They are beautiful, no?" Afriit shook his head, not knowing how to respond to the man's manic grin and wide, glittering eyes. "They will bring me the world. They already brought me three other countries, in fact… And I can never get them to stop multiplying. It troubles me, really. I need to keep figuring out new places to put them. I thought I might visit Avalon after this."

"I have no reason to wonder how you managed to make… Those. I simply want to know what has caused this; we are nothing but good to you. We are fellows in arms, working together — "

"For nothing!" Ichtaca approached him and Atlantis stepped back, putting more distance between them as he leveled the arrow straight at his once-friend's heart. "Do you not see? This world peace that we strive for, it only brings stagnation. There will never be peace. We will destroy ourselves merely for the sake of seeing it done; it is our nature. It is a human nature to want conflict. The need to see death is ingrained within our very cores. As a nation, I merely serve as an avatar to my people. I see, live and breathe their desires. And for them, for you, for each one of us, their deepest wish is not peace in the world. It is hunger. Greed. Avarice. The absolute need to spill blood for the good of their cause."

"You are sick in the head." muttered the Atlantean, shaking his head. "Stop this madness now, El Dorado. Let me take you to the medical ward. We can end this. We can help you, and then — "

"I do not need help," he replied, a sneer in his voice. "I need this land purified. I need you to die."

So Atlantis loosed his arrow, electric sparks glinting like lightning in the midnight sky.

A younger Nation would have turned his stomach loose by now.

Upon a hill of upturned earth, Mengyao stood with his jaw agape. He had come across Pilatusstadt and found not but a lone red cockerel, pecking disinterestedly at the dirt and dust and debris around him. Indeed, it seemed as if the whole of his friend's great city had been swallowed up by the earth, with no one to be spared but for an errant arm or leg. There was literally nothing left of the kingdom, and so he journeyed farther south with frayed nerves and a prayer in his heart. Perhaps he would find better prospects at Cuccagna.

They were losing.

As expected, the Commander did come, bearing an army of burly men and muscular women to aid in his fight against the other nation. Truthfully, Atlantis had not been expecting such a turnout. The lines stretched back as far as he could see and then some. Not that he could see very far right now. He was too busy sprinting through the crowd.

It should have been obvious from the moment he had landed the first blow, striking El Dorado directly in the heart. When he did not fall, or so much as stutter, really, he should have backed off. But now the ground was stained with the blood of his men, the bridge creaked with the weight of the dead and then creaked again when the invaders pushed forward, forward, forward, directly into the heart of their kingdom. Atlantis had had its fair share of battles, but never against this. Never against the dead. So, feeling cowardly and unjust, the Nation turned tail and ran. There was another duty he needed to see through.

At the very least, he was pleased to see that they had set up their defenses exactly as planned. It would buy the people some time before they truly needed to evacuate, heading for the hidden quarry and to the boats built long ago by their ancestors. He had always insisted that they be kept neatly organized and regularly maintained — now the king would see that he had been right to do it. They could not take everyone, but they could save their race.

His legs ached, his clothes stuck to him in a sticky, bloody mess and there were scrapes and rivulets of blood running courses all down his body. He remained, however, resolute in his task. With the resilience of El Dorado's army backing him, Ichtaca was going to win tonight. He had no doubt about that. His thoughts turned immediately to Avalon, who likely had no clue that his new husband would die before their marriage was even consummated. He wished fervently that he be right and that Avalon would not come back at all, but even more so… He hoped that the man would not do anything rash upon finding out what had happened.

Afriit climbed the stairs and sped through the halls toward the mail room. As he walked, a gong sounded three times — the sound of panic, of chaos, the end of their time — as a man began announcing the grave emergency that required everyone to head to the quarry immediately. With his lungs defeated and his side slashed open, the Atlantean snatched a scroll and quill from the nearest desk.

A mess of blood and ink scattered the page as he hurriedly scrawled the note, coughing and hacking as the battle wore on. He could feel it; they were losing badly. His mind could not stop processing their gruesome deaths and the pain they suffered for that simple mercy. By the time he had finished and attached his note to an avian creature with wild white and gold plumage, he had raised four broken ribs, a number of bruises, and a grotesque sense of knowledge of each and every soldier's innards from memories not his own.

Feeling sick, the Nation took flight once more, this time following the beat of pounding footsteps. The humans were likely on their way to the quarry by now, grouping together and sailing away on their last bid to escape. He could hear the throngs of not-quite soldiers roaring and snarling after the people, women screaming as they were separated from their children and families. He would join them once again. He needed to fight, needed to —

"Sir?"

"Ahh, Atlantis. Good to see you still going strong."

"Thank you, sir." The old man was never one for sentimentality, but he knew what it cost him to simply stand at attention like this. Afriit inclined his head in acknowledgment. "If I might, sir, should you not be heading to the quarry with everyone else?"

"Oh, I am." He gave a sad smile, almost pitying. "I still have one more thing to do here, however. My duty as King, you see."

"Of course." replied the Nation, looking the slightest bit lost. No protocol that he had ever studied required the king to stay back for anything less than the most dire of circumstances, and that was only if there was not enough room in the boats. By the way things were going… Afriit clamped down on that line of thought. "Is there something I can do?"

The king looked at him for a long moment, but shook his head and reached for a simple switch that was lined into the wooden table. Atlantis would never have seen it if he hadn't followed the path of his fingers — it was almost as if it were made to hide. A distant rumble made his ears twitch as the switch was depressed, the air suddenly humming with untapped energy.

"No, my dear boy. I believe that you have done your duty. There is nothing more that you can do for us now."

The rumbling grew louder as the two men locked eyes, and from Afriit's mouth bubbled a slick stream of hot new blood.

TIME: IMMEMORIAL
+ 106 DAYS
Midnight

When he found Ciro, there wasn't much left to recognize him by.

The madness that had swept the western hemisphere had not stopped with Pilatusstadt. It had carried on to the south, where Cuccagna no longer offered its plentiful foods and sultry young women. In its place was the distinct mark of famine, the women's hips gave way to bone, the houses stripped down to mounds of rubble, and the livestock sick with plague. Shambhala had choked and covered his face with one of his elongated sleeves, making sure to keep his horse out of ways of the town.

As he walked, he shirked away from several skeletons. It was perfectly natural to see death in their line of "work". What unnerved him, however, was how perfectly clean the bodies were, with literally no meat left to the bones. What had become of this place?

"Cuccagna?" he whisper-called, not daring to allow himself any more volume. The streets were far too empty and the windows much too vacant for him to feel at ease. Mengyao tried again, using a more familiar name. "Ciro?"

A whimper answered him this time, quiet and eerie in the still air. He followed it.

"Ciro, what has happened to your… To your… Oh, dear Gods..."

Shambhala forced the bile back down his throat and stared as the creature — once-a-Nation — squirmed pathetically within the rope and twine that bound him. He was stripped free of meat in places where the bone glistened white as moonstone, Bite marks adorned his torso and his ribcage was bitten right through, as if someone had tried to force the bones from his body. Ciro slumped and snuffled, looking down at his own filth and the blood which coagulated freely around what was left of his legs and ankles. He could see the marks in places where Cuccagna had healed from the abuse, again and again and again until his body simply gave out from the strain of feeding the ravenous villagers. The Land of Want had nothing left to give anymore, but his people were taking his body by force anyway.

"Oh, Ciro." He didn't know what to say. The cruelty of the human race could be spellbinding sometimes. "We have to get you away —"

"N-no!" gasped the shuddering mass of flesh. "L-leave me. I-I don't..."

"Stop being such a fool." The Nation grumbled, and reached forward to untie the bindings. They were sticky with blood and pus, and the boy's wrists were rubbed raw with the force of them. "You need time to heal —"

"Really, Mengyao. I-I insist. You must leave."

"I will," he shrugged, freeing the boy's broken left arm. "When I get you free. Tell me what happened here."

"I-I… We had... Some trouble with a bout of sickness." Cuccagna mumbled, seeming ashamed more than anything else. Shambhala ignored the way he seemed to crumple under his own weight as he meticulously undid the ties around his feet. "We never had that kind of trouble before. Everyone was d-dying. And a man came… He said he could help us, b-but… I… He made everything d-die. Everything is g-g-gone… I do not know how else to f-feed them..."

"Ciro, if everything was gone, you would be dead." He tried to be a patient man, but his speech belied him. Mengyao swung the boy up into his arms, ignoring the way that the bodily fluids stained his clothes. "Come. I will take you to Ker-Ys and —"

"Can we visit N-Nordemann instead? He would know what to d-do."

"Ciro..." The elder Nation sighed and hurried his pace. Dragging fresh meat through the main road in town was not the smartest way to avoid catching a cannibal's attention. "Pilatusstadt is gone."

"Gone?" Whispered the quivering young man. "Nordemann cannot be gone. H-He is Nordemann."

"Nevertheless, I have been there. When you are well again, perhaps I will take you to see what is left of him so that you might pay your respects."

Ciro was silent for a good, long time. Just as well, as they had already made far too much noise under the cover of night. He hoisted the boy upon his horse and climbed up after him, looking back toward the kingdom that had once thrived with laughing people and an abundance of life. Now, starved and never having known how to fend for themselves, they would surely die. And take Ciro along with them.

He hoped that Ker-Ys would have ideas. He was too far away to have anything to spare, and they didn't have much time at all anymore.

"He will come back to me, you know." Shambhala was focused on getting away from Cuccagna and making their way, but he did blink as he guided his horse toward the coastline. "Nordemann. He w-will. He loves me."

"You two have made that abundantly clear. Many times." he replied, mouth twisting into some semblance of humor.

"...Mengyao?"

"Mm?"

When the Nation paused to look down at him this time, he froze. There was a blankness in his gaze, brought along by the hunger of his people and their ravenous appetites. He surely looked like Death itself, come to take him through the gates.

"I feel hungry." He murmured, the smile he gave cracked and fragile. "Very hungry."

"You see, Afriit, when our ancestors began developing technology at a rate so much faster than the rest of our world, they knew that sooner or later, others would come after our designs."

— the first circle was falling away, taking with it the hordes of undead men tearing through the shrubs and trees and grass and chipping away with the bang-bang-bang of explosive devices , floating out into the sea —

"We had to make a bid to preserve ourselves. Surely you understand, you are Atlantis after all. You know that this kind of machinery in the hands of anyone else would be highly destructive."

— Again and again and again. Bang! Bang! Bang! And now his mountains were trembling, the waters churning and snaking through the misaligned cracks. The base of the mountain, their quarry, would flood with water —

He gave a strangled laugh.

"So you would toss me away, after all that I have given you?" Afriit was supporting himself on the table now, with one leg shot of strength and the other not far behind. He was white as a pall and his eyes were fierce with rage. "You would use me and then strip me of my heart, my soul, my people and my land? How cruel a king are you! I do not deserve this! I deserve to be fought for!"

"You are as all of us." The old man gestured to the empty war room. "A man, with strengths and weaknesses and life and death. We have proved it."

"N-no. We must fight! We have always fought — "

"On other people's lands. Yes." He gave a sage nod and watched Afriit clutch at another wound opening down his side; the mountains were splitting open. "We have always fought for what was ours. We fought to defend your honor on their lands as we fight to protect your culture now. We will grow again. But we cannot re-plant our roots in poisoned soil."

"You disgrace me with your words!" The Nation gasped, but refused to fall to his knees. Not in front of this man, who was as good as the rest of his cowardly war council, as good as the Commander, who commanded him but did not respect him, as good as Ichtaca, who had betrayed him for blind power and lust for glory. Dead to him, now. All of them. "You can never take what I have given you."

"Oh," the King sighed, gliding past him. "I think you will find that we can."

Crr-ACK

Atlantis screamed.

Oh Goddess, the pain — the painthepain it hurts it hurts it hurts hurts hurts please make it stop stop stop stop stop STOP —

— "moving! Keep moving!" The crowd was still being ushered onto a fair few boats and rapidly filling with those that could be saved. He recognized a few faces, beaten and weary, as they climbed the wooden planks and settled aboard with their wives and children. The rumble-crumble of the mountains was doing nothing to ease anyone's nerves, so the soldiers continued to pile in bodies shove them off. He could see the King nearing the back of the crowd now, that conniving —

— bastards all of them Goddess I swear I am good I am worthy please spare me spare me this too much too muchtoosoontoobloody blood blood stomach blood lungs blood —

— everywhere, staining the remaining isles red in all its regal glory. Ichtaca dragged his boots through the sludge and grime, marking their once-so-magnificent bridge, the pathway to their knowledge, the key to Atlantis' power, forever soiled by his hand. The man chuckled darkly and left his minions to flaunt in their last moments of glory as the bridge, the backbone of Atlantis, began to split neatly in two. It was time he finished —

— screaming can't too much blood too much blood gone gone gone everyone gone people gone friends gone Albion Albion please know I I I I I love I Albion I —

— feel, little one?" The man's hot breath whipped past his ear, accompanied by that same manic grin that Afriit had seen before. It was El Dorado kneeling by his head, watching with sadistic glee as his body tore and splintered and ruptured all before his very eyes. Atlantis promptly clamped his mouth closed, not having the freedom and privacy to loudly proclaim his agony now that the man who had done this to him was here, basking in it.

"Oh, tsk tsk. Don't be that way, Afriit." Ichtaca hissed, stroking his hair in a disgusting mockery of affection. "I like to hear you scream. Your suffering brings me such joy."

And he whimpered, unable to help it. The explosions were getting closer now; no doubt to give the people more time to escape, but by the Goddess, it felt like they were doing this just to see him go through Hell before he died. He shut his eyes and grasped his bow harder.

"The others were not like you at all, you know." Afriit still refused to acknowledge him, but he made an attempt to clear his mind from the haze; he had to know what had happened to the others. "I started with little Ciro. Always so happy, so proud, so annoying… But I showed him what-for. By now, his people should be picking at whatever is left of his bones. He won't be bothering anyone anytime soon..."

Atlantis opened his mouth to protest this farce — this ridiculousness that the bountiful Cuccagna could ever be submitted to the horrors of starvation — but hot red liquid spurted from his lips, driven by his severed organs as though an animal searching for air. His face was covered in it now; it bubbled like lava against his skin and painted the floor around him a gruesome, deathly shade. He coughed, choking, and El Dorado thumped him soundly in the ribs with a loud laugh.

"Yes, yes, I know! Amusing, is it not? Ah, but I think Dieudonné was my favorite, since Nordemann was no challenge at all. No, that princess is very eager to please, but she is also very loyal… It took a while, convincing her to open those gates for me. Just as well — he was a stupid man with childish ideals. He valued love above all else, yet he was a coward, unable to ask for what he wanted, unable to take even when the little harlot spread his legs for all to see. Mengyao is very close to the top of my list, you know. I just want to play with Avalon first. He will be so crushed to see you beaten and bloodied like this."

His eyes closed, then, the faces of all three of his close friends swimming in his clouded vision. If only they had known. If only they had known that this would happen three months ago, they could have —

"Atlantis!"

Blue eyes snapped open once more at the sound of that voice — his voice — as it echoed closer and closer, the footsteps speeding down the hall. No, no, no, no, no, this was the last place he wanted Avalon to be —

"Atlantis, we haven't much time now, my love, answer me!"

And he burst through the door, having seen it open and taken a chance as was his way. Afriit glanced up at him from the floor and gave him a meaningful look — leave leave leave — but of course his lover would never listen. One look at Ichtaca's sneering face told him all he needed to know.

"You did this." mumbled the mage, his expression quickly growing livid. "You sunk the isle. You killed his men. You severed the bridge."

And El Dorado laughed, high and cold, as Albion flung a dagger at his throat. He disappeared before the man could catch him in a wisp of dark air and ozone.

"Damn!" He screamed, fists pounding against the floor as he sank to his knees beside his love. "Damn him to the nine hells! I'm so sorry, Afriit, I am, I-I… Gods. I'm so sorry. Come. We should not stay here."

He couldn't move, but thank the Goddess, he didn't need to, for with a soft touch and a flair of magic they were safely ensconced in the grasses of Avalon. The ringing explosions and disconnected pieces of his beloved isle were still fresh in his mind's eye. He could literally feel his heart ripping to shreds, each explosion bringing with it a new tear or perforation in his already damaged body. Silent tears streamed down his face, mixing with the clotted blood and turning it a deep, crusted brown.

"There, now, my love, you see." Avalon's voice was wavering for the first time in Afriit's very long life. He tried to look up and meet his eye, but he could only see the Commander's, the King's, Ichtaca's, Death's. "This will pass. I will avenge you. And we will be together, just as I promised."

"No-ngh." Atlantis shook his head weakly, his head spinning. Avalon pressed his lips together as he padded the boy's face against his stomach and cooed healing magic against the reddened skin of his hand. "W-want… S-s-stay, please.… A-ahh..."

"I will always be with you. Remember?"

"A-Avalon." Afriit insisted, and it sounded so almost-like him that the elder man was forced to look down.

"L-Love." insisted the broken puppet that held his partner's soul. "Love."

"Yes," sighed the man as another scream was ripped from the Atlantean's throat. In the distance, he could hear a disturbance in the waves; something large had crashed into the water. It was accompanied by the soul-wrenching sound of breaking bones and pleading cries, which shattered the peace of early morning. "Love. Always."

He didn't have the strength to talk after that, but Avalon worked his magic long into the day. The sun rose with his prayers as peace overcame his companion, silence befalling them as he laid deathly still, and he thought perhaps it is over, perhaps he will be spared more suffering, but no. As the sun reached its peak and took with it all his hopes, all his dreams, his marriage and his heart, Afriit began to bleed profusely. There was so much; so much more than could be carried by a normal human body. It stained his grass and flooded the flowers, reached beyond him to the roots of his trees and deep into the heart of his island. But Avalon did not wonder. He knew exactly what was happening, and his eyes never left Afriit's for a second.

When a day had passed, he stole Afriit's last breath, tasting the former Nation's essence on his tongue.

He would never forget watching Atlantis be claimed by the sea.

TIME: IMMEMORIAL
+ 108 DAYS
Daybreak

"Where…" breathed Shambhala, for once nearing panic. "...Where is the citadel?"

"Mm?" Cuccagna had fallen into a fitful sleep near the middle of their ride, and had awoken to the sound of his friend's stricken voice. Blearily, he eyed his surroundings. The coast was barren, tide low with an assortment of debris typical of Ker-Ys. Especially its pretty princess. The other man had climbed down from their horse and was running to and fro. "Mengyao, the citadel is right —"

He stopped.

"Yes! You see! The gates are gone, the walls are down; I can see nothing. It's as if Ker-Ys never existed." He was pacing now, frantic, wading into the water as if he could find it himself.

Ciro chewed on his lip, worrying it under his teeth as he looked around. Even at high tide, Ker-Ys was always visible by her high stone walls and regal brass door. She had been a magnificent picture against the horizon, but the line was empty now; he could see nothing but water. Water, and something else...

"Mengyao, stop!" And he did, looking back at his charge with a sharp glare. "Something is floating by your feet."

The elder Nation bent and inspected it, lifting it out of the water. It was a hand.

The bile came again. He let it this time, allowing the seawater to flush it away.

"S-Stay here." He told Ciro, voice shaking with exertion. He wiped his mouth with his already dirty sleeve and shoved away from the water.

Now that he looked at it, the picture became clearer. Bodies were everywhere, buried in the sand, floating in the water, half-decapitated on the shore… His heart thumped in his chest as he picked up the pace, looking for a face, just one face, because Gods, there was only one way so many corpses had ended up on this beach, and that was —

"Nooooo — "

"Wait, Shambhala, wait! Please, I don't want to be left alone, I'm scared. I… Oh…"

"Nnno.…" he moaned, slumped over a blue and bloated corpse. Its lips were slick, but cracked, as if he had been struck in the face. Ys' regularly coiffed hair lay in a tangled halo about his twisted form, the ocean having deposited him unceremoniously for his love to find him; one last grace from the gods. Mengyao kissed him anyway, as if to breathe life into body once more.

"Speak to me, Ys. Please." The Nation shook, watching as droplets of water ran courses down its sand-covered skin and giving a hoarse half-cry. "Speak to me! Speak in sonnets. Speak in riddles. Whisper in my ear with your lewd accusations. Ask me questions and I will answer. Go on, Ys. I promise. I promise I will answer if only to hear you ask one more time. Ask me if I love you. Ask!"

Silence, but for the horse's ragged breathing and the brush of water upon sand.

"Please!" He pleaded with the corpse, and its head lolled back as if to mock him with laughter as he shook it with every ounce of desperation he had left in him. "Please, Ys, I know you want to ask! I know you want to know! I know you want me to tell you! I want to tell you! I-I want you to know before you leave me. I want you to know that I love you. I want you to know that I care for you more than anything on this Gods-forsaken piece of dirt. Let me tell you now Ys, please, Gods, let me tell him… Give him back to me so that I may tell him…"

And he was sobbing now, loudly, cursing the heavens and cursing the world and cursing himself for not coming here straightaway. Cursing Ys for leaving when they had had so much ahead of them, cursing the Gods for doing this to them in the first place, but most of all, cursing his cowardice for leaving him without his strength. He cursed at everything and nothing, until his voice all but left him and all the sounds he could make were hoarse croaks and a withering cough.

Ciro was quiet, his breathing shallow, watching the two men as his heart broke just a little more. He was so heavily dependent on Ker-Ys and Pilatusstadt alike, not simply as a country, but as family. To see what was akin to his older brother dying was so much more than he could take in his state. Cuccagna screwed his eyes shut and buried his face in the horse's mane, coloring it with his own tears.

They stayed like that for hours, Mengyao alternately screaming at nothing and pleading with everything, most particularly the body of his dead almost-love, which he refused to let go of. Eventually, he carried both Ker-Ys and Cuccagna upon the horse, and he himself trudged back the way they had come to find a grassy plain along the path of three rivers. Shambhala buried Ker-Ys in a bed of flowers and left him there, prayers on his breath and a fresh wound in his soul.

"What shall we do now?" Ciro's condition only worsened, as predicted, during their travels. His wounds festered and, even with Mengyao's old medicinal herbs, they would not seem to heal at a normal rate for a Nation. He shook his head in resignation.

"We forget."

Not a week later, he buried Ciro too, in a small, private cave that was filled with natural wonders that he knew the younger one had liked so much. At the head of his grave, Shambhala left a crystal, taken from the cave's wall. It nearly shattered in his gentle touch, but he thought it appropriate. Life had been so fleeting for all of them.

Time passed. He locked the memories and the heartache away by sheer willpower alone. The will to survive without his loved ones. The will to never look back to that place and be caught in the sickness that had ravaged their lands. The will to return, healthy and whole, to his people. The will to forget Ciro, not more than an animal before he had died, consuming everything in his path. The will to forget Ker-Ys; good, sweet, loving Ker-Ys, whom he had failed without so much as having a hand in his death.

Eventually, the will to forget overcame everything else. He forgot everything. Even his name.

TIME: IMMEMORIAL
+ 0
Morning

He did not find a path back home for decades, perhaps centuries, until he awoke to a looming green serpent that bared its teeth at him. Under a fright, he backed away from it and knocked his shoulders against the boulder he had been sleeping next to.

"So it is true." Hissed the dragon, and he reached out with one claw as if pointing an accusatory finger. "You do not know me. Do you know yourself?"

"...No." The man murmured, pursing his lips. "I haven't for a very long time."

"I know you." It rumbled, though when he searched his memories as far back as he could remember, there was nothing there but fields, towns, thievery and homelessness. He watched as the serpent coiled about him. "Would you like me to teach you?"

Hesitation.

"I can tell you where you come from."

To be frank, he was not too interested in where he had come from anymore. But he was certainly tired of living out in the grasslands alone. So he nodded and climbed to his feet, taking a barely full satchel and swinging it over his shoulder.

"What do you call yourself?"

"Yao." He replied, and accepted the claw offered to him so as to climb upon its back. "Wang Yao."

The dragon's eyes glittered in amusement.

FOOTNOTES:

Atlantis was originally described by Plato, who basically portrayed it as a very large island with rings (Like a dartboard), connected by bridges, tunnels and aqueducts for easy maneuverability throughout the island. Both Disney and Stargate perpetuate the "Ancient but technologically advanced" civilization. What you're looking at here is a mix, with the Gene-infused weaponry from Stargate and the (Basic) design of transportation via Disney. Atlantis underwent "portentous earthquakes and floods", and "one grievous day and night befell them, when the whole body of its warriors was swallowed up by the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner was swallowed up by the sea and vanished."

Avalon, the "Island of Apples", is better known as "That one island where King Arthur's sleeping." it "produces all things of itself; the fields there have no need of the ploughs of the farmers and all cultivation is lacking except what nature provides. Of its own accord it produces grain and grapes, and apple trees grow in its woods from the close-clipped grass. The ground of its own accord produces everything instead of merely grass, and people live there a hundred years or more." Here we have a mix of fact/legend and Disney's Gargoyles, where Avalon is home to "The Third Race", i.e., magical creatures, evil spirits and even gods. There, it is ruled over by the Fae King and Queen, Oberon and Titania.

Ker-Ys really was said to be the most beautiful city in the world. King Gradlon of the Bretons was said to have raised its walls solely for his daughter, who soon turned it into a city of excess and often organized orgies. She also happened to kill her suitors every morning, though some say it was to appease a particular sea god, as the citadel was built below sea level. One night, a man dressed in red came to Ker-Ys and Dahut, the king's daughter, became besotted with him. There was a storm about, but Dahut said to the knight: "Let the storm rage. The gates of the city are strong, and it is King Gradlon, my father, who owns the only key, attached to his neck." The knight replied: "Your father the king sleeps. You can now easily take his key." Dahut stole the key from her father and gave it to the knight, who was none other than – HA I'M NOT TELLING THAT WOULD RUIN THE PLOT. Needless to say, Ker-Ys was swallowed up by the sea soon after. In the legend, Saint Winwaloe (Mentioned above) is the one who tells Gradlon to push Dahut off the horse, which he does of his own free will. She then becomes either a mermaid or a sea morgen.

Shambhala is ruled over by a line of Kings of Shambhala known as Kalki Kings; monarchs who uphold the integrity of the Kalachakra tantra. The Kalachakra prophesies that when the world declines into war and greed, and all is lost, the 25th Kalki king will emerge from Shambhala with a huge army to vanquish "Dark Forces" and usher in a worldwide Golden Age. Most people either place its location in the middle of China and/or north or west of Tibet.

[Paese della] Cuccagna Can also be called Cockaigne in English, as it was known throughout all of Europe as the medieval "Land of Plenty". Literally cooked pigs would walk around with knives sticking out of themselves and the houses were made of bread, and you could have all the sex you wanted. The word "Want" had no definition there.

Pilatusstadt was a legend stemming from the village of Hausen in Germany. In it, Pontius Pilate originally came from Hausen and later entered the service of the Roman Empire. He attained vast riches which allowed him to build a large city near his home - the Pilatusstadt (German for "City of Pilate"). But in the instant he condemned Jesus, the whole city was swallowed up by the earth. Obviously, Jesus doesn't figure very much into this slice of history, and I've changed Pilatusstadt's story around a lot. Nevertheless, he did get swallowed up by the earth. The legend goes on to further note that one day, a rooster will dig out the tip of a tower belonging to Pilatusstadt, and the entire city will rise again.

El Dorado was actually the name of a Mayan king, not an actual place. The legends of the Seven Cities of Gold have often all been confused and mish-mashed until someone came up with the bright idea to name the entire thing "El Dorado", since it gave them something much easier to look for. But hey, watch the animated movie "Road to El Dorado". They make it easy to understand.

Saguenay was an Iroquoian trick-legend to lead French men away from their territory. They claimed that there was a village "Up North" housing men with gold and furs. They all happened to be blonde, apparently. There is a modern-day Saguenay and also a Saguenay river in Quebec, but it isn't known whether they were named for the legend or not.

There are clearly a great many anachronisms when it comes to the legends of these kingdoms. I see no reason, however, why they cannot all be pulled together to build the backbone for one fantastic story (Because, after all, no one knows if they really existed or not). So if you like what you read, I highly encourage you to continue on, and to catch me on Tumblr (I'm Seiferre) for any updates or questions you might have on the story (For example, the Old Countries' names and who they represent from present-time.) 'Til then, I bid thee adieu.