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Out of the two, I’m more willing to let us crash into the ground planet below than to let my power over the other demons slip. Hence, the tremors. I’ve been pouring everything I can to maintain our society – though that isn’t to say I haven’t been trying with the island. I’m just at a loss.
A part of me wonders if that is Oltyx’s goal. Crashing into Protheka will only lead to another war, forcing us to fight for our own section of the planet. Something tells me that would entertain the god more than us occasionally tormenting a village in search of elves and humans to do our bidding – well, his bidding.
I stay there on my knees, my thoughts whirling as I stare up at the tree that I once saw as my salvation. Now I see it for what it is – a threat. A promise with consequences I’m not ready to reap.
Finally, I draw myself back onto my feet.
“I don’t know why I bother,” I mutter as I climb the steps to the altar and blow out the candles. The water ripples, and I half expect another tremor to run through the island at my defiance.
But, like for the last fifty-five years, I’m being ignored.
Going to the curtains, I peel them back from the windows and let in the dim light. When we first came to Galmoleth, I thought the storm was a random occurrence, but then it never went away. We’ve been shrouded in the clouds ever since.
Through the windows, I take in the sprawling city. Demons roam the streets, and as I watch them move about, I’m struck with how terrible a war would be. Our numbers are still so few – even less so with the limited matrons. We would face annihilation on Protheka due to their numbers.
And yet, it’s a possibility I am considering.
But I fear what will happen if we go into battle. Will it dredge up memories of home for them? Will they start to remember the wars there, the ravaged planet we were forced to leave? It’s a risk I shouldn’t take, but I’m starting to run out of options.
If I don’t do something, this is all going to fall apart, and I can’t have that. Without Galmoleth, I am nothing. There is no future for me without this island, my power, and my people – which are all dependent on each other.
My hold is slipping and I know that it will cost me all of it.
Irritated from my lack of progress, I go to gather my robes, pulling my hood over my face. The time I’ve spent in here was anything but peaceful, and I’m leaving more tense than when I entered. And with no plan.
I burst through the doors that lead into the main castle, and the few servants nearby scurry out of my path. I’m used to that, prefer it actually, and right now I think they can feel the rage rolling off of me.
Too soon, I see one of my advisors coming down the hallway, and I huff as I try to pass him by. Sezruk falls into step beside me, and I stifle a sigh. Unfortunately, it comes out as a harsh growl.
“That was the third one this week, sir,” he tells me as if I haven’t been counting them myself.
I grit my teeth. “I’m aware.”
“It’s causing unrest. People are talking–”
“Let them talk!”
In truth, that’s the last thing I want. Questions are already starting to filter in – questions I do not have the answer to. But I can’t show that panic now, and I would rather my wrath silence them than allow the speculation to start.
The Seven only knows what that will lead to.
“Sir,” Sezruk presses, though more timidly this time. “I believe that this is an issue worthy of more consideration–”
I spin on him, snarling beneath my hood. “Do not speak to me as if I am incapable of my own logical conclusions.” I step forward and Sezruk shrinks back. “I am well aware of what needs my attention. I do not need you telling me how to handle my kingdom.”
My anger reaches an uncontainable limit. I’m stretched too thin as this problem grows, and the last thing I need is some ignorant lower demon pushing it harder. I am well aware of how frequent the tremors have been, and how more often and aggressive they will grow.
It has felt like Oltyx himself has been counting down our days for us.
His message today is loud and clear: time’s almost up.
“Am I understood?” He nods, and I let loose a low growl. “Answer me!”
“Yes, sir.”
Without responding, I turn, storming to the end of the hall and into my personal quarters. I sink back against the double doors and let loose a breath that does nothing for the tension in my chest.
How much pressure am I going to be able to withstand until I crumble, too?
