The wind raged over an ocean coloured a sickly emerald green.

The crimson sun burned hot in the heavens, illuminating the world for twenty eight hours without end. Never did it move, only when the world’s moon eclipsed it did four hours of night descend.

The sun was named Skoll, the moon, Hati, and this was the world of Ymir, split into nine continents, each host to a kingdom, each host to a deity, and each ever on the verge of war with one another.

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Pitch black storm clouds approached from the south, heading north-west across the sickly sea.

When it made landfall a powerful pressure descended upon the still waking world.

The clouds coalesced into a vortex miles long in every direction.

The eye thundered forward as it approached the western continent’s border.

Massive metal boats endured the battering as they waited in their docks.

Men and women raised their heads to look upon the storm.

The wind did them little harm, the pitch black rain did not even drench them as it fell upon their forms.

The masses bowed, then began to pray.

The storm shrank as it moved further away, and then little by little those men and women raised their heads to resume their day.

This storm did not go unnoticed by the powers that ruled the Kingdom of Olympus, the main superpower present upon the continent of Midgard.

This included the Six Dukes, of course, who ran the kingdom day to day, but also their mothers, who were the Emerald Emperor’s brides, and, of course, the ageless emperor himself was also roused by the arrival of that abnormal storm.

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Within the heart of the Kingdom and Continent was a single city.

The crown of this city featured a set of clocktowers, which together with walls formed a ring around a giant glowing sun.

When day dawned, the sun would rise, when night fell, it would be covered by the walls and cast a shadow across the land.

This emerald sun was the goddess of this kingdom’s avatar, and it wasn’t the only one, just the largest and most true, for it belonged to her, and all the others to her captive kindred.

Halfway up the greatest clocktower’s peak sat the bedchamber of the Emerald Emperor, he who was king to this vast nation, though in truth a man who was rarely seen.

Calm wind whistled loudly into the lavish chamber.

Transparent drapery, clear and silken curtains waved above the furnished wooden bed.

That bit of furniture alone was large enough to hold ten full grown men in comfort, nevermind one man and his six fair brides.

The chamber door creaked open, a delicate figure stepped inside.

Black hair tied into loops over one shoulder brushed her medal coated breast.

Though she had the appearance of a younger lass just fit enough to wed, none would dare think she was what she seemed.

Known to all was the reality that there were none among the Emerald Emperor nor his brides who even remotely looked their age.

This maiden in particular was ancient even when compared to the rest of the six included in that number, she was remnant to a long lost empire, the first Kingdom this world had ever known.

The girl’s violet dress swung as she stepped forward with light steps against the wailing wind.

She wore shoes with a low heel, but clap, clap, clap, the resound of them against the wooden floor was still very audible against the gale.

She stepped over to the bed where the silken curtains did little to hide what lay within.

There lay a man, who could only be the famed Emerald Emperor, the sovereign of these lands and her groom alongside five others.

Accompanying him then, who else but another of those brides could it have been?

With her arms coiled around his waist, the Scarlet Concubine clad in red shared his sheets.

The lass frowned, then with a single flick of her gentle wrist, purple mist leapt forth to force the silken curtain open.

Heavy gales of violet mist banished the natural wind, moments later the sheer silence roused the emperor.

The girl said nothing as the man sat up, he grasped his aching head and then glanced her way.

Among the six of his "so-called" brides, she was first and truest.

She was the Violet Princess who served as his mentor in the old times.

Her name in that age had been Priscilla, sole remnant of the lost Kingdom of Wisemen’s Twenty Sixth School, Omega.

Time had forgotten the days when she was once called a witch before then.

Yes she had sinned, but he wiped clean her slate.

She had done some very questionable things in pursuit of ageless and undying flesh.

Things bad enough to have been cast out by her god when she finally found a way to make her goal reality.

Her immortal life became her curse then, bound as she was in her house inside the woods, and that went on until she met a battered boy who’d limped lost into her garden.

She took him into her home, the times having made her want for a friend, the house wasn’t made of sugar and bread crumbs, of course.

Then in time she nursed him to health. She mentored him, though her curse condemned her to silence, so she couldn’t teach him with words.

Retrospectively, all she had done was sat there drinking tea as he browsed her library, but neither cared to call it a difference.

Those days were long over, but she didn’t miss them much. There was nothing to miss.

Nowadays she went by the name Priscilla Gaia, a name granted to her by Feng, this kingdom’s goddess, and to Alfrick, the Emperor, she was considered his wisest council, though still she couldn’t speak.

“Good morning, Master,” The emperor said, and in turn Priscilla simply bowed her head lightly, her lips then raised into the faintest smile.

The emperor took in the morning light, and then he noticed the cause of her ire.

The man could but peer down upon the milky white arm of the other woman who had wrapped herself around his waist.

He let out a huff as he faced her, his Scarlet Concubine, named Belladonna of Aphrodite.

Undoubtedly she was a world class beauty, but she'd earned the ire of each amongst his brides for another reason.

Put simply, she was lazy, one might even call her apathetic or depressed, she was certainly not motivated.

Her own story starts long after the Emperor’s rise to power, when he expanded to invade the Asgard Continent and then the continent of Alfheim beyond it to the East.

He was too ambitious, and was finally made to leave five centuries ago by the Nidhogg Emperor of the time.

Yet he still inspired their dread, and so the Emperor after that one gave him his daughter, this jaded Belladonna.

The woman herself made her own stance quite clear in one sitting:

"So long as I have a comfy bed, fine clothes, good food and plenty of servants to maintain it all, I don’t mind marrying you and all that entails."

Time may have changed her in some ways, but these things it seemed would never go away.

That's not to say there wasn't a cause behind it all, to put it frankly, she had the air of a caged bird who once longed for more, but had since resolved itself to its fate.

The Emerald Emperor faced the distant horizon, he faced the pitch black storm that was on the march.

The voice of the goddess rang like a bell inside his brain. Reluctant he may be, he stood up a moment late.

The covers parted, an act that managed to stir Belladonna and liberate him from her embrace.

Even still, no matter how hard he tried to he could not spur her to a rise.

Priscilla cast a frown, she knew he wasn't soft on his enemies, but some things that a man just cannot do, especially to his brides be they true or in name alone.

Hence it fell to her to rouse his decadent bed mate.

Her gaze combed about the room until she found her dresser drawer.

Her fingers pinched light the stem of a sewing needle, which was sharpened at the tip to a nefarious purpose.

She took aim, her target was the unfortunate concubine’s posterior which was evident of shape even beneath the covers.