And now She, Ennocens Catena, stood within the Walls of the said same Arena, the same Walls in which she had battled day after day for these past three years. Both a Prisoner and Possession of The Matriss Acheron as well as her most heralded Treasure.

Of course Catena had won her first combat within this Arena. It was an Ebon Giant of the far savannah of the South West regions of the Omperium Realms. She had seen few in Ballacreous and knew their strengths well. She bested him in mere seconds, forcing the Games Masters -the organisers and procurers of fights and fighters- to send two more opponents against her, in order to ensure the crowds entertainment. She trumped them both as easily as she had the first and thus secured her position within the Fighting Stable of the House of Acheron.
From that moment she was paraded around as the pride of the Stable as well as The Matriss’ prize pet. She was given the finest things that The Matriss could offer -clothe, food, silks, jewellery and ornaments as well as fine room in which to dwell. Though it was little more than another form of Prison Cell, for she was always watched, though be it by the kindly -if weak- Quaturion Draco or one of his most trusted lieutenants. Of course Duxia Cerryis still tormented her whenever the opportunity arose but she ultimately paid him no mind and this infuriated him no end -raising the level of both his ire and his retribution with each silent slight.
Cerryis cruelty was legend around the Palace. He had once cut out the tongue of a Kitchen Maid for bespeaking ills against his Living God and could receive no punishment for that act because of his position within the House. The tortures and torments that he inflicted on all were indicative and indications of his Faith that all within the House began to loath him, his beliefs and his symbols. He constantly attempted to thwart The Matriss’ authority and deal blows against Catena, but he was always foiled by his underlings -led by Draco- from doing her any harm, even though it meant that they would oft suffer her intended Fate. Though such was their affection for her. They each respected and adored her, in their own way, and vowed themselves to their House and their Matriss that Catena would always be safe within those Palace Walls.
Within her Palace, The Matriss would parade as Catena as if she were her greatest possession. Even more prized than her two indolent Pets, Cala and Craemyn, whom had taken to following her around, fawning over her whenever she went, garnering her attentions as though her very presence would rub off on them. Though it would seem that The Matriss did not want a mere object or another idle pet, such as The Twins, so, when she was not in combat or in training, Catena could be found in study under The Matriss’ own guiding hand. Catena was taught to read and to write in all the languages of the Omperium and even a few of the Outland tongues, even though her Will was against it and her flesh rallied for other distractions.
What Catena lusted for was the heat and sting of battle. The clash of flesh against heaving flesh, the tearing of muscle by hand or by blade, the shattering of bone from a block or a strike and the exhilaration of the vanquishment of a weak and unworthy opponent. These are the only thing she has known in her short life and what sustained her throughout her two imprisonments -violence and victory. Punishment and Prima. The feel of the chains upon her wrist and throat and soft earth of the Arena beneath her sturdy and stubborn feet.
And all her lusts were answered.
Every few days she was cast into the Arena to do battle with anyone who was foolish enough to challenge the Stable of The Acheron -the most prestigious combative House in all the Omperium Realms- and Catena, as the Champion of the House, would always have prime position in the fighting list and the most powerful opponents to prove herself against. So vaunted were her skills in combat that soon the name, Ennocens Catena, was as renowned as those whom she would eventually defeat -Azarn of The Desert, Prida the Pantheress of the Moon Realms, Gorozagi of the East and so many more Arena Dwellers- all they famous and infamous all fell at her will.
Though not entirely without a price to pay.
In the first months of her being brought to the Arena Acheron, Catena’s face was cut deeply with a tainted blade hidden in the robes of one of her lest honourable opponents. The chipped and rusted edge sliced open the right side of her chin, from under her jaw to level with her pretty little nose. It tore a large wedge from her now flawless skin and brought her rage to such a peak that she managed to wrest his weapon from his own hand and, following Arena Lore, ran him through with it -though she did spare his wretched life. She was more afeared after the match, for the wrath that The Matriss showed at her injury and the tongue lashing which she gave her personal physician as he attended to Catena’s wound. All were relieved to discover that the cut was not infected or poisoned in any fashion, though The Matriss was enraged that it would never cleanly heal and that Catena’s prize face would always bare that scar.
This did not affected Catena as much as what occurred in her beginning second year of captivity by The Matriss, when her precious chains were shattered in combat.
She had used them as a bind when battling against a great Giant, one of the Northern Raiders who had been captured and sold into the fighting stable of House Hyperion, when she had under estimated his strength and he did shatter the chains with the combined power of his chest and arms rebelling against her aged and weathered steel. His pure might broke their shared bonds but Catena was undaunted by this, merely enraged that her precious chains had been decimated by this mindless barbarian of the Frozen Wastes of the North and though he did have strength over her, she had skill and quickly bested him in contest and finesse. Humiliating him by forcing him to submit to her will and beg for her tender mercies. This feat raised the ire of Prince Calablame and led to the rivalry between House Hyperion and the House of Acheron.
Of course Catena had received many other minor scratches and bruises in all her days of battle and she paid them no mind. It was the subtle psychological wounds that plied their toll upon her more then the wages of physical conflict.
Such as the time when Catena was witnessed her first thunderstorm. She had never witness such a thing in the desert lands or in Ballacreous and she knew not what to make of it. At the first flash of Lighting and pearls of Thunder she was caused such a fright that she flew to The Matriss chamber and clamoured under the bed, believing it to be the safest lay in all the Palace. In her panic she had reverted to the old tongue that Aegine had taught her to ward off her fears and nightmares in the deep dark of the Mines. So, to herself, she kept repeating: “Ou Tuaus, Ea Tuaus. Mae saulwa, etta saulwa. Beagui metataurus es sollamenta est Se’la’Tes Mattaharus!”
Her mumblings intrigued The Matriss’ two Pets, who hung their identical heads over the edge of The Matriss’ mammoth bed and stared quixotically intensely at Catena.
“What say she?” The Girl Pet asked.
“What she say?” mimicked the Boy.
The Matriss made a little titter as she sat up and wrapped her green shawl over her slender shoulders, before leaning down over to where her Pets lay.
“‘I Pray, We Pray. You Wrath, They Wrath’,” The Matriss translated, in her dulcet tones. “‘Please Mother Sky, stay where you are’.”
And with those words, she laughed and said: “Silly, Innocent! She thinks that the Sky is falling!”
The Pets both laughed at this and each said: “Silly, Innocent! Bound, Silly!”
Silently, The Matriss slid from off her bed and lay on the cold marble floor, close to the trembling Catena.
“Shush, Child,” The Matriss bade. “ Tis only a storm. The Sky doth weep and wail, not fall. Come out and see.”
She reached in to touch Catena’s trembling hand, but she screamed so loud it shook the very vaulted ceiling when she felt The Matriss’ grasp upon her.
“Shush, child. Shush,” The Matriss muttered, in a soothing maternal fashion. “Cesta’la, Cesta’la.”
The muttering of that words did quieten Catena, who looked up upon The Matriss with her large blue eyes, shimmering with her fearful tears.
Then The Matriss did a thing which all together surprised her. She began to sing. It was not the Song that August was given to chant but rather one that Aegine had uttered on occasion, to calm the children during their first fearsome nights within Ballacreous. It was the softest lullaby which ebbed away all her fears and plied sleep upon brow. Slowly, she did crawl out from under The Matriss’ bed and place herself upon her long lap, curled as a child or kitten, as The Matriss did sing her sweet song. So, as her eyes drew heavy their curtains, she began to slumber to the sound of song and the giggling of The Matriss’ Pets.
That was the only time that she had shown complete submission to The Matriss. Her will would never yield again so easily.
Though the more than occasional thunderstorms were the least of Catena’s worries.
She also grew uneasy at the amount of new Livie Converts who had been appearing around The City of Acheron and within The Arena itself. She was afeared of the popularity that the Cult of The Living God was attracting not only amongst the upper echelons of all the Realms Houses but amongst the common peoples as well. Even more disturbing was the boldness in which they acted towards other Religions, even those protected by their position within The Pantheon. They disregarded all the rules and odes of conduct and blatantly flaunt the Laws and Lores in their own favour, whilst plying their antagonisms against their Others.
In a rare moment of levity, between bouts of what she deemed ‘Religious Carnality’ -as was part of her spiritual practice, The Matriss did enlighten Catena as to how such a thing arose and could take hold of the populace so swiftly.
“Before the Karna Moon, of some seven year past,” The Matriss began, as applied the sacred oils to her flesh. “A great vendetta was played out between two great Houses, who had been feuding since before Time was Time and as all events do flown as a River, so did the blood of both Houses. As endless as the Waters of the great Lake Zurushor was this blood, no House could gain standing over the other. Leaders, both Wicked and Noble, lead their Soldiery to combat to no avail over countless year and thus a stagnant truce was reached, though it quelled nothing but the bleeding.
“Then, some seven years yore, The Duxor Regaloas of House Kia-re’on publically endorsed the Cult of the Living God by swearing his conversion to their growing legions. Tis not known whether he was genuine in his intentions and beliefs though one thing is truly known, upon his most miraculous of conversions, he gained dominion of the Army of The Living God and a means to secure a greater position within the Senate and a final victory of his Rival House.
“That Day, before the Rising of the Karna Moon, was a slaughter and the Fields of Az’regotha were as a Sea of Red and the River Cos Rheayr was turned to Blood -still that taint poisons those Sacred Waters. With the House of his Enemies definitively vanquished, The Duxor Regaloas gained Mandate over all that was his Rival’s yet laid claim to nothing but their vast wealth and fortunes as well as their fabled Armouries and Stables. What remained was given to Flame. Flesh, Field and Object. The Grand Fortress City burned and none who lived within or without that grand place was left alive. Nothing survived the Fall of the House. Regaloas gained a greater position within the Senate and, as was his promise, The Living God was given endorsement and given a lesser position within the Pantheon of the Omperium.
“Though that was not enough for those Cultist and they begun what was deemed a ‘Crusade of Conversion” against all us Wretched Sinners -who will all commute or cry mercy at their Will. Entire Cities in the Frontiers were either turned or destroyed at the Cultists hand, as well you may know. Many of the Inner Realms were ignorant to such events and were blinded by their propaganda, so they willingly joined their Legions. Thus conquest was made.
“The veterans of those Campaigns were given positions amongst the other Omperium Houses -some say as spies, others say as punishments for disobedience or rewards for service to their Living God. Such is why Cerryis is in my service. A position of power as reward, servant to a Heretic as punishment. So, they wind their influence throughout the Omperium Realms and draw their plans tight.”
Catena was in awe of her Matriss’ tale and so quietly watched and listened, even after all The Matriss’ words had ceased.
Then she heard something that chilled her to her very core, a muttering under The Matriss breath as she blew out the candles, an utterance that summoned so many ghost from her blackened past.
“Even after these Seven Years,” The Matriss muttered, watching candle smoke wither n the air. “All Omperia still mourns the Loss of The Patrice of Mount Ethonore and that Holy House.”
The mere mentioning of The Patrice of Mount Ethonore returned to Catena memories of her one time saviour, The Ebon Knight. For he had claimed devotion to the Patrice of House Ethonore and to the Laws of that Realms.
So that is why he never came, she thought. He was already dead.
Even after all these years, in the deepest recesses of her Heart, she still held out hope for her rescue at his hand. It was the only thought and feeling that she clung to, besides the Burn of Battle, and now it was snuffed out as if it were one of The Matriss’ scented Candles. All had been slaughtered is what she was told. All given to Flame. Rivers and Fields of Blood. Her most treasured Ebon Knight was sure to be amongst the Legions of the Slain, such was his devotion to his Patrice.
Within, Catena felt something break and a true coldness finally took hold.
It was the last she would ever allow herself to feel. Grief and Regret as her first and last emotions. Others would come fleetingly but she would give them no reign within. Her Heart was her’s and her’s alone. Nothing outside of herself could stir it any long.
From that day, she was even more weary of Cerryis and kept constant vigil on his presence and intentions.
Also, since the passing of that day, she devoted herself with every micron of her being to the Arena and conquest in the names of August, Aegine and The Ebon Knight. They whom had given their all so that she may be of Continuum.

And thus Ennocens Catena stands in The Arena against Ulva Aranae and her greatest battle she had ever faced.
The physical toll of their encounter was nothing compared to the War of Will and Soul in which they were currently engaged. They fought each other with their Spirits as well as their Flesh. Making attacks unseen by all without the Warrior’s Vision and landing blows that the crowd could not comprehend.
Within her Warrior’s Heart, Catena knew that she may not be able to best Ulva. It was not that his skill was greater than her’s but rather his Soul was her better. He put his Liquidous Will behind every move and motion, every guard and attack. Though he was no acting as to best her nor could she sense him merely toying with her, he was gauging her Spirit and touching her Soul in a fashion she had not felt since her days with her Master, August.
She now knew that Ulva was a true devotee of the Pa’wrathe’sa arts and that he had trained long in them than she could even fathom. Maybe since his Coming of Age, maybe childhood, maybe even from Birth. She could not comprehend, though she did know that this did not make his skills any more superior or comparable to her’s. Her training had been intense and giving with intention to be used to fight and to kill with, where as Ulva had the stance and baring of one that had space and time in which to practice. That it was more a thing of discipline and pursuit to him rather than a thing to be put into practice and application. This is where Catena had advantage and Ulva knew it, which he was so casual in flaunting his knowledge of their shared art. Though he did have intelligence of other styles as well as a mastery of his own mysterious movements, which made him more dangerous than any she had faced before.
Catena knew that she should use the deadliest and most forceful aspects of her arts in order to win a decisive victory over Ulva and ensure her dominance within this Arena.
There were no truly secret motions or attacks within Pa’wrathe’sa. No all powerful moves passed own from Master to Disciple as a right of passage. Pa’wrathe’sa was all to do with Will and Intention. Even the most gentle of motions could kill if the wielder’s intentions willed it thus. A trip could shatter a body through the force of the knock down, a slap could rupture skulls and a tap could break bones if they were will enough to do so. Catena saw no purpose in killing Ulva but she knew that he must be incapacitated at any and all costs if she were to win this day.
And she may just have the way to best him.
She had fought him long enough to gauge the extent of his skill and his physicality -the limits of reach and the strength of his hewn limbs and gaunt torso. Every warrior had a pattern and form to which they rigidly clung and Ulva was no different. He liked to keep his distance and play his height and length against her. To use her against herself and play her as a puppet. She knew his stance and his basic movements and would now play him against himself and tangle up all of his long wound strings.
She knew that Ulva felt the same notion as her and moved swiftly against her; plying his own plans as best he could.
Catena knew that Ulva outrageously long limbs were next to useless in close quarters and that he had to rely on prompt movement to see him safe against her. She also knew that he could in no fashion match her pure strength or vicious will and thus used them against her, when he dodged and forced her to follow through and waste energy chasing him about the Arena floor. She knew that the only way to get him was directly and, thus her plans being made, set herself into motion.
She struck forward with a straight right handed punch, causing Ulva to fling his legs backwards so that he could duck underneath her blow. She then swiftly stomped down with her right heel, making him cast his torso around and swing his legs upwards to strike her beneath her dainty chin. She leant her head back to avoid his blow and waited for him to flip his body back onto its feet in order to follow through with his failed attack.
That is when she played her final gambit against him.
As soon as he had flipped his feet backwards and brought his body upright with a Raising Palm Strike, Catena stepped forward into him, knocking his blow away with her right arm, and struck him fair in the stomach with her right palm.
She made no hesitation in following through and, with the same motion, raised her hand into his spongy chest before aiming a strike straight for his chin. Ulva still had enough wits about him to attempt to move his head, so, without thought, she curled her fingers and grasped his thin throat. His powerful fingers clasped the manacle about her wrist and struggled to hold her. She did grasp him with her other hand and he did lay his fingers upon her wrist once again. Her notion that her hold was stronger than his proved true and she began to ply her superior strength upon him, throttling the very essence from out his lithe and limber frame. Though he did have same resistance left within him and struggled valiantly against her might.
He attempted to kick her with his long legs but Catena held him to close and solid for them to be any use against her ample and balanced frame. Every time he would attempt to strike at her face with his lengthy fingers, she would squeeze tighter and swing him around in order to shake loose his undissolved Will. He landed solid blows on her ribs but she let her dominance prevail and held strong her Flesh against them. Every time he moved, she would move him, until her feet did stand upon a wooden hatch buried beneath the sand of the Arena floor. It was a trapdoor used by the slaves to move the bodies of the dead and vanquished from out the Arena quickly and without causing distraction to Nobility who did watch these spectacles. He made a final motion to kick her taut stomach with both his legs but as soon as he had raised them, she did raise him and sought to bring him down to the Arena Floor as harsh and as fast as he could.
In that instance, as he hung between Heaven and Earth and the Will of Gravity worked its Way, did Ulva cease his endless song and finally open his eyes to Catena.
She gasped as she did feel their gaze upon her and, had nothing already been put so acerbically into motion, she would have let him go.
He had her Father’s Eyes!
Black orbs and red irises. Blacker than any Night or the Deepest Depths of Earth, Red as if drawn with the Richest Blood and most Potent Wine. They gazed upon her with such love and grace she felt as though she had been stripped back to the Age of a Child and the World was still a Place of True Innocence.
Over the rushing of the air she could hear the words of the Past as they parted from his cracked lips: “‘Keillasorta mesqua besq’. I promised that I would come for you.”
Then all went black, as the splintering of the trapdoor filled her deafened ears and they descended deep into the pit below.

All she remembered after the endless black was running.
Running down a long, dark tunnel.
Following the lead of Ulva and another, who constantly yelled commands back at her.
She knew that voice, even through the haze of her fragile mind she could recognise those dulcet tones.
Blessed Draco!
Thought why, she did wonder, would he risk his rank and position to aid her? Surely such an act meant Death for him and his entire family, not to mention his beloved Handmaiden and all who had and do surround him, such being the harsh nature of the Omperium Law.
Then she felt the chill maw of Panic grip her Heart.
What if Draco was leading them into a trap or, worst yet, they had already been captured.
A tight squeezing upon her hand was enough to allay her Heart.
For she knew by the length of the finger and the strength of the grasp that it was Ulva whom held her and did lead her to safety.
It had taken time but Catena’s Mine Eyes did return to her and all the World did fall back into its rightful place. Order was restored and her Mind stilled amidst the flight.
She guessed that they were deep within the ancient catacombs which ran beneath the Palace and indeed the entire City of Acheron, as they were described to her by The Matriss during their sessions of study. Though how far through them she did not know, for she knew them to vast -vaster than the City itself, as it was part of its ancient foundations as well as its sewer and drainage system. She knew from memory that the majority of the tunnels did lead to the great River Jl’Summa, upon which the Palace of the Acheron was built which was connected to the Arena on its bank by series of stone bridges and skyways. She knew that their flight did lead them away from The Jl’Summa but in which direction they did flee she knew not. Though she trusted Ulva and Draco with all her being, for they must have a plan. If they did not, it would be the Goddess of Fate whom would decide the outcome of this faulted gambit.
After what seemed an ageless time within the labyrinth, Catena did spy an end to the tunnels and the distant dimness of a night filled world. They made a final sprint towards this exit but, alas, there was a trap set. As it was found to late as a gauntleted hand did crash upon Draco’s fair face and send him reeling into stone.
From out the shadows did step the Soldier Cerryis, no longer clad in the robes of a Matrissial Guard but in the full regalia of a Warrior of the Army of the Living God. A long pristine dress-shirt over thick iron armour -created and fashioned in Ballacreous no doubt with the rest of its kind- and legging of metal wrapped tight with bands of leather. A belt of leather and gold was strapped to his waist and from it hung many trophies of battle -the lesser of which were the hand bones and skulls of young children. In his ironclad hands he did hold a Savient Blade, the weapon of choice for Cultist Soldiery, with its blade almost as long as child was tall and balanced well enough to cleave a man in twain with a single stroke. He had never appeared more animated to Catena as he did now -as if he was Wrath incarnate. A pure personification of all the Fury the Living God could loose upon the world. And now he stood ready to strike.
“I knew that you maggots would escape here,” he spat, as he swung his sword loosely around himself. “You would not dare head near the River and would instead try to escape towards the Forest Villages, where the Living God has little hold and thus escape into the crowd. Well, you were wrong in your choice and left far to many clues, dear Draco, of your plan. It shall cost you not only your life but the life of all, even of that of your beloved slut of a matriss! Such are the laws of our Land and Order!”
From his sprawled position, Draco managed to launch himself at Cerryis, screening the ancient battle cry: “Acheron!”. Again, Cerryis swung his gauntleted fist and struck Draco down a second time, flinging him into a clump of dead bushes, unconscious but alive.
Cerryis moved back to his fighting stance and pointed his metal finger straight at Catena.
“Now you shall die, Beast!” he screamed, with the lunacy of a zealot. “And forever lift the curse of The Evasor from out this World!”
Ulva placed himself between him and Catena but this only caused the old Soldier to laugh and say: “Step aside, Slave, and I may return you to your most valued Master. Though first my blood has lust for the Evasor Flesh and it must be quenched.”
He brought the Savient Blade up above his head, Ulva stepped forward but Catena pushed him out of the way of the arcing weapon and readied herself to destroy this most loathed of enemies. Not merely for what he was but all he had done and all the lives he had taken in service of his so-called Living God. A deep rage burned within at this thought. For all Catena knew or reckoned, it could have been Cerryis whom did slew her beloved Ebon Knight at the Battle of Ethonore and threw his bones upon their fires.
She moved into the classic stance of the Pa’wrathe’sa and waited his attack. Savient and steel or not. His Soul would be her’s to claim.
Though such was not to be.
As Catena watched in disbelief as a figure, clad a cloak of gossamer grey, lifted Cerryis by his belt up over their head and drove him into the ground with such force that his armour did bend and his sword did break upon the ruinous stone that lay scattered about. With a wrathful scream, Cerryis tore his battered chestplate from off his form and flung himself at his gossamer grey enemy.
He swung the remains of the shattered blade at their head, but they aptly dodged and drove their knee deep into his stomach. Hitting him with such force that he flipped over his opponents leg and crash once more to the unforgiving Earth. His broken sword was sent sailing from his hand and Catena swore that she heard the breaking of his arms as it hit a jaggered stone. Again, he did raise himself and tried to best his enemy with his good arm, but it was swiftly seized and snapped in a most brutal fashion. Despite the pain which he felt, he struggled on and swung a broken arm at the gossamer figure’s throat. They merely caught his arm again and hoisted him up, once again, into the air and drove his back fiercely into the ground. He impacted with a sickening crunch and was swiftly and unceremoniously kicked away. He landed with a nauseating thud, thick blood pouring with his torn face and skull.
Catena stood stock still, her body poised for attack but unable to move because of the confusion. Carefully she did watch the situation, though one thing did draw her eye more than others. This Gossamer Figure fought in the most brutal form of Pa’wrathe’sa, using the maiming and killing aspects of the style to complete destroy and to dominate the formerly mighty Cerryis.
The Gossamer Figure moved towards him as he lay deathly still but Cerryis was a zealous and determined warrior and had managed to grasp a shard of his sword between his broken and bloody teeth. He twisted his body and launched himself at his enemy, wrapping his fractured arms around the Gossamer form as tightly as his waning strength would allow. He pressed himself hard against them, trying desperately to drive the broken blade into their covered throat. In the fray, he succeeded in knocking their hood off and dropped his fragmented weapon as his mouth was forced into a sharp gasp.
Within his grasp was The Matriss, her beautiful face bathed in serene rage. Her giant green eyes were dead and cold as she drew a dagger from a hidden place and drove it hard into Cerryis’ thick neck.
“This is for what you did to my father and my Tribe,” she growled, as she did grasp her free hand upon his head and drive hard her silver dagger into his leathery flesh.
With a final twist came a sharp spurt of blood and what remained of Cerryis’ ample body collapsed onto the Earth, spasmming and squirming as the final throes of his wretched life ended. In one last fit of rage, The Matriss brought up her foot and crushed the icon Cerryis wore around his neck until it was nothing but dust.
“I did tell you, Cerryis,” she muttered, as the last of her wrath did ebb away. “Long ago that if you ever lay but a hand upon her that your mortality would forfeit and your ragged remains shall be cast before The Dogs and Beggars ere it become but Dust!” she stooped and wiped the blood from her dagger on his pristine cloth, before uttering: “I always keep my word and all has come to Truth.”
She stood and turned to a stunned and near terrified Catena with the same vacant expression that bore her through her charmed life. The same soft smile upon her soft lips and the same glitter in her great green eyes. If it were not for the blood that speckled her face, Catena would have sworn she had merely strolled out of her Palace, as was her want, to venture upon the street of her City.
Without a word, she walked over to where Draco did lay and lifted him as if he were nothing. Groggily, he managed to stand on his own feet, despite the blood with wept profusely from the gash in his feminine check. She gave him a silvery cloth with which to hold the blood and stop the wound. His battered lips moved to speak but The Matriss hushed him and said: “You look better this way. You were far too pretty before. Now you can claim the qualities of a man that none of you kin can. Such a scar will also help impress that young lover of your and aid n bedding her more swiftly.”
To this, Draco blushed and bowed his head, before hobbling off into the distance, as if to fulfil a silent command.
The Matriss than strolled over to Ulva, as if this was the most normal thing in the World and hoisted him up upon his feet, her thin arm bracing his.
“Brother!” she said, as she embraced him roughly.
“Sweet sister,” he replied, as he gently kissed and nuzzled her cheek. “I dreamt that I would never see you again. Oh, glory be unto all The Goddess that your plan could come to such fruition.”
“Matriss!” Catena cried, as she was finally brought to motion. “He is your brother?! He has my Father’s Eyes! He cannot be of your blood.”
“Indeed he most definitely is, my beautiful Catena,” The Matriss said, as commandingly as ever. “We are all of the same blood.”
Without ado, The Matriss unfastened her gossamer cloak and unbound that Shawl which eternally clasped her slender shoulders.
What she saw upon that naked flesh sent a chill throughout her entire being.
It was the marks.
They were her Marks.
Two stains of black and red, fashioned in the shape of folded wings, did score The Matriss’ flawless flesh. They were near identical, as far a Catena could tell, to her own.
“They are called The Wings of The Goddess Avas,” The Matriss said, as she drew her cloak back up upon her Flesh. “And they do mark the females of our Tribe, as the Eyes of Yulse’Shiva do make out all the males.”
Catena quickly looked at Ulva’s eyes and than back at The Matriss.
“‘Our Tribe’?” she repeated, in a stunned voice.
“Yes, dear child, ‘Our’ Tribe,” The Matriss said, with much authority. “We are all of the same Tribe.”
“How?” Catena demanded, the confusion overwhelming her.
“The usual way,” The Matriss laughed. “I was not born into House Acheron or even the Branch Acheron. I was adopted into its fold as Heiress to the House, since the former Matriss had not child of her own. My dear brother here was adopted and encamped within another Noble House. It was afeared that both our presence within the one House would raise the anger and suspicion of the Rival Houses against them. ’Tis easy enough for a female of our Race to hide her birthright, though it is difficult for a man, much less a boy, to do the same. So it was arranged by our Father, who did serve the House Acheron and the Holy House of Ethonore, that upon his death, we would enter the service of the two.”
“How was he killed?” Catena asked, her voice wavering.
“Our Tribe was the first to stand against the then meagre forces of The Living God,” The Matriss said, matter of factly. “It was our Tribe, if Truth be told by the old stories, who did create this Living God. For he was just a man, mortal as the rest, with grand ambitions to rule The Omperium Realms with such force. He began in the Arid Lands -the native home of our Tribes- and was so crushed by our people, who rose up against his Army and smote them harshly. As punishment for his ambition, he was tied to a Great Wither Tree and torn apart by great hook of iron and left to die in the Desert Sun. Though Death would not claim him and he survived his punishment, for forty days bound to that Tree. After such a time he began to claim Divinity and thought of himself as a god living amongst men. So, he did gather followers unto him and claimed powers of the Gods did reside within his ruptured flesh -which was said to never have truly healed. His own mother did the Touch Divine and thus was set as an Icon for the Faith. Once the word of his Faith had spread, he sought to bring vengeance against those whom did vanquish before and set his Army to slaughter our people, no matter where they did hide or venture to. Our father was a soldier in the Army who stood against the Living God and he was made to pay for it.”
“They killed him?” Catena did ask, as all the pieces of her tragic history did fall into place with The Matriss’ harrowing tale.
“No,” Ulva said, as he moved and embraced his sister. “He survived the fray but was wounded and captured. They sent him to Ballacreous -newly created- in hopes of dying after the punishment of Servitude.”
“Ballacreous?” Catena whispered, as the picture within her Mind began to take its final shape.
“Yes,” Ulva uttered. “You may know him, for he had a very ‘August’ name.”
Catena felt as though she was going to faint, as the completed image crashed deep within her mind.
“My Master,” she murmured, near tears. “Was your father?”
“Indeed,” The Matriss replied. “As far as the information we could gather, that is correct.”
“That is how you fathom both the styles of Pa’wrathe’sa?” Catena cried. “You were taught by your father as he taught it to me?!”
“Yes,” The Matriss replied. “We were instructed in Pa’wrathe’sa since kinder years claimed our bodies. Such is the tradition of our Warrior Tribe.”
“What has this to do with I?” Catena demanded. “Why was punishment dealt to I singly sort?!”
“It was not,” The Matriss muttered, solemnly. “It was dealt to all our ilk. Though you were Fateful that they did not merely kill you upon discovery as they did so many others.”
“Am I not their ‘Evasor’?! She wailed, as the picture began to slip away from her.
“No,” The Matriss replied. “Our Tribes name is Avasaria -meaning Born of Avas, the Winged Goddess. In their tongue, we began ‘Evasora’ and singly we are ‘Evasor’. The Living God feared our retributions so fiercely that he told his followers that we were all Demons and Destroyers who must be extinguished from existence. For he was told a prophesy that one of our kine would be his true end and so he sought to remove us from this Mortal World before such a thing could come to fruition.”
Catena felt overwhelmed and she loosed a scream so guttural and bestial that it did rouse the birds from their slumber.
Had all her suffering been for naught?
“All words to tear apart my Mind,” she wailed, as she clutched at her blonde hair. “My Soul is shattered and all the World doth spiral away from me!”
Again she screamed, fell to her knee and beat her hands upon the stone.
“You are right, sister sweet,” Ulva whispered into The Matriss’ delicate ear. “She has changed since I did last gaze upon her.”
Catena did raise her tear stained eyes and wanted to loose herself upon these two, to destroy them for all their confusing words.
“What mean you?” she said, angrily. “Never met have we been!”
“Oh, sweet child,” he muttered, as he squatted down before her and brush back her fringe. “How wrong you are.”
Catena was about to make a leap for him when she was stilled by a familiar cry.
“Matriss!” came the dual shout. “Matriss! Here we be! We be here!”
From out the gloom of the approaching dawn Catena could distinguish the familiar forms of The Matriss’ Pets, Cala and Craemyn, dashing towards them, whilst, a little way behind, stumbled Draco, leading a War Horse of purist white.
“We have them!” the Girl Pet cried, as they ran to their Matriss’ side.
“Them we have!” the Boy chimed, as he took his customary place, opposite his Twin.
“Most fine,” The Matriss congratulated. “Now hurry, before my brother catches his death.”
“Yes, Matriss,” they both replied, before she dashed off to the horse that Draco did lead.
They pulled a large box from off its sturdy back and both did carry it together and laid it at their Matriss’ feat.
“Thank you, Cala,” she said, as she kissed the Boy’s head. “Thank you, Craemyn,” as she kissed the Girl’s.
Catena watched as Ulva did stoop and open the box, drawing out of it a helm of ebon metal. Again, the picture returned to her mind and began to take itself shape once more.
“How?” she demanded, near tears. “Death claimed you at Ethonore?”
“Such was not to be,” Ulva said, as he knelt before her. “When the Cultist did first lay siege to the Holy Mountain of Ethonore, I was away, attempting in your salvation from The Zelta’s hands. By the time I had received news of the Battle, it was by far too late. The Cultist had set all of Ethonore to Flame -Flesh and Field- and there was nothing that could be done. I made haste to ensure your safety, fearing that you were slain in my absence or with they of Ethonore, if my orders had been fulfilled. Though on my way to your side, I was waylaid by brigands and sold into the Slave Pits of Hurshul’ka. I was forced to prove myself through combat and was sold to one Stable after the other, being quite prized for my skill in the Arena. Eventually, after many years, I found myself in the Stable of Prince Calablame of House Hyperion, where I chanced to meet my sister again and we were able to gather information and form our plans.”
“Hyperion was involved throughout?” Catena asked.
“Not as first,” Ulva replied.
“Than how?”
“Let us simple say,” The Matriss answered. “That Calablame is like so many others of his sex and easily given to promises and temptations.”
She then gave a knowing laugh but quickly continued: “That was two years ago. Before then, after my ascendancy to Matrisship over House Acheron, I heard rumours of our father’s survival and sought to discover the truth of it. It took many years but I managed to discover that he was kept within Ballacreous and, in order to obscure the fact of his blood, hide himself deep within the Earth and became the August of The Miner’s Eyes, in order to conceal what would so give him away.”
Catena’s eyes flickered over to Ulva’s and all began to make sense. If the Cultist saw his eyes, the more zealous members would have most certainly have slain him. So what greater disguise than to seal them and yourself away and live out your remaining days secluded from those who did wish you the most harm. Catena than did wonder if Aegine did know of this and that was why she was sent to August after her marks were discovered.
“Why not save him?” she asked.
“Because money and influence only work on men with scruples, dear Child,” The Matriss replied. “Not men of faith. And whilst he was within the Mines, he was untouchable by all. Though it was all too late by the time all this was known. For he was killed, as well you now.”
“Why give I salvation?”
“Because you are of our Tribe,” Ulva replied, as he began to assemble his armour upon himself. “And you could not be left in the clutches of our Blood Enemies.”
“Then why all which was?” Catena demanded.
“Because we had to keep the ruse in effect,” The Matriss said, quite plainly. “And an adopted, let alone an Avasaria, cannot inherit the Rule of a House without Senatorial approval. ’Tis not only the Cultists whom do loath our kind. Many Tribes still fear and loath us for what occurred in early days of the Omperium and what our Tribe did do to others.”
“So all?” Catena muttered.
“Was mere coincidence,” The Matriss replied. “All plans made were made too late and thus no plans were made.”
“Than why escape?”
“Because it was getting to dangerous,” Ulva replied, as he began to dress himself within his old metal, with the aid of the Twins.
“Cerryis was indeed a spy for the Cultist,” The Matriss continued. “And he had informed the Inner Council of your existence and my sheltering of you. They did seek my overthrowment and in my stead, they were to tear down The House of Acheron and place a House of their own devising, ensuring the flow of power to their own Bastions and Strongholds and a greater stranglehold upon the Omperium.”
“Though such things are neither here nor there,” Ulva muttered, as he stood.
Catena gasped as she saw that he had once become the Ebon Knight whom had saved her so many years before. Gone was the gaunt and grungy fighter of fore, in his stead was the glorious hero Catena knew him to be. The man whom had put in motion all the things that make the now thus and the thus now.
“You should return to the Palace, sweet sister,” he said, as he fastened his gauntlets tight. “Before they grow suspicious of your long absence as well as the Fate of your Duxia.”
“You are most correct, dear brother,” The Matriss replied, as she drew up her hood. “Come, Draco. Come, Cala and Craemyn. Our time for parting is now, say your farewells, for ’tis not known whether we shall gaze upon them again or whether we shall be forever within their exalted company.”
The Twins both came up to Catena and gave her a joint, if gingery, embrace, both they together said: “Be well, Innocence, we shall miss you.”
And with those words, they disappeared into the Dawn gloom from whence they had come.
Draco limped over to Catena and wrapped her within a strong and brotherly embrace.
“Gratitude unto you,” was all Catena could utter, as he tearfully held her and then walked away.
Catena then turned to see The Matriss before her, in al her radiant glory.
“Be well, my dearest child,” she said, as she leant down and kissed her tender checks. “I do wish that all could have been under fairer stars, though do not grudge I for doing what had to be done. Know that you will always be loved by I, come what may.”
And thus, Ennocens Catena left the service of The Matriss Acheron without ceremony nor send off. Merely a kiss and a motherly touch.
For a moment, Catena and Ulva watched them all depart. Not knowing whether they shall be seen again or what the Fates may hold. All that was known was that there was now a void within them both and it would take a long time to fill.
Without warning, Ulva did seize Catena and uttered: “Sorry, but these must come off.”
Before she could gather her wits, Ulva had wrest the manacles from off her wrists and had unbound the yoke upon her neck.
They all fell to the ground with a hollow ‘clink’ and she stood there. Feeling strangely naked and unsure of what had transpired.
Then she felt relief, as her final bonds, within and without, had been released.
She could feel the tingle of her flesh in the Night’s air and new that it was her Flesh that she felt. That it was her Heart within her Chest and her Soul within her Being which both now stirred.
“They are a useless burden now,” Ulva said, as he strode towards the waiting horse and pulled off another pack. “And would give us away if anyone sees them.”
“Yes,” Catena said, feeling as though she was waking from a long dream. “You speak all Truth.”
Ulva regarded her strangely for a moment, before he tossed the pack at her feet and said: “There are clothes and counterments within that should cover you,” he pointed to the pack he had thrown to her. “Best to hurry. We have much ground to cover before the Sun is to rise and even more to cover before Night is to cover the Realm. So, be swift, Catena, and let the Wind carry us safe.”
“Yuvasye,” She muttered, as if her voice were the breeze.
“Pardon?” Ulva said.
“‘Yuvasye’,” She repeated. “’Tis remembered. ’Twas what my Mother and Father called me. ‘Yuvasye’.”
“’Tis a beautiful name,” Ulva did tell her. “Though the same swiftness must be made no matter your marker.”
“Acceptance,” She said, with gracious eyes.
And then she smiled.
It was the first smile she had ever consciously known. It was as if she was feeling for the first time I her existence.
For she now had a true name and Those who were her own.
She was no longer alone and she was joyous.
Come what may, for, in this moment, she could truly feel.

END.