The city was loud with the echoes of soldier’s boots on the stone paved streets.

Armored Zepelines hovered overhead, steam spewing trains roared into the distant south.

Weeping brides saw off their men, mothers and daughters did the same for their sons and their brothers.

Only in the Cities of Athena and Ares was there any subversion, but this was Zeus, homeland of the Golden Priestess and her kin, and she spied it all with a tranquil eye.

The Priestess could make for a pretty picture, adorned as she was in a conservative garment sewn with white silk and golden accents.

She sat at a table drinking tea, her hair was long and lustrous, waving in the wind gently.

Even the way she sampled from her cup was practiced with refined elegance.

Then her guest arrived, a woman who was by all means and manners her exact opposite.

The Black Matriarch, Durer of Ares, took a seat opposite her.

This being was far from the model of feminine beauty and elegance that was Gwendoline.

She wasn’t ugly or anything, but one might think her far too boyish and barbarian in her manner.

She was pale as snow and had cut her pitch dark hair as short as a woman could reasonably get away with.

Then as if to top it all off she wore men’s clothes both openly and unashamedly.

Only in Olympus or Abel, two nations who had more openness than most nations of this world, could such a thing as that be seen and even then it was natural for people to raise a brow or two.

Thus sat the pair.

They enjoyed tea together in silence, and all the while the engines of war rumbled by their ears.

“They certainly don’t fail to leave an impression, both your God and mine,” Said the Priestess, who spied the emerald lights streaking overhead through the crimson red sky.

How many times had she seen this scene?

Yet it only grew more brilliant with every recurrence.

Feng’s might had grown, the number of Einherjar in her service had increased with it.

“Oh?” She hummed, sensing with a smile the turmoil in The Obelisk that housed their Emperor and his brides, “Seems the palace is full of drama today too.”

The Matriarch’s, Durer’s, brows creased, and she placed down her tea with an air of annoyance aimed squarely at the gossiping Priestess.

“It’s a nasty habit of your’s to revel in the misery of others,” She said in her usual cold tone.

“Oh I would never,” Said Gwen, whose smile betrayed that she clearly wasn’t half as offended as she claimed, “I simply do not like that arrogant Queen, that is all.”

“So you admit you take joy in her suffering?” Durer tapped her fingers to the table, she was slightly at a loss. She did not like the White Queen either, she just wasn’t so nakedly antagonistic about it.

Back in the ancient past, the three of them had been enemies warring for rulership over these lands.

Gwen had won in a nominal sense, but only with the aid of Alfrick and his even more ancient mentor.

They wouldn’t have minded half as much if she wasn’t so smug about it.

“Let’s change the subject,” Said Gwen, who sensed she was in no way capable of winning this argument.

Even still she maintained the gleam of sadistic curiosity as she asked her next question too, “What will you do then, Ogress?”

“Excuse me?” Asked Durer, who frowned back at her.

“Will you stay with Rognir or join us in service to Lady Feng?”

“Does it matter? Are they not a pair of wedded Gods?”

“Perhaps, but can you stand to be apart from dear Alfrick?” Durer fell into a bout of silence.

She couldn’t help but stare into her cup, which runneth empty.

She thought back on the life she’d lived for nigh on a millennium now.

Immortal Clan Matriarchs, like herself, were quite literally the mothers of the rest of their kin.

Other girls were not allowed to reproduce at all, and it was the men who did most of the fighting for their sake. Needless to say, love was a foreign concept to them.

She was no different, at least from the outset.

The one thing that came to mind when she thought of that man was how he bested her in battle.

Since that day she submitted, and then whenever they worked together to sow chaos in Abel…

Every memory left quite the impression, some even made her smile.

That man had given her kin a home when they were ousted from Svartalfheim by their rivals, he’d laid the groundwork for what might well be the world’s most advanced superpower.

One need not be as old as she was to recognise that all this was a true mark of excellence.

He was never boring back then, she hoped to see that side of him again.

“What would you pick?” Durer asked Gwen in return, “Between your Goddess or your lover, which is truer to your heart?”

“It’s a non-issue,” Said Gwen, who found the question wanting.

After all, for her there really was no question, she’d be with Feng in death, same as Alfrick.

“I’m not talking about the upcoming end,” Said Durer, “Think ahead to when Lady Feng becomes Aesir and Alfrick will surely strive to replace her as Vanir, will you stay with slumbering Feng, fight to ascend in your own right or leave to be with your beloved Alfrick?”

The Golden Priestess fell silent, she could not think up a reply.

The tension in her crimson lips didn’t escape Durer’s notice, even if it was brief.

She’d fallen into a trap, and now she knew it.

Any answer she gave would be far too telling of her own true mind.

“We’re not talking about that here,” She said, trying to deflect.

Durer scoffed, she didn’t need to hear Gwen’s answer anymore, she already had it, and so she rose from her seat.

Gwen frowned, then let her cup resound loudly against its plate.

She knew she was on the losing side of this verbal battle, it didn’t sit right with her.

“You never gave me your answer?” She said, smirking to conceal her indignation.

“My answer?” Said the wise and steady Durer.

The whole earth rumbled, the streets fell silent.

The Priestess took a pause as the tea in her cup jumped free.

Thump…thump…thump.

Slow and steady but truly massive stomps echoed from afar, they were coming closer.

Darkness blanketed the land, and she turned her wide open eyes to behold the cause.

They towered over the buildings far off, they were visible even as they marched along the wastes far outside the city wall.

She knew that they came from the distant City of Ares to the west, and here they were marching east across her border.

She recognised them from that time, they were the men of the Immortal Clan’s Ogre Branch, they were Durer’s kin, the most demonic giants.

The true body of Durer herself stood among them, it had pink skin and adorned itself in white garments from the shoulders down.

The thing had a very feminine form that far contrasted her usually boyish human appearance.

Gwen stared in silence as that beautiful beast shot her a cold glance, it smiled at her mockingly, then continued to march together with its kin.

The Priestess dropped her mug, she was frozen with fright.

Mighty as she was in this era, she’d forgotten the terror of that creature.

She caught Durer smiling back at her in a smug manner, ere long however, the Matriarch shrugged her shoulders and turned to walk away.

“It’s a non-issue,” She said, for the Black Matriarch’s answer had never changed.

Their Gods were a wedded pair, so she would always be near Alfrick in some manner.

Naturally it didn’t need to be that they always accompanied one another, it didn’t even matter if they never saw each other again, her kin and culture had no mind to tie down one’s will.

She was alike with Cyril in this manner, for Authun, the Goddess whom The Scholar was destined to one day serve, was Rognir and Feng’s deified daughter.

 

Renewed and rekindled then was the dread of ancient times.

The undying titans who once menaced all of Midgard now marched to guard its eastern border.