Ataraxi of skies, Antham of worth, Eremia of solitude, and Lakhos of the forsaken are said to be the four ancient kings of the lands of Nelaste. They came to be known as the forefathers of modern magic, creating the formulas and invocations required to conjure and release the special energy bound inside almost every living being. They did not use wands as their intellect and their understanding of magic was far too great, it was not needed.
Ataraxi was a priestess by all rights. And much of her time was spent in temples worshiping a higher power none could fathom. She was a tall, lanky woman with skin colored like warm sand and hair the color of rainbow-stricken platinum. And hidden behind her white veil were bewitching golden eyes that shone like stars in the night. She was the last to become recognized as a king. As war tore across the lands, her role switched from head priestess as armies marched upon her holy temple. Many grimoires and tomes speak of a woman blessed by the gods, standing high and mighty in the face of those who wished her and her temples harm. Her power was the first mention of holy magic: bright, protective, and bountiful. And so she was crowned by the people, and gained an addition to her strength: the ability to remake the world completely, a power granted to the first primordial queen who came to be called a king as others began to rise to power.
Antham and Eremia were siblings, twins to be exact. They were known for their long golden hair, their smooth honey skin, and refined appearances. The beginning of their stories aren’t mentioned in any texts, but tales were told of the two inseparable twins as they ruled over one of the largest territories, which fell in the Great War and became known as Jestra. Before it was a craggy wasteland, it was one of the most prominent places to live, for those who could afford its luxuries anyway. Antham was a vain woman, a materialist, a lover of the finer things. She was said to be the less favorable twin, owning slaves and abusing her power to gain what she wanted. Her shared palace with Eremia was an enormous glistening eyesore; Eremia had said so on multiple occasions, though he rarely left to grace the city he and his sister ruled over with his presence.
The second twin, Eremia, was a man of few words. He often kept his golden mane tied into a ponytail, in contrast to his sister who loved to let her hair flow like a silky river. None other than his own blood had ever heard him talk, and those who said they did were liars, attention seekers. Despite towering over Antham, Eremia was her quiet shadow. Wherever she went, he followed. And when he wasn’t shadowing his sister, he remained locked in his quarters, meditating, focusing on the energy he could feel brewing in the pit of his stomach. He could feel it, visualize it behind closed eyes, but he could not understand this swirling power; so he bought a scribe. A frail woman by the name of Erisha. And he sat before her, closing his eyes to her thin dark skin and tattered robes, listening to her raspy breaths and bristling slightly as she placed a hand atop his head, uttering words in a language he could not comprehend. But he felt what she did in his stomach, her invisible hand that twirled itself through his essence. And as the two of them sat together daily for weeks and weeks, he was able to manifest this essence, this power, into a physical form; the scribe had called it “magic”. In his time away from the scribe, he would practice unleashing his energy, and then masking it completely. His crown came to him one night in a dream, a physical manifestation of his powers, masking his face from the world.
Antham was proud of her brother, joining him and the scribe to see if she too held such powers within. And she did. Her magic bloomed wonderfully. A violent lavender aura that bent those beneath her to her will, allowing her to reign as a true, feared queen. She rose alongside Eremia to the position of king, three of the four.
Ruling far north, in beautiful green lands and lush forests was the only nonhuman king, Lakhos. A tall, gorgeous elven man with mint colored skin and deep taupe eyes. He was king of the elves due to his magical prowess and nothing else. His territory ruled itself, and despite there being no need for a king, he claimed the title nonetheless. Lakhos was even more vain than Antham. He loved everything about himself, and reveled amongst his people as often as he could, always being the loudest, nicest dressed man about. This of course brought on the ladies, and he spared none during his nightly ventures. He’d take them to his palace—which was built around the trunk of an enormous redwood—and take them to his bed. His desires would allow him four or five women a night before he grew tired, and he never kept the same woman twice. That was, until he met a human woman who’d wandered into his forest one night. As far as looks, this human was nothing special. Her plain brown hair was a ruffled mess around her thin unlined face. And her eyes were two rubies seated between long eyelashes that danced as she blinked at the elven man before her. Those red eyes consumed everything before them, and Lakhos was smitten as he asked for her name. “Fauna.” She breathed with her honey-dipped voice, sweet and delicate.
Lakhos and Fauna lived together in his palace. He went out less, spending much of his time with this human woman who’d found her way to him. The women of his past would often find themselves at his door being rejected, and peering inside to see that ruby-eyed human staring blankly at them from past the closing door. Lakhos and Fauna grew close; he found out her homeland had been ravaged by the war, and she’d long since lost her way only to end up in the elven lands. The two of them shared stories, tales of their homelands, recipes, and after a short while, love.
A century before the Great War, Ataraxi birthed a child in secret, a blessing from the gods, she claimed, a truly blessed child who would one day change the fate of the entire world.
And following the secret birth of Atarxi’s babe was Fauna and Lakhos’s child, a wonderful baby with smooth mauve skin and hair like a blizzard. “Soren,” Fauna breathed as she held the child against her breast. Lakhos only nodded, gazing into the baby’s deep black eyes as she looked up at him curiously. She hadn’t cried a single tear, but Fauna didn’t seem to notice or mind.
“This baby…no. Nevermind.” He murmured, pressing his lips to the baby first, and then to his wonderful Fauna who seemed to glow after giving birth.
Fauna was a human woman, as far as she knew. And Lakhos was an elf, a true high elf. He could sense the disturbed magic that brewed within his child. He'd brought something horrifying into the world, but there was nothing he could do except raise her together with Fauna. That was his job as a man, no, as her father. His wonderful Fauna and his terrifying child, Soren.
