Greece, 1876.
Abaddon Ambrosia watched from the shadows as his daughter buried his wife.
Astera had tears running freely down her cheeks, her lovely face twisted in grief and anguish. The female counterpart of his children had always been the one he'd prided in the most; Apollo was too kind and soft, too much like his mother, whereas Astera had the potential to become something more.
To be more like him.
He was expressionless as he watched the girl gently pick up the Callidora's covered body. The bundle was so small; she had always been a petite girl. Small and beautiful, like a butterfly. Abaddon coldly shouldered those thoughts - he'd killed her for a reason. Sentimentality was for humans - for the weak.
After a short pause, her lip trembling, the girl ever so gently laid her mother in the ground. Her shoulders shook as she began to cover the human woman with the earth.
Abaddon looked around leisurely as Astera worked. Where had that boy run off to? He would've wanted to be here for this. Apollo had probably gone after his father; Abaddon enjoyed a private smile. If the boy wanted to fight, he would surely lose. He was delicate still, just a flower. He hadn't raised a hand to save his mother - he wouldn't be able to strike a blow to his father.
The moon was just a sliver, and the sky was pitch black. A cold wind shuddered through the mountains, and the trees waved in agitation. The wild black hair around Astera's face swirled like a whirlwind, but still she cried and still she dug. Abaddon continued his watch in the shadows, and it wasn't until at least thirty minutes later that she finally trudged her way back into the cottage Abaddon had impatiently built for his wife.
A few minutes later, Astera's crying became hysterics, and Abaddon reveled in the sound of her pain.
"It was all necessary, child." He murmured.
He considered going closer to the cottage, so he could watch her cry with more ease, but another cold wind trailed its icy fingers up his spine.
Abaddon sighed.
"You again." He said dryly into the night air.
"Of course." The voice was musical and relaxed. "I told you I would keep coming."
Abaddon turned around slowly, his dark eyes narrowed into slits. He was an older version of his son - dark, silky hair, marble skin, perfect skin. Apollo was still soft, with a rounded jaw, but soon he would be sharp like his father. Abaddon couldn't wait to see it.
The figure opposite him watched him in silent amusement. He was the epitome of light, with ivory skin and snowy white hair. His eyes were a pale, crystalline lilac, and his perfect lips were a dewy pink. The white shift he had on floated like a cloud around him - he looked like an angel who had come down from heaven.
It was the massive, ebony, feathery wings, however, that made him look more like Lucifer - fallen from grace.
Abaddon surveyed him distastefully. The witch had first appeared to him fifteen years ago, on the birth of his children. He'd visited every year, the same question on his lips.
"And I will tell you the same thing, every time you come." Abaddon said coldly. "I will not allow it."
"You're such a worry." The figure unfurled his wings, stretching them out leisurely, except never taking flight. "This is an exceptional offer I'm making."
"Then go make it to someone else." Abaddon replied shortly.
Another sob echoed back to them from the cottage. The two both glanced back to the dwelling; the windows were dark, and the place looked oddly forlorn. Abaddon narrowed his eyes - even the cottage missed Callidora's radiant touch.
"You know I can't do that." The pale figure examined his hands, making no note of the miserable girl in the cottage only a few feet away. "This is an exceptional offer for an exceptional individual."
"I'm not tempted by your offers."
"Surely you'll think of your son's best interests in this situation?" Was the light figure's reply. He leaned against the trunk of a tree, his pale eyes watching Abaddon closely. "Would a father neglect his son of the best? I might have to force my kindness on him."
"You know the Varaii Laws." Abaddon looked back at his companion curtly, pulling his dark cloak closer around his neck irritably. "You can't touch him without my permission."
"Ah, but you were never one for following the Varaii Agreements, am I right?" The pale figure smiled cheerily, but his lilac eyes were icy. Abaddon held back a smirk. He was surely getting tired of these fruitless, yearly visits.
"I don't follow them." Abaddon tossed his head in contempt. "Such laws are the dreams of fools. The binding magic is strong; I simply find the loop holes."
"I know you do." The figure scrutinized him. "What I haven't figured out is how."
"If you did, you wouldn't be here, would you?" Abaddon let his smirk melt through. "You need my permission, and you know it."
The pale figure's beautiful face twisted for only a second, but the ugly hatred on his face made Abaddon want to smile - here was the true individual, the monster beneath the mask.
"Apollo would be great if he was my muse." His voice was deadly now, his gorgeous eyes narrowed into slits. "How wonderfully fantastic a creature he is - he has the emotions of a human, and the invincibility of a vampire! He could be the greatest in the world, if you would only let him - "
"I don't think it's occurred to you that the choice is not yours to make." Abaddon cut him off abruptly, his eyes still on the cottage. Astera cried on, her grief pouring like a river. Why didn't the child just light a lamp already? "My son is not yours for the choosing. He is mine, and always will be. You cannot have him, and that is my last word on this so-called exceptional offer of yours."
His companion grit his perfect teeth. "Astera - !"
"Don't go near her either." Abaddon snapped back. "Besides, she isn't suitable for your teaching. You want nothing from a huntress, whose ideals and decisions she moulds on her own. You know this too - you've sought out Apollo from the start. When will you admit your failure?"
Abaddon looked on coolly as the pale figure glared at him. He noted disinterestedly that the vegetation around his companion had suddenly withered up and died. Abaddon cocked his head. Would he finally see some of his legendary rage?
"You will rue this day." He said in a low voice. "You will regret ever turning me away, Abaddon Ambrosia. I come bearing gifts, and you spit in my face? I will make it so that you and your children meet death, and that you stay forever entwined in her arms."
Abaddon smiled coolly. "I'd love to see that. How can you kill a being that even death shies away from? You are full of empty threats, Castrone."
There was a soaring sound as Castrone's ebony wings abruptly unfurled. The beautiful witch looked at Abaddon Ambrosia with hatred, his lilac eyes glowing in the darkness.
"They won't feel empty when Apollo is dead, you fool."
---
Present Day
I gasped and sat up straight in the bed, my flesh immediately erupting in goose bumps. My chest heaved as I looked wildly around the room. After a few moments, I remembered Apollo checking us into the elegant hotel the previous night. There was only one concierge when we arrived, and I could only tell he was an elf from his scent. He was also wearing the smoke-coloured suit that was reminiscent of the solstae during the Faerie War. Now that I think of it, the only reason he let us stay here was because we were wearing them too.
I sighed as I looked around the crystal room. The furniture was white, calming, and the floating lights high in the ceiling above me were soft and blue, but my heart still pounded jarringly in my chest. I couldn't quite remember the dream I had; all I knew was that it had scared me out of my mind.
I slipped out of the four poster bed, my bare feet meeting the cool floor. There was a piece of stationary propped up on the table, against the flower vase. I picked it up to see Apollo's neat and beautiful writing.
Lilah,
Don't panic, love. I went out for a bit to see if I could find another acquaintance of mine. Hopefully he'll know where to point us. I bought some food for you, it's covered on the counter. Please don't leave the room, and don't answer the door unless it's me. It's very important that you do this, alright?
I'll be back soon. With all my heart,
Apollo
I sighed and glanced at the counter. A large platter sat covered there, and I wondered where Apollo had gotten it since the entire city had ceased to run. I wasn't hungry at all.
I glanced to my right. The entire wall was transparent crystal; I had an unobstructed view of the entire city. From up here, I couldn't tell that no one moved in the usually raucous streets. I walked over and placed a hand on the cool crystal. It was late morning, but I could still see the floating lights twinkling high above the buildings.
I winced and pinched the bridge of my nose. What had I dreamt of the previous night? Usually my dreams were muted and vague - I hadn't had a vivid dream since the Faerie War. Those had come about from feelings of unease though; I'd been worrying my heart over the fact that as a human, I would one day leave Apollo behind. Since the threat was gone, the dreams had subsided.
Frowning, I leaned my forehead against the crystal wall. Struggling, I brought up images from the dream. It was dark, and the moon was only a sliver in the sky. There was a building... a cottage, with flower baskets on the window sills. There was a sound - a cry? Someone was sobbing. And someone was watching her, someone I knew.
I jumped in surprise. "Abaddon?" I whispered in surprise.
Of course. In my dream, I hadn't registered any recognition, but in my waking, there was no way I could forget Apollo's father. He was terribly beautiful; an older echo of his son, except with dark eyes that had seen and enjoyed dark things of his own doing. Why had I dreamt of him?
But there was someone else.
He was light, the very being of it. He'd been beautiful too, but I knew to every core of my being that I'd never met him before. Who was he, and why was I so afraid of him?
Suddenly, a blinding pain erupted in my head. I cried out, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain. Moaning, I slumped against the wall. What was this, what was going on...?
There was a thud as my own head hit the floor, and then everything was black.
---
A solitary, smoke coloured figure stood in front of the palace, a forlorn wind swirling around him. Apollo looked up at the sumptuous building, wondering how on earth he had ended up standing there now.
He glanced quietly at the gates. The guards that had been posted there had long abandoned their posts; they'd gone off running to check on wives and children, and perhaps brothers and sisters. None had a care in the world for the palace's inhabitant, who was secured safely within its walls.
No one was there to stop him as he slipped through the gates.
Despite his silent step, small echoes shivered through the cavernous crystal halls. Works of art reminiscent of human Renaissance works adorned the walls at metre intervals, and thousands of floating lights shone down and made everything glimmer. However, Apollo noted as he walked how cold everything was in there. The palace felt barely lived in, although every knew it wasn't abandoned.
"Who dares enter my home?"
The snapping voice echoed loudly, but Apollo had trouble at first detecting where it came from. Flaring his nose gently, he followed the scent.
Apollo turned slowly. At the top of the magnificent staircase floated a beautiful figure. His wings were pale green and glistened like dewy gossamer, and pale blonde hair cascaded down his back like a waterfall. The faerie's features were sharp, almost too sharp - his cheekbones jutted just a little against his ivory, translucent skin, and his green eyes were set just a little too deep in their sockets. However, he was still beautiful - dressed in the silver and blue fine clothes only faerie's could manufacture, he was every inch the prince he was born.
His beautiful green eyes narrowed as they took in Apollo's hooded figure. "I'd recognize your scent anywhere."
"I must smell good then." Apollo replied dryly.
There was a subtle humming sound, and then the prince was suddenly in front of him. His blonde hair swirled around his shoulders like silk, and came to a stop just a few moments after the prince did. He leaned in close to Apollo, staring with narrowed eyes into the blackened glass panels.
"Why are you here, Apollo Ambrosia?"He asked, his voice silky but deadly.
Apollo casually glanced down at the dagger the prince had touched to his chest. The tip glittered in the light, and it looked awfully sharp.
"If you're planning on killing me, I suggest you start in a different place." Apollo gently but firmly knocked the prince's hand away. "It'll be much easier to kill me if you tear off my head first."
The prince's gaze never wavered. He scrutinized Apollo for several more moments, the silence hanging like blocks around the pair, before sighing and dropping the dagger. It clattered to the floor, where the sound echoed.
"You're no fun." He said wearily.
"You just realized that?"
"No, I realized several decades ago." The prince turned away, looking gloomily at a painting of a human cathedral. "I admit I relished in chasing you. After a while, it wasn't even about my sister anymore. I just liked the excitement in my veins."
He turned back to Apollo, who still watched him silently. "You're not exciting in the way I wanted you to be. I've forgiven you for the past, so all I feel looking at you know is weariness."
"How unfortunate." Apollo replied softly. "I'd hoped for your friendship if I was honoured enough to have your forgiveness, Prince Hayane."
Hayane glanced at him coolly. "Your romantic outlook on life will be your downfall, vampire."
"Oh, how I know it." But Apollo sounded regretful. He finally turned his head to look at a different painting, this one of a beautiful lady with fiery red hair. "But it is that same romanticism that brings me here now, to the mercy of a man who once wanted me dead."
The prince crossed his arms, tilting his head interestedly. "What is this mercy you speak of?" He chuckled. "Have I been in seclusion so long that my reputation has died?"
Apollo didn't reply. He looked at the red-haired lady, thinking of another beauty with fiery hair he'd left alone at the hotel.
Hayane sighed as he looked at Apollo. Even with the protective hood and gear, he could tell the vampire was troubled. "Apollo." He said quietly.
He turned at his name.
"What can I do for you?"
Apollo hesitated for a long moment. "I need you to tell me where Androgena is."
Hayane blinked in surprise. "Androgena? Whatever do you need her for? The old witch's magic has been banned from use."
"Exactly." Apollo turned his back completely on the prince now, looking again at the painting. The muse looked like she was in pain; she stared up in terror, as if expecting the wrath of God.
"I need her to teach me how to kill a witch."
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