With tired steps, the Emerald Emperor walked out from his chamber.

The Violet Princess and Scarlet Concubine were both hot on his heels.

One of the women glared towards the other with a pained grit in her teeth, but the latter didn't care, and nor did the emperor.

He did what was best and ignored their squabbles.

He addressed them with a gesture, adjusting his collar as he turned to them before the stairway.

"So that's why you came to wake me?" He said, facing his old mentor, Priscilla.

The Violet Princess then nodded her head, for she was still unable to speak from the curse that was never cured.

"Rognir, huh," whispered the weary emperor, "The Father God has come, and he's gone to speak with the Mother Goddess. Dark times are ahead."

Quiet fell over the girls, who stopped heckling each other to observe as Alfrick cast a contemplative frown upon the web weaving arachnids in the corner of his vision.

The Emerald Emperor could not make light of this matter, though he shrugged about it a moment later. "Nothing for it," He did utter, "Have the Six Dukes been called?"

Priscilla was reticent as ever, no emotion save a smile devoid of obvious purpose or reason, she nodded her head, affirming a yes to his question.

The Crimson Concubine saw that, and hence she cracked a cold smile. Her hands reached out, her fingers were like claws, Priscilla didn't notice.

"If you want me to stop, just say so," She said, and the Violet Princess moved to use Alfrick as a shield but a moment after the first pinch nipped her.

The emperor paid no heed to their shenanigans, he was far too used to it at this age.

His face was stock still as the scarlet woman chased the violet one in circles around him, he just walked, didn't care to step in.

After a time the three of them descended the last step in the stairway.

What waited was a hallway, and after that the royal chamber.

They crossed each threshold without incident so that before them now they beheld the back of the marble white throne.

The Emperor glanced but once upon the figure that sat beside that symbol of power.

She too took stock of him, but only with a glance, for her focus lay more upon the crowd of officials now kneeling upon the crimson red carpet.

The maidens by his side took account of the guards who adorned the hall.

They looked like statues in their shining silver armour, but were men more than ready to defend the figure that sat upon the throne.

That figures was the White Queen, Elena of Hera, and the Sapphire Scholar that sat beside her throne was her seldom welcomed supervisor, Cyril of Athena.

The two shared a glance, and then the indifferent eyes of the latter skimmed the pages of the book in her hands.

Elena begrudged the matter, yet was helpless to pass judgement without the say so of this bothersome bookworm.

Such was the Emperor's decree: The Division of Duty, she could but handle the noblemen and their problems, while it was Cyril's role to handle the state of their economy.

White Queen may be her title, but she felt her role was a queen only in name.

Finally it seemed her gaze had bore into the Scholar, for she relented to a nod that bid she could proceed.

The Queen did proceed, but she did not even try to hide how much she was dissatisfied with the wait.

Five hundred years ago, did she lament, this "scholar" had been a nobody.

She'd come to them at her lowest, and it was for her sake that Alfrick set his sights upon the Alfheim Continent and its City of Leo.

Yes, this Sapphire clad bookworm was the cause of Olympus' invasion of Alfheim those five centuries ago.

The whole thing had occurred due to a familiar scenario, so familiar in fact that Elena couldn't help but find it trite.

The Scholar had simply lost a power struggle.

The only thing that could not be considered trite and textbook was what happened next though, when she and her entire faction was cursed by the victors using the power of a God's Beacon.

Naturally, such a curse could only be lifted by the God who placed them, not even Feng could save her.

This wasn't to say that other gods were incapable of the deed though, rather they were simply at practice to refuse.

For their kind, such an act would be a provocation, and the Gods had no desire to start a scrap with one another over trivial matters like a few thousand mortal lives.

These curses were serious matters, and their applications were extremely varied.

Cyril's in particular condemned her and her kin to never again bear a male heir. The result was total across her faction, not one woman was without exception.

The Emerald Emperor waged his war back then for the sake of amending this injustice, at least on paper.

Elena could say with some confidence however that he was just looking for something to colour up his increasingly greyed eternity.

After all, she felt much the same herself.

She never had a loved one, so she never heeded the warnings that immortality would cause her to outlive them.

She thought she'd be fine, now she knew otherwise.

Perhaps it eased her boredom somewhat to mock this lowly girl's origin in silence, but even so Elena could only save her frustrations as she carried out her duties in reality.

Cyril naturally sensed the coldness of her "Queen's" gaze too.

She ignored it, as she did on most days, but the act of noticing still drew her mind from the novel she'd read close to twenty thousand times.

She looked away from it and glanced upon the amassed crowd of officials.

Her exasperated lips parted,

"The hour is late," She said, "should you not retire, Elen?"

The White Queen answered with a scoff, she didn't even glance at her otherwise.

Her goodwill squandered as expected, the Scholar decided to wash her hands of the matter. She returned to her book, but took glances back at the queen from time to time.

That woman's fatal flaw truly was her pride. While Cyril hadn't been there for it in person, she had heard the story.

Out of each of Alfrick's six supposed brides only in Elena's and Durer's cases were they enemies that had to endure the indignity of subjugation.

Durer didn't seem to think on it much, she had surrendered to Alfrick honourably when her god, Rognir, asked it of her. All she needed was for him to duel her and prove himself better in combat, she submitted readily after that.

Elena was very different, put simply, she hated Alfrick, a sentiment he had seen fit to return.

She would have lost her head if Feng had not stepped up to plea on her behalf.

The Goddess was not half hearted, she cursed the Queen and condemned her to never raise arms against the new ruler, and then, like that, she was cast out of her own castle.

Cyril wasn't too sure whether the goddess meant it as punishment or salvation, when all is said and done Elena fell far short of both the means and the skills she'd need to last even one year out on her own.

The reason she now sat the throne again today then, even if it was only as a figurehead, was because Alfrick eventually realised she had other skills which his inner circle could not do without.

That had happened countless years ago, so neither of them really bothered to bring it up anymore, they'd a rocky start, of that she was quite sure.

"I do not need your help," Said the White Queen.

"Then keep going until you collapse," Said the Scholar in return.

Elena frowned, yet she said nothing back. She had compromised with Alfrick only so far, she was still a queen, and would never accept becoming anything less, curse or no damn curse.

Nowadays though even she was feeling the weight of her stubbornness, she was feeling the burden of eight centuries on the throne, though she would never confess to it.

Once again then Cyril shut her book with an audible resound, and the queen was called back to reality.

"Don't even ask, I said I do not need your help," The Queen declared. Yet what answered her was not Cyril's voice, all she did was smile in scorn.

Elena, glancing that, of course felt something amiss, but the voice of a man cut off her thoughts before she could reason out the cause.

"Alright then, I'll go back to bed." The White Queen felt a headache burst into being in that same instant.

She couldn't help but rub her temple, and then she turned her head. Naturally, she found him standing there, The Emerald Emperor, Alfrick, who had long walked into the hall.

The memory of being subjugated by him might have been a long forgotten thing, indeed her curse had not triggered for many centuries now, yet still, she cursed him under her breath.

Together with him she had even bore several children before the weight of immortality eliminated all their fleshly desires, yet reality was harsh and he got on her nerves to the bitter end.

The cause was simple, she never could grow to like that cold and confident smile he gave whenever he managed to pull the wool out from under her.

He carried the prankster's manner, though only toward her, and it reminded her of a child.

She turned her eye to the chamber, but soon found no one who seemed fit to lend her help. For that matter, none of them had the mind to either.

Cyril resumed reading as ever and Priscilla pinched Belladonna back for her own act earlier. The latter responded by stepping on the former's toes.

The Queen couldn't help but feel resigned, was she truly the sole adult among a group of petulant, undying children?

"Will you be accompanying me?" The Emperor asked, and Elena turned away as he took her place upon the throne.

She stood in silence beside him, her silence could do nought but win a resigned sigh.

The man turned his eye upon the people, all of them bowed as two more female figures entered from the courtyard beyond the chamber door.

Those girls were the last of his so-called Brides; Black Matriarch, Durer of Ares and Golden Priestess, Gwendoline of Zeus.

His eye extended further towards the present Six Dukes, who beheld for the first time in many lives the scene of the seated Emerald Emperor and all Six Brides of his brides who served in legend as their own founding ancestors.

"By my command, ready our forces for war," He said only this, and the men fell silent in the hall.

There was not a one among them who could believe what their Emperor had just declared to them. However, even with that being said, their Emperor's word was law, and they would not defy him. The Six Dukes especially, looked upon their ancestral father with stern expressions.

"War?" Said Elena, who cast a very real frown, "Ah, yes...I had heard Lord Rognir appeared." The Emperor faced her with a knowing chuckle.

She fell silent, then closed her eyes yet again to avoid the smile that to this day so irked her.

She just couldn't shake it. She blamed her "curse", but such a characteristic was not a factor Feng included to begin with.

Naturally, they all knew, but that didn't mean the onlookers did too.

The first to speak up was a Duke, a far descendant of Gwen, who had witnessed the Black God's coming.

"Your Majesty, what is the significance of the Father God's arrival? Why does it signal something so drastic as war?"

Elena scoffed, and it was Gwen herself who maintained a sombre smile.

Who could help it? Her fifteen generations great grandson was the youngest of the Dukes, after all. She thought it natural that he'd no wisdom on the matter.

Troll that he was, the wives also knew Alfrick was not going to give the poor lad a straight answer either.

"Is that not obvious?" The Emperor said, smiling at the lad, "He came here to meet his wife, of course."

Gwen stifled an awkward smile.

Elena scoffed and turned away.

The other brides had their own reactions, each befitting their sentiments.

The Emperor shrugged his shoulders towards these acts, for what more could he say?

The one who declared this war wasn't him, after all, and nor was it Rognir, it was their Mother Goddess.

Feng triggered this war.