#alios

"The god of Isonmore," Lyell says, that smug, stupid smile on his face. So proud of himself for ensnaring a god. "They make a wonderful trophy, do they not?"

A trophy of war. Is this what they are reduced to?

The little girl looks up at them. "...but isn't it wrong to keep them?"

Yes, they want to say. Yes, little girl, this is wrong. Please don't believe the words of a man who would strip away the will of a god.

"Of course not, Cecile!" Lyell smiles at her, and lifts her up into his arms. "Not when I'll rule over Isonmore soon."

Their arms and wings are tired of holding this position.

"Why don't they just leave?" Cecile asks, childlike innocence in her expression.

"They can't," Lyell says, and pulls the jewel hanging around his neck out from under his shirt. "Because I have this."

It sparkles in the light, shifting colours and shapes contained within the infinite transparency. Their Source. A symbol of the power the gods wield, power that should never be in mortal hands. Power that will corrupt, though, Alios thinks bitterly, it's not as if Lyell needs help in that regard.

They want to take it back. They will themself to reach for it, but their will is not their own, anymore. What is a king to a god? And what is a god to a king with more power in his hands than he can fathom?

Cecile brushes her fingers over it. "What does it do?"

"It means they have to do what I tell them to," Lyell says, then looks towards Alios. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," they say, as willed, and then nothing is binding them. "Do you not get tired of puppetry? In front of your daughter, no less."

They are suddenly willed to drop from the position they have been forced into for the past few hours. They gasp in relief, and at the new pain this has caused them. Every muscle seizes. This is why they never take mortal form. Why they never should have done so in the first place.

"Cecile," Lyell says softly, "go do something else for a little while. I'll come find you."

Cecile huffs, but she leaves. Lyell turns to Alios, still shaking on the floor, and grabs them by the chin. He doesn't bother commanding them to stay still. He knows they couldn't move even if they wanted to.

"Don't speak to me that way," Lyell says, nails digging into Alios' jaw. "And do not speak about or to my daughter."

"You could have stopped me," Alios spits.

Their teeth cut a bloody line in their lip when Lyell slaps them.

Alios wipes the blood from their face, eyes closed, trying to avoid looking at such a clear sign of their current predicament. Blood. They hadn't ever bled before their capture.

"I can easily be an outlet for your sadism without the games," they say quietly.

"Oh, but the games are what makes it interesting." Lyell is letting their Source hang in front of them, dangling it so tantalisingly close. "I want you to choose to be obedient."

This is beneath them. Mortal games, the way they parade prisoners as trophies, their wars and their power trips and their unadulterated violence. They abandoned this world for a reason, and now they can't escape it.

"I will never willingly be obedient to a king," Alios says, forcing their voice to stay steady.

Lyell laughs. "You will. There's plenty of time for that, yet."

"My siblings will come for me." Alios doesn't truly believe that, but they want to. They need to. "You're only cursing yourself."

"You must know your reputation," Lyell smiles. "You've been missing for the last few thousand years. Isonmore hasn't believed in you for the last two hundred. I would be surprised if even your siblings still did."

Alios wants to scream. They only wanted to step in to protect their people in battle. An idiotic, emotional part of them cared for once, and this is what they've been given in return. They should've stayed isolated, emotionless, above everyone and everything. That is their place as a god, though they know and ignore that their siblings would disagree.

But they are on their knees in front of a king they are unable to disobey, and the anger they are unused to feeling has nowhere to go.

"Did that finally stun you to silence?" Lyell straightens up, and tucks their Source back into his shirt. "How peaceful."

"I am a god," Alios hisses. "Do not forget that."

"Don't think I have!" Lyell grins and turns to leave. "Stay as you are."

Alios cannot even clench their fists or wrap their wings around themself to block out the world. They are trapped on their knees, gaze tilted to the floor, and they are seething.

They can only hear, not see, the tiptoe of a child out from behind a pillar when Lyell exits the room. Cecile silently approaches Alios. She must have been hiding here the entire time.

She seems nervous, fidgeting with her fingers when she comes into view. Then she suddenly reaches out and touches Alios' wing.

Alios is incapable of recoiling, and snaps instead. "Don't touch me!"

Cecile jumps back. "I-I'm sorry!"

Alios exhales, and does not look at her.

Biting her lip, Cecile steps in front of Alios, and kneels down to look at their face. "Are you hurt?"

"Yes, I am." Alios can't reign in their harsh tone. "Well done for noticing. You aren't a total imbecile."

Cecile frowns, and folds her arms. "You're not very nice."

"You're expecting me to be nice, Princess?" Alios snarls. "Would you be nice, in my position?"

She flinches. "My tutors say you should always be nice, even if you're mad…"

Cecile is only a child. She hasn't learned the apathy and hate of humanity yet. She will, but Alios cannot blame her for what she does not know. And they breathe in, and breathe out.

"They are right," Alios says, softer this time. "I… apologise."

"Thank you for apologising," Cecile says, and it's obviously a learned phrase, but it's sincere. "I'll… be back."

She runs off, and Alios mumbles a prayer. They don't think their sister will hear them. They don't think she would listen if she did. But they are in her kingdom, among her people, and the part of them that they've tried so hard to lock away knows any hope is better than no hope at all.

Cecile returns, a little bowl of water and a cloth in her hands. She dips the cloth into the water, and very gently dabs at Alios' bleeding lip, trying to wipe the blood away. Alios flinches, but lets her, with what little choice they have.

"There," she smiles, drying where she's washed. "I hope you feel a little better."

Alios doesn't say a word.

"You know," Cecile pouts, "you're supposed to say thank you when people help you."