Belomas Claims the West

In a matter of hours, Rostov was sacked by the allies. Stanillo and the allied army stormed into the gates of Rostov. Many of the citizens tried to flee from their homes — however, it was futile. The younger Stanillo had not only taken command of the city from within, but he had also surrounded the city from the outside.

His intentions were not to make the people of Rostov the subjects of Belomas and Stalavat. Stanillo wished to incorporate the people of Rostov into the growing empire of Belomas. He did not wish to enslave them to Belomas.

Despite his good intentions, it did not stop many political leaders of Rostov from committing suicide. A tomb within their homeland was preferable compared to a life of servitude to a foreign power.

Kimon, one of the elders of the council, committed suicide. The man had drunk a poisonous hemlock that he had on him at all times. To Kimon, suicide was preferable to losing his autonomy and dominion within Stalavat.

Perikles, the uncle of Alkibiades, accepted defeat with grace. He dismissed his guards and walked on over to where the council was. He had heard the forces of Belomas were making their way over there. Perikles planned to surrender himself to them — recognizing that his future was at the hands of the mightier.

Rostov did its best to bare its fangs at Belomas. They had failed fair and square. The strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must.

On the other hand, Sokrates did not bat an eye at the news of Alkibiades’ defeat. He could only lament the beauty and gifts of the man. If he had won, the man would have brought a golden age to Rostov.

It was pitiful that such a bright man had been lost to war. Whatever awaited him now, did not matter. As it was predestined to occur from the first moment he took his first breath.

While Stanillo walked the marble floors of the council, the mood amongst the allies differed.

Diana did not join the allies in their claim for Rostov. She returned to Stalavat with the body of Alexander. A great man had died, and it was only right that he received the proper funeral rights.

Illya, however, found himself present at Rostov. He walked the streets of Rostov, watching the Rostovian citizens in fear and crying at the sight of their city — the people Alkibiades died to protect — suffered a loss greater than death. The loss of their autonomy and identity.

While the elders died and surrendered, two key figures remained unaccounted for. The lovers of Alkibiades still remained loose. Eleni and Kynaios were nowhere to be seen. The whereabouts of the two were unknown.

Outside, the occupation of Rostov went smoothly. There was no burning, mass looting — just heavy thuds of Belomas boots and sobbing citizens.

Illya, watching Perikles surrender, felt a strange hollow sensation. He had wanted a forceful end to the hierarchy of Rostov, but seeing the dignified uncle of his enemy walk into captivity willingly made the “glory” feel meaningless.

The identity and culture of a people have been lost. Their history had to be rewritten by their conquerors. Years of struggles and excellence are lost in a matter of hours.

As the night deepened, the sobbing in the streets subsided into a heavy, watchful silence. Soldiers of Belomas occupied every corner of Rostov. There was no place that did not contain a squad of soldiers monitoring or patrolling the area. Citizens were advised to rest and treat the night like any other night.

They were informed their fate and future will be announced in the coming days. As for the time being, Belomas worked to demilitarize the country and gather the remaining politicians within the city.

Stanillo was laying the foundation for something much different than the puppet states that the Elder Illya had built in Ugrica. The people of Rostov were descendants of their own people, and he intended to unify the cultures of Belomas, Stalavat, and Rostov into one.

If the Kingdom of Rus were to be restored, it was necessary to combine the cultures of the fragmented territories back into one. Unbeknownst to Stanillo, his efforts to combine the cultures were futile.

The old kingdom was a thing of the past. Belomas may share traits with the former kingdom, but they could never hope to replicate what those people were. Belomas, like their subjects, had their own culture that defined them.

Illya watched the squads of Belomas soldiers from the shadows. He saw the way the citizens looked at the soldiers — not as the long-lost brothers and sisters he had envisioned, but as foreigners occupying them.

At that moment, Illya realized the grave mistake that he had made. The mistake of empowering his father to reestablish the lost institutions of their ancestors. In truth, they could not reestablish something that had long been lost in time.

The world has moved on from the time of the Rus Kingdom. A new age had been born, but Illya had failed to recognize that a few months ago. The truth was that there could never be another Rus.

This was the birth of something new. The rise of a small village that was attempting to reach the heights of a ghost that had long faded away into the echelons of history.

Illya gripped the hilt of his sword, but for the first time, he did not feel like the noble warrior that he thought himself to be. He felt like a mere parasite that disrupted the natural course of life.

The boy began to cry. He was nothing more than a parasite, who had brought the hopes and dreams of the people here to an end. Illya wiped his tears, storming out of the city. The sight of what he had done disgusted him.

This feeling of disgust drove him mad. As one of his comrades tried to congratulate him on their success, he suckered and punched the man. Illya spat at him.

“You fool!” Illya exclaimed, his eyes red and watery. “There is nothing to celebrate here!”

Those were his words to the man, who sat there confused at the boy’s word. They had accomplished a great thing for their country, but he was not satisfied with it.

The following morning, the funeral games were held for the fallen Alexander. For the first time in history, the men and women of Stalavat coexisted amongst each other. The people participated in the games.

Most people had the chance to be friends with the late Jarl. He made an effort to get to know his fellow men and the woman, despite social standards. The games were set to last until the seventh day of the week.

Diana was not present at the games. However, she was the one responsible for orchestrating the games and allowing the gates between the women and men to be opened, for the time being. The men were thankful for the grace of Diana.

They believed that she had done well by Alexander. For the first time ever, they could celebrate the life and achievements of their fallen comrade. However, the defenders would not be the only ones within the quarters of the shield maidens.

The elders of the defenders, who guided Alexander, approached the fortress of Diana. In total, there were five of them. While the games took place, Diana had invited the elders from the defenders to discuss with her the future of Stalavat, alongside with the elders of the shield maidens.

It was a perfect opportunity, considering the masses would be distracted by the funeral games going on.

As the sounds of the games drifted through the stone windows — the clashing of wooden swords and cheers for the winners — the elders looked at Diana. Neither side could be certain what Diana had brought them for altogether.

Rostov was conquered, yes. But this was something that was going to happen eventually. The death of Alexander was a tragedy, but it was viewed by the elders of the defenders to be a necessary loss for a well-needed gain.

The union of Diana and the Young Illya brought both sides benefits. Despite the hopes of the defenders, they wished Diana had been the one to bare the child of Alexander.

“The gates,” one of the Defenders elders said, “They are open today because of the games. However, I imagine they will be closed once the week passes, right?”

“Of course,” the elder Diana interjected, the mother of Diana. “There is no need to keep them open longer than that. Honestly, I do not understand the Jarl’s decision to open the gates. She failed to consult us prior.”

“Truly,” another of the Defenders elders said, “I do not mind the gates being opened. It is the first sense of normality that we have had in this nation.”

“What is normal,” one of the Shield Maiden's elders said. “Does not mean it is proper. I will not make a scene out of this. Partially, because it is an honor for a great man. However, Diana, do not think there will be next time.”

Diana was not amused by their opinions. “Perhaps it is best that you people get used to that sight,” Diana said. “Because that sight will remain. The gates will no longer segregate the men or women!”

The chamber fell into a deafening silence. Diana’s declaration was not just a change of policy; it was a fundamental shattering of their code, a social structure that had been the founding principle of their nation. By declaring the end of segregation, she was effectively declaring a revolution from the throne.

“You ungrateful brat!” the elder Diana exclaimed. “You think that you can put an end to the ways of our people? I knew, I should not have allowed that union between you and that spawn of Belomas to take place!”

“See, my fellow maidens,” Diana the elder continued. “This is what occurs when one of us is set free. My own daughter has fallen victim to the trickery of men!”

“Mother,” Diana the younger replied. “At my disposal, I command the finest shield maidens within our walls. Whatever I say, they will follow suit. Especially, the much younger women who have not yet grown accustomed to this life.”

“What makes you think they will not join my side,” Diana the younger continued. “And I do not doubt there are no men amongst the defenders who would happily join me in my revolt. Unlike you mother, I have not been corrupted by the world I was born in. There is good in men and I have seen it. Illya is a good man, but Alexander by far possessed a heart much greater than you woman, whose hearts have been corrupted by an institution that has done nothing but set us back decades!”

The elder Diana’s face turned pale. To be told by her own daughter that a man from Belomas had a greater heart than the woman of the council was blasphemy. At once, the elder Diana ordered the Jarl to be arrested, citing she had gone rogue and was a threat to the stability of their country.

However, the guards were stopped on the orders of the elders of the defenders. To them, the young Diana made valid points that could not be denied any longer. For decades, they were treated worse than dogs.

Now that a person, like Diana, had emerged into power. This was their opportunity to make their voices heard and put an end to the failed social experiment by the late Olenica, the first Jarl of the shield maidens.

“Lady Diana,” one of the defender elders said, “We wholeheartedly stand with your decision to put an end to segregation. This was the dream of Alexander and his predecessors. We will not let such opportunity slip away from us.”

Diana smiled, she kissed the hands of the elder. “You have my word! I will bring down the walls and Stalavat will become one!”

“You conniving bastards!” the elder Diana exclaimed. “I do not care if you are my own daughter. If I have to go to war and kill my own daughter, do not think I will not, Diana!”

“Diana,” one of the shield maiden elders muttered. “Are you really willing to kill your own daughter?”

“Would you not be?” the elder Diana retorted. “I will defend the principles of my country from a tyrant, like her.”

“Your age is over, mother,” the young Diana declared, her voice dropping to a deadly calm. “This is the age of Diana. No, that is not the name I will carry. To carry your name is to carry the traditions of Olenica, and I will no longer do so!”

“You dare!” the elder Diana screamed.

“I do dare!” she screamed, her aura sparking throughout the chamber. The young Diana had reached her limit of living like this. Diana had seen how the world is outside her own bubble, and she preferred the ways of others compared to hers. “If you wish to go to war with your own blood, just know that I have my husband at my side to support me.”

“Do not think for a minute,” the young Diana continued. “He will not support me in this! How near-sighted are you woman? Belomas never aimed at having us as allies. We were mere pawns in their game that would be absorbed. I have accepted that already, but I will not continue another day living, like this!”

“You fucking fool!” the elder Diana exclaimed. “ Are you willing to give everything you are for that boy? Are you willing to sell your own people to another nation? I take it back. Not only would I be willing to kill you, but I wish that I had never given birth to you! You were defective as I thought you to be!”

The younger Diana could not help, but feel the harsh words of her mother penetrate her skin. She was no longer the Jarl, who had to answer to the elders. No, she was much more now. The union between her and Illya gave her a newfound confidence to face the world.

The Defender Elders looked at each other once more. They supported Diana’s idea to end segregation, but now they must decide whether they were willing to sell out their people to Belomas.

“Young lady,” one of the elders said. “Why is it that you insist on mortgaging the future of our people to who we assumed to be our allies?”

“Because,” Diana declared. “You people have failed to notice how much stronger our allies have become. They are not the mere little village you remember. These people have outgrown us in a matter of months with their conquests, and we foolishly provided them with our support.”

“Do you not get it?” Diana laughed, grabbing her face. “We have created our own enemy. They will eat us alive. As long as I have their future successor in my arms, I can prevent us from suffering what has occurred to Rostov.”

The Defender Elders are now looking at each other with new eyes. They realized Diana was right: they spent months helping Belomas outgrow them in power.

They realized that the arranged marriage was nothing more than a facade. Belomas intended to exploit the power of Stalavat to help themselves. Belomas never intended on creating an equal alliance; they intended to absorb Stalavat.

The elders looked at Diana with a mixture of fear and newfound respect. She had truly measured the height of the monster at their gates. By choosing Illya, Diana was not only choosing her own personal happiness for once. But she was also guiding her people to the safest path that led to no bloodshed.

The elders of the defenders and the elders of the shield maiden, except the elder Diana, agreed to trust Diana in her gambit. To the majority of the elders, Diana’s gambit was not only a step into the future. But it was also the only way to prevent conflict with the monster they had very well created.

The Elder Diana, however, remained blinded by her hatred of her daughter’s lack of courage and blasphemy. She did not see a strategic gambit; she saw a sell out.

The only decision was to kill her own daughter. The elder Diana lunged forward, convinced that it was the only way to preserve their institutions. However, her attempt was intercepted by one of the defender's elders, who defended the young girl from her own mother.

“You foolish woman!” the elder exclaimed. “Has your hatred for men blinded you so much? Your daughter simply wishes to preserve the lives of everyone. But you refuse to listen to reason and wish to maintain this disgusting world at any cost!”

“I do intend to maintain it!” the elder Diana roared. “I inherited this world and I will not let it end!”

The young Diana could not help, but tear up at the sight of her mother. She pitied her. Soon enough, the elder Diana was restrained by the guards, who placed her in a holding cell until further notice.

The dream of Alexander was put into motion by Diana, but at the cost of their cultural identity. After one hundred and fifty years, segregation ends at Stalavat.

On that same day, the walls were brought down. Many cried at the sight — never imagining witnessing such a sight. The men were thrilled at the sight and began to dance alongside the woman, who welcomed the change. Some men and women finally had the opportunity to meet their daughters and sons and reunite with lovers that were believed to have been impossible.

Now what dawned on the minds of many was — how will the state be governed now? A constitutional crisis was pending.

As the day came to a close, the young Illya was nowhere to be found. Stanillo was informed of his sudden disappearance, but he did not believe the boy would disappear again. He was most likely at Stalavat with his new love.

With the west in turmoil, the losers of the battle had been forgotten. In the desolate outskirts of Rostov, stood a man and woman. They cried at the sight of a grave — the woman holding onto the man. The couple was none other than Eleni and Kynaios.

Kynaios looked up from the grave, his eyes catching the distant flicker of Belomas torches on the city walls. He felt Eleni’s grip tighten on his arm. They had lost the man who loved them.

As the two grieved their lover, a set of feet all too familiar to them appeared. It was none other than the young Illya, who watched the two with pity.

“You!” Kynaios roared, drawing his blade at the sight of him.

“Kynaios?” Eleni muttered, confused at his reaction. Not recognizing Illya.

Illya drew his sword in response. He did not flinch at the sight of Kynaios. The “pity”, in his eyes, was the most insulting thing he could offer them — the right thing to offer them was death.

“Do not look at me with pity!” Kynaios hissed, his blade level with Illya’s throat. “You did not fight Alkibiades, because you knew you would lose! You had to use that man to fight your battle!”

“Then, make it right,” Illya replied, his voice as flat as his blade. “But if you fail, you will die not knowing what I will do to the woman at your side. I suggest you fight with a clear mind.”

“F-Fucking coward!” Kynaios yelled, gritting his teeth.

Kynaios lunged at Illya. He was not just screaming at him; he was screaming to the gods at the cruel misfortune he had suffered. He lunged forward, his blade a silver streak aimed at Illya’s heart.

Illya did not move until the last millisecond. Kynaios’ anger clouded his judgement, giving Illya the opportunity to catch him off guard. He pierced his throat, putting down the warrior for good.

Kynaios began to fall over, but Illya caught onto him. The man was now shaking as he began to draw his final breaths. Illya held the man in his arms, not wishing to let a fine warrior, like himself, hit the ground.

“Do not be afraid, brother,” Illya said. “Death comes for us all. We can only evade it for so long.”

Eleni watched, paralyzed by the sight. This boy wore the crest of Belomas on his armor. He was no mere passerby. The boy had come to finish what he had started.

The final light left Kynaios eyes. The young Illya laid Kynaios' body on the ground gently, not wishing to be disrespectful.

All that remained was to finish the woman — the final tie to Alkibiades. Stanillo had not asked him to do this, but Illya knew that his actions were necessary. If Eleni and Kynaios evaded submission, Rostov would continue to live with hope.

Illya intended to extinguish their hope for good. A transition from the kind boy of Belomas to the ruthless conqueror of the growing empire.

As he turned over to Eleni, the woman fell back. Her eyes widened in horror as she watched his grasp tighten on his sword. Without further notice, Illya began to walk over to her.

Eleni screamed at him, throwing rocks and dirt at him. “Stay away! Stay away, you demon!”

Illya was unbothered by her cries. He was consumed by his obligations to his country. Eleni was a threat to the stability of his growing empire. She had to die.

Eleni was back into the cold earth of the grave she had just been mourning. A month prior, she had enjoyed good fortune with her love. Now a monster stood before her, a monster without her heart nor empathy.

Illya raised his sword, the silver reflecting the moonlight. Eleni’s breath intensified as her final hour had come.

As Illya was about to cut her down, the woman screamed, “Spare me! I am with child!”

Illya’s hands trembled. The sword felt heavier than it did in battle. He looked at the grave of Alkibiades, then back at the woman who carried the line of Alkibiades.

“A child…” Illya muttered, the word tasting sour in his mouth. “Will not deter me!”

Illya tightened his grip on the hilt, his knuckles white. The wind in the outskirts died down, leaving only the sound of Eleni’s panic to be heard.

As the sword began its downward arc, the beginning of Illya’s descent into the darkness began, or so it was thought. The silver blade struck the ground, not with the sound of a finishing blow, but with the hollow clang of the weapon.

Illya fell to his knees, sobbing at what he was about to do. For a moment, he almost killed an unborn child — a defenseless unborn child.

Illya squirmed on the ground out of agony. A scene nobody would have expected. Eleni ceased sobbing, surprised to have been spared. However, what surprised her the most was to see the boy she believed to be her executioner — crying like a child as he laid on the ground.

The boy could not bring himself to kill her — because he too had an unborn child on the way. He had found the strength of a man within himself, but he still had the heart of a little girl. Any other man would have killed Eleni without hesitation.

Yet, he could not bring himself to do it.

Eleni looked at the weeping warrior. The demon was gone. The woman felt like running away, but she felt fear of the boy still.

“Go,” Illya whispered through his sobs, his forehead pressed into the dirt. “Take what you can carry and disappear from these lands. If another of my countrymen finds you… I will not be able to save you.”

Eleni crawled over to the boy, kissing his hand. “Thank you, thank you so much,” she exclaimed, grateful to have mercy granted to her. “But I have no way to leave the west. The wealth that I had was left at Rostov. Kynaios and I could not bring anything of value outside our homes.”

“I cannot offer you a means to escape,” Illya said. “The only thing I can offer you is my protection. If you wish to become my servant, I will protect you and your child from my people. The only condition that I have is for you to take on a new name.”

“A new name?” Eleni uttered.

“Yes, a new name,” Illya replied. “You are far from recognizable as it stands. Perhaps, it is best you cut your hair short too, for the time being.”

“If it means, I can live on with my child,” Eleni said, wiping the tears from her face. “I accept.”

Illya stood up, offering her hand to Eleni — not a conqueror, but as her protector. He began to strip off the crest from his own surcoat, giving it to Eleni.

“The name you once had is no more,” Illya said, his voice regaining a firm, protective edge. “From this moment on until the day you die, you are Deva. You are the servant of the younger Illya, who he took pity on. You are a nobody. A person of no significance, okay?”

As they began the long trek towards the mountains, the power dynamic shifted. Illya walked with the heavy, purposeful stride of a man carrying a burden and secret that could crush him. Deva walked three paces behind, already practicing her newfound role.

“Where are we walking to?” Deva asked.

“First off,” Illya said, “You will call me lord. Second of all, do not walk three paces behind. I hate it when people walk behind me!”

“My apologies, lord,” Deva said, lowering her head out of shame.

“But to answer your question, Deva,” Illya said. “We are walking towards Stalavat. Under no circumstances, are you to tell the truth to the woman you are about to meet. If anybody recognizes you, you deny having seen them before, okay?”

“Understood,” Deva gulped.

“Good,” Illya nodded. “And not to make this more awkward than it already is — tell me about yourself, Deva. What were you to Alkibiades and that other man?”

“It is a long story,” Deva replied.

“We have time,” Illya said. “Whenever you are ready, begin.”