An observer, that was what Nyx was. Sometimes she thought that perhaps life for everyone was just that: being a mere spectator of the world and of events you cannot control.
"My lady, Lord Pandamar has sent golden panther skin imported from the northern continent here. It is very valuable; he truly adores you," her servant said flatteringly.
She didn't remember her name; they usually left before she could grow fond of them, courtesy of her future husband.
"You will only love me and you will only receive affection from me, because you are mine and I am your world."
Those were the first words of affection he had used with her when she was thirteen. Back then, she was terrified; she controlled her fear simply by maintaining her sweet smile.
Unfortunately, she was no longer thirteen. The Feynir were considered adults at twenty-one for men and eighteen for women.
This year she would soon turn eighteen.
At this point, she felt nothing. She felt empty, as if she didn't exist, as she looked at the scenery outside her room in the Winter Keep.
"If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, can it truly be said that it made a sound?" she murmured.
Her voice was angelic and as soft as morning dew, or so everyone said of her.
The most beautiful woman in the eastern continent.
The woman who would begin a tragedy that would bathe Ulheim in blood, the likes of which had never been seen before and would rarely be seen again.
…
"The reports say nothing interesting. At least in the northern continent the monsters haven't moved, while in the south or on the Stairway to Heaven there are no sightings of the Void Demons. Everything is quite peaceful," Ducanor said with a tired sigh.
"Perfectly peaceful for a civil war," Elios grunted with a bored expression on his face as he handed him the report in his office.
His sudden appearance had caught him at a bad time, arriving unexpectedly with a multitude of letters and files. Soon a new Hegemon would take over, or rather, a Tetrarch.
They needed to be ready.
"You are being quite pessimistic, Elios. After all, I don't think the situation is that bad," Ducanor said in a calm, dry tone.
"That is the problem: peaceful times strengthen the different nations too much. Soon the ambition of a few will make them think it is their time to triumph in life. Without the Celestial Monarch to act as a buffer, it will be difficult to maintain the peace," he grunted as he sighed.
Elios was a young man with almost golden blond hair, green eyes, and radiant skin. He would look like a woman if not for the Adam's apple in the middle of his throat. He truly reminded him too much of his grandfather; they were far too alike.
"For that very reason, the Monarch created the Tetrarchs, to prevent that. A weak successor could not control the four continents, but four great leaders would suppress each other. Even if one is stronger than another, or one is weakened by internal conflicts, the existence of the other two Tetrarchs will prevent their ambitions from escaping their continent."
Ducanor knew what Elios meant, and because of that, he was proud of him for having a good head on his shoulders. Despite not sharing blood with him, and even though he wasn't a Feysir, it didn't stop him from seeing him as a son.
"Perhaps, but our lord is too ambitious to be content with the rank of Lord of Ulaid. He has restrained himself thanks to you and because the other provinces are not unified, but having someone above him, especially a woman, is not going to make him happy."
Frowning, not merely issuing a reproach, he sighed, while his expression shifted to something stranger, which a distracted Elios failed to notice.
"Don't let him hear you talk like that. Pandamar is your uncle and your lord; furthermore, you must respect him, as you respect me. As for his ambitions..." Ducanor's gaze sharpened, "he knows what he is doing. Though these are dangerous times; casting the first stone could be counterproductive at this point."
"As always, master, you are too soft on him. Anyway, you're right, he is my uncle. I should go out and play a bit more; there are many maidens who haven't heard of the great Elios." Laughing as he leapt up from the armchair, he hurriedly left the room with a smile.
Ducanor remained silent for what felt to him like a few uncomfortable seconds, when suddenly a wet, sucking sound echoed from beneath him.
Sighing, Ducanor murmured downward, "Darling, you really should come out. What if they discover you?"
But the only thing that answered him after that was his wife's warm tongue running along the edge of his penis.
Well, I suppose a break wouldn't be so bad, Ducanor thought as he grabbed his wife's blonde hair.
...
The Hegemony was Order.
And order was forged in blood.
Since the times of the ancient Lemurian League, blood had been spilled on the southern continent. Ducanor was not very well-versed in it; his knowledge was rather elementary or superficial.
He had lived a long time and experienced much, but only in these last few decades had he had the time to reflect on it. He had formed the habit of writing and noting things down because of it.
Looking in the mirror, what he would see was nothing short of a Lemurian. A strange word, considering that three hundred years ago he would have thought he was just a slightly richer Fey.
But he was Lemurian, not by birth, but by custom.
Short, neat hair, a thick but well-groomed and tidy beard. He wore not leather armor, but a silk suit and a cloak made from the pelt of a ferocious beast.
He wore only one ring on his right hand, jeweled with a black bloodstone. Years ago, he would have been clean-shaven or with an unkempt beard, his long hair braided with jewels and bones just like his beard, and all his fingers would have been covered with crude, black metal rings.
He was not a Fey, he was a Lemurian. At this point, not a race or a clan, but a people composed of a myriad of individuals as different as the stars in the sky.
That was fascinating in its own way. Even though Ducanor couldn't quite bring himself to truly understand them, it was still fascinating.
His children probably wouldn't know the names of the majority of the Kings of Tara, ancient rulers of the eastern continent, but they did know the name of every Hegemon, or at least the most famous rulers of Lemuria, from the legendary Delus to Isauro Leonis, and some more recent ones from the time of the Hegemony like Siberia.
Whether that was good or bad, the following generations would judge. For now, he simply reaped the fruits he had sown.
And as the slender, voluptuous figure of his wife lay on the bed in front of him, all these worries simply vanished.