#part 3

The days pass in a blur, more meetings, more training, more audiences being granted. It's the peak of the season for the Castle, jousts and competitions just around the corner, the harvest season was coming to a close, and invitations for the autumn balls and galas from other kingdoms were beginning to arrive. 

He was so busy that he hadn't really given much thought to Fig’s crazed idea about the demon realm. Hadn't even considered it or lent a single moment of his energy to it, not a single thought of it had crossed his mind, actually. 

So imagine his surprise when Ser Fig suddenly shows up, Your majesty!" He calls out, hands waving about some old, singed-looking scroll, "Your Majesty, I have the most wonderful news!” 

“Ser Fig, how can I help you?” I pause, waiting for the older man to reach my side before we begin walking again. I had meetings with the merchants of their neighboring kingdom, followed by a meeting with the kingdom’s eastern regimen of soldiers, and then I had another list of audiences to revise. 

If I were lucky, I could get lunch between the meetings. 

“The Demon King responded to my letter about an alliance! He wishes to invite you to meet to start drafting an agreement!" 

I stop dead in my tracks as Fig shoves the burnt scroll at me, the horned insignia of the Demon Realm shining wickedly from the front of it. “What?” 

“The alliance that we discussed at the council meeting! With the Demon Realm! The King is very excited to participate in such a thing!” Fig continues walking as he prattles on, not even noticing my lag in pace. “He’s about your age, you know, just coordinated to! Very eager to make new alliances and right the wrongs of history!” 

I… I was going to get lunch today, was I? 

“He… how?!” Gavin staggers as he enters the meeting room. The councilors, including Ser Fig, have already vacated. My schedule after being handed the scroll that afternoon was entirely ruined. No meeting with merchants, no meeting with soldiers, and no lunch. 

Though I did make time for the audiences. The people who came to those can't afford to have their time wasted or come back some other day. A brief recess was held during the long and arduous council meeting, ng where Fig’s idea was discussed in depth, during which I attended to the machines, and they had lunch. 

A fact that my stomach grumbles at in discontent. 

“Apparently, he knows a man who knows a she-devil, who knows a noble, who’s friends of the current Demon King.” I sigh, “You didn't bring snacks with you by chance?” 

“Snacks, Simon?!” Gavin’s mouth hangs open for a moment before snapping shut with a click, “Really? Right now? Snacks!?”

“I haven't eaten since last night’s wine…” I sigh, rubbing at the migraine forming behind my eyes. 

“You… why didn't you eat?” Gavin’s already at the door, bossing some servants around in demand of food before I have a chance to answer him. 

“Emergency morning meeting about the summer floods not receding in the western farmlands, so no breakfast, afternoon was booked solo before Fig’s decision, and then after that it got busier, so no lunch.” I sip from the stale glass of water on the desk before me. 

And with how things were going, I wasn't likely to get dinner either. 

“You need to eat…” Gavin brushes the back of his hand against my forehead. I lean into it more than I mean to. “You can't carry yourself like this.”

The tone of his voice is one that I know means he is speaking of my father. The great king, the wonderful man, and a decent parent, who drove himself into an early grave.

Too much work, too few meals, too little care for himself over the value he held our people to. 

Watching him work himself to death had inflicted similar habits upon me, something which Gavin was horribly against and actively worked to prevent. 

“I know.” I sigh softly, letting him remove the heavy crown from my head. The migraine is already fading without its pinching weight around my temples. “There was just too much to be done.” 

“And Fig isn't helping." Gavin cuts in, “He’s a traitor., I knew he was no good on the council when your father was in charge,e and I knew it would only bring trouble once you ascended!” He was ranting now, hands slipping from my hair as he paced the room behind my chair. 

“He’s not of evil intentions.” I sigh again. Convincing Gavin of this after the old man’s recent actions may be near impossible, but it was true. 

Ser Fig was old and perhaps a touch senile, but he was not evil. Everything he had ever done on the council was in the interest of the kingdom and its people, even when those things went against the royal family. 

I had always had some touch of respect for the man because of it. 

For some reason, one that I have yet to understand, he legitimately saw this as something the kingdom needed. 

“I just wish he could explain himself in a way that made sense. It would make it easier to wrap my head around this matter.” I rub at my eyes again, perking up only when food is brought in and quickly placed before me. “You haven't eaten either.” I motioned for Gavin to sit next to me.

“Are you considering this?”He asks after a moment of silence, where he simply remains where he is, standing behind me. 

From one moment, he was staring up at concerned blue eyes, then the next he was glaring down at them as they blinked up in shock; their breath wheezing out of them as he landed on top of them; his forearm pressed high across his chest and throat.

"Who the fuck are you?!" Simon screamed down at the man he's holding captive. "Are you COI? Eden? What the fuck is going on?!"

The man tried to wheeze an answer but Simon pressed down harder on his throat, watching as those blue eyes widen in panic when he realized that he was unable to take in any air.

"Let go of friend Grace!"

And before Simon could even register the new person entering the scene, he was being shoved off by something heavy and hard, causing him to slide to the side and hit a table hard enough for the things on it to rattle.

What he sees next makes him freeze in shock.

Crouched between Simon and the man he was trying to get answers out of, who was currently struggling to regulate his air intake, was this large rock like spider creature encased in a weird spherical ball.

Never had any tunnel felt so long. What was a ten-minute walk stretched into hours as he ran in the darkness, fingers gliding along the tunnel wall. Panic swelled as his legs burned, exhaustion choking his lungs. A horrible screech game from behind as he started to wave his arm up and down in a vain effort to find the markers on the wall. A curse left him as he stumbled on a large loose rock underfoot, momentarily stumbling. Quickly he corrected his course and ran his hand along the wall again. Any other time he could just wait for the hard wall of the cave to disappear under his touch and turn then but now the few steps it’d take him to react to the turn could mean life and death. Then he felt it, a quick gap in the stone along shoulder height, repeating every three meters. A small divet. The thumping of the monster behind him grew louder. Then, suddenly there were two holes in the rock where before there was one. And then three. Dustral would have sighed from relief if the burning of his lungs allowed it. Again and again three holes slipped beneath his fingers.

The corner of the tunnel wall still came suddenly. He managed to grab a hold of the corner and use the momentum to swing himself left at the junction, if only barely. Immediately a faraway light burned bright spot into his vision after the deep dark. For a while he kept close to the left-hand side of the tunnel though he knew there was no need. He was nearly there. Nearly safe. Soon enough the rough-hewn floor of the tunnel gave way to smoothed floor. He felt his pulse rapid and throbbing at the back of his eyes as his eyes adjusted to the light of the crystal lamps. Evenly paced, they shone a pale but welcome light from their pedestals lining the wall of the tunnel. He could see it now, the seal fort, growing ever larger in the horizon as he ran. A whimper left him as sharp pain seemed to pierce his lung on the right side. He had thought of himself as a fit dwarf until now, but the spider at his back seemed determined to prove him wrong. Rows of crystal lamps were regular now, paced just far enough from each other to prove only slight gaps between their radius of light. And then came the tiled floor.

One. Dustral gasped for air as he counted the rows of slightly darker tiles on the floor. He was at his limit, only the adrenaline and threat of greedy fangs inching ever closer to him pushing him to keep running. Two. The thrumming of legs grew ever closer. Three. The spider screeched, pedipalps reaching forward and trembling in excitement as it slowly gained on its prey. Four. For once, Dustral hoped that everyone was as anal about doctrine as his mentor has been. Five.

He threw himself flat on the ground the moment his foot touched the darkened tile. The spider screeched in excitement as it tried to halt its momentum, two of its front legs raising in air as slobber dropped from its mouth. Pedipalps pulled back as they grazed the dwarfs back.

Arlo and his little sister, Elise, had done nothing but thrive in their new father’s realm. 

Still eight and five, but now two and one years after they had joined him here. 

The three of them were happy, the house had grown more cluttered, and God spent less time brooding in endless silence. 

The children spent most of their time playing or sleeping, curled up against him or in his lap as they napped or racing from room to room with their playthings. 

It was loud, the once silent air of the void now filled with the joyous squabbles of children who experience nothing but love and happiness. The God of Bones could not be happier, he thinks. 

But once again, the humans did not seem to pay attention to his wishes, nor to his warning. 

With the upcoming yearly ritual drawing close, he had sent the priests a vision instructing them to bring something for the children. Toys, sweets, clothes. So long as it was not alive, he had not cared what it was. If it needed to be something special, then they could simply bring their best snack, their most expensive toy, or clothes made by the best seamstresses. 

But again the procession starts, the drumming, the marching, the wailing as the long parade of followers climbs and cries their way up the mountain into his temple. 

Elise stops her game, worried eyes turning towards him as the noise breaches the veil and bleeds into their home realm. Arlo wakes from his nap, curled in his father’s klapo. 

“Is it happening again?” his little boy asks softly, eyes clearly from waking too soon. 

“Yes.” He sighs, smiling gently at his daughter and bringing her into his arms as well, “It's just the procession. Do not worry, they cannot harm you here.” 

His children were safest in his realm, in this estate. Though they could not see it, there were many things that lurked in the shadows, in between the layers of this place; they heeded his call and his commands.

They would serve him or his children at their whims. 

And they would slaughter anything that tries to breach their safety. 

Elise says nothing, just whimpers and curls into his grasp more. Arlo, sweet darling Arlo, who is such a good big brother, smiles and curls up around her as comfort. 

“Arlo, stay here with your sister. I must attend to this.” The God of Bones lays both his children down in the nest of a bed, their room has become. The two little beds pushed together and plied high with pillows and blankets and soft plush toys that they fell asleep in every night, if they did not fall asleep atop their father first. “Elise, everything will be well. Do not worry.” 

Arlo nods and Elise only clings tighter to her older brother as he leaves. There's a flutter in the in-between spaces around the room as the creatures flex and fold into gaps of the realm, gathering and curling about the children' s presence like snakes protecting a hoard. 

In all honesty, God truly did think they would listen this time. What part of ‘do not bring me any more brides. Do not bring any brides for my children. Do not bring any more children.’ is so difficult to understand. 

In the offering room on the sacrificial altar lies a man. He is in his late twenties, maybe, certainly young, with sunken eyes and a gaunt expression on his face. Instead of being dressed in the typical ceremonial bridal clothes, he is dressed in simple work clothes. 

An apron around his waist, a cotton shirt with long sleeves and a high collar buttoned all the way to his chin, thick boots meant for long days of labor. 

His hands were calloused, his arms strong, certainly not like the soft little dolls of men and women that were usually brought. Young adults who had spent the past few years of their lives at the very least being prepared for the role of a God’s Bride. 

“What is the meaning of this?” he sighs. Truly, he did mean to sound more angry and ‘scary’ than he did weary and annoyed, but he simply could not help [ the tired confusion from seeping into his voice. “Why is there another person…? I told you I did not want any more people.” 

“You told us we were not to send you nor your children any more brides, and you forbid other children from being brought to you.” The head priest, the same from last year, bowed as he spoke to the presence in the room, “We have instead brought you a servant who will be of great use!” 

He did not want a servant; he did not need a servant. And they knew full well what he had meant last year and the year before. 

“Are you displeased?” He asks after a long moment of tense silence. 

“I am considering how I wish to slaughter you,” God answers tersely. 

“There's no need for that, please.” The young man on the table speaks as he brings himself to sit with great effort. “My name is Thomas,I'mm a chef. I'm only twenty-seven, but I'm going to die soon from an illness, and there's so much more I wish to do.” 

“Being sacrificed brings you to death quicker, boy, not later. This will not extend your life at all.” God tells him. 

“The boy you took in two years ago, last year, he had not aged. Your realm does not adhere to the rules of this one.” Thomas continues. “I would like to work there, as a chef.” 

“He's the best one in the entire kingdom!” The head priest tacks on, “Very talented, especially with sweets and confections. The children of the whole kingdom love him!” 

Sweets and confections… best in the whole land…

In a way, he supposes they brought what he wanted. Instead of one treat, they had given what is essentially an eternal supply of one via a talented chef. 

“And I wish to continue doing so. I don't really care who for, so long as I can hone my craft for longer.” Thomas declares. 

“Papa?” Elise murmurs, hiding behind Arlo, “Who’s he?” 

“This is Mr. Thomas. He’s going to work here as a chef from now on.” 

“A baker, really, sir.” Thomas corrects meekly. His pallor has already faded from sickly to healthy, his eyes no longer sunken in, and his face no longer gaunt. “Cehfs cook more savory things, I focus on baking and confections.” 

“Like cakes and candy!?” Arlo gasps, delighted, “You can make cakes?!” 

“Yes, though I specialize in cookies…” 

“COOKIES?!” Elise shrieks. 

Well… it hadn't gone as he wished, but this did end up rather well, didn't it? 

The torches had turned green once again, and the God of Bones had gained yet another living being in his realm. 

And this year, he made a very clear, very lengthy, very specific list of demands to the priests. 

No people. Point blank, period, no discussions, no loopholes, no workarounds. 

Part 3 of JJBA is a very sensitive topic for me☹️