The cold seemed to seep into Ceremus' very bones, heavier than mere winter's chill. It wasn't the river's touch—it was the weight of his father's gaze.
Peleus stood unmoving in the dark water, his hands clasped behind his back, his robes unsoiled despite the current that should have dragged them under. He was exactly as Ceremus remembered—formidable, unyielding, so incredibly kind, yet there was a hint of sadness laced in his grey eyes.
"Ceremus, my son, though your heart remains just, your actions have proved otherwise over the years. What has happened to you? Where has your duty gone? Why have you turned your back on your kingdom?" He asked.
Ceremus' fingers twitched, his body riddled with guilt. For the first time, the young man felt shame. Embarrassed by his past actions over the years. How could he face his father the way he was now? Now that he had thrown away everything his father had strived towards? His grandfather and great grandfather.
He clenched his jaw and took a step back. He wanted nothing more than to get on his knees and beg his father for forgiveness, but he knew he wasn't real. Ceremus knew if he folded in this moment, he would truly be lost.
Still, the image remained solid, unwavering. Forcing his mind to believe what he was seeing wasn't fiction, but reality.
Ceremus closed his eyes.
Do not waver.
The voice was distinct this time—softer, warm yet firm. A voice he hadn't heard in years.
His mother.
"Keep your heart and mind at ease, my son. For if the heart is not calm, neither will the mind."
His breath steadied. The river had no hold over him. His father's shadow, his regrets, they were nothing but remnants of what once was.
Ceremus opened his eyes, and just like that, the vision shattered. The water rippled violently, distorting Peleus' image before pulling it apart like a broken reflection.
The illusion was gone, leaving the king with a bittersweet feeling. On the one hand, he was safe, but he wanted to see his father's reflection once more.
Unfortunately, he didn't have the luxury of dying here. They had to leave, but Atilla remained trapped.
Ceremus turned sharply. The younger man was shaking, his wide eyes locked onto the figure of his sister, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something—needed to.
Ceremus strode forward and gripped Atilla's shoulder. "She's not real." He said calmly.
Atilla flinched. His lips trembled, fingers twitching at his sides. "She—she called my name."
"It's an illusion." Ceremus' voice was like steel, cutting through the trance. "Haruna is gone."
Atilla's breath hitched, but Ceremus' grip tightened.
"You think she would want you to drown with her?" Ceremus demanded, his voice carrying an unyielding authority. "To stay trapped in the past, to never move forward?"
Atilla shook his head, his body riddled with anxiety and fear. Ceremus could tell his mind was at odds with him, and so he wrapped his arms around the boy, gripping him.
He hoped that the pressure from his embrace would keep Atilla tethered to reality, giving him a chance to escape. Now the only thing left was for Atilla to fight his instincts.
The young boy's body tensed in Ceremus' arms—then, finally, the surrounding air shifted. The vision faltered.
The river had lost its hold.
Calm settled over the water. The shadows dissolved. The eerie weight pressing down on them lifted, leaving only the sound of the boat rocking gently against the current.
Atilla gasped as if he had been holding his breath for far too long. His shoulders trembled before he finally leaned into Ceremus' arms, clutching onto him for dear life.
Ceremus' expression softened as he watched Atilla expose his most vulnerable self to him. Tears ran down his youthful face, and Ceremus simply watched over him but said nothing more.
They went the rest of the way with no interruptions, and finally, from a distance, the king saw an establishment that resembled a bar.
The boat made a stop in front of the riverbank that led them to their destination. Atilla lifted his head once he saw they were no longer moving and realized the position he was currently in.
He carefully untangled himself from Ceremus' arms, clearing his throat as he looked away in embarrassment.
Ceremus found the sight amusing, but said nothing as they disembarked the boat and approached the rundown bar.
In front of the door laid the message: "Abandon all hope ye who enter."
The moment they opened the door, however, the sign changed to "Enter at your own risk."
As soon as they entered, a beautiful barkeeper with rose-colored hair and clear, almost translucent eyes greeted them.
"Welcome to the Consilium. What can I get you?" She asked as she kept a steady gaze on them.
Atilla glanced at Ceremus, unsure of what or how to respond. The demi-god stepped forward this time and addressed the goddess with the utmost respect.
"We have travelled long and far and wish to seek your guidance, dear goddess. I hope you will grant it to us." He said.
Galatea stared at him silently before turning around and reaching for the bottles that were displayed behind her. She picked out three bottles and took out a clear glass and mixed a couple millilitres of each drink inside the glass before putting a cover over the bottle and giving it a little shake.
The liquid that was once a brown colour turned into white, then red, green, then gold. Once satisfied with its color, she slid the glass toward Ceremus, her face expectant.
"Drink."
Ceremus eyed the glass before picking it up and consuming its contents. Once he was done and set the glass on the counter, she spoke once more.
"Ceremus, wherefore do you wander? The plant of life you are seeking, you shall not find. When the gods created humanity, they established death for humankind and withheld eternal life for themselves. As for you Ceremus, let your stomach be full, always be happy, night and day. Make every day a delight. Night and day play and dance. Keep your clothes clean, wash your head, bathe, and gaze proudly at the little one holding your hand. Let your mate alway be blissful in your loins. This…then, is the work of mankind. He, who is alive, should be happy."
Ceremus said nothing as he took in her words, digesting them slowly. He understood what Galatea was trying to say. That he should abandon trying to find the plant and let Hael's life run its course.
But this was something he couldn't accept. He knew without a doubt that Hael was not meant to die, not now, not for a long time. He still had so much to live for.
What was the point of being happy, of playing and dancing, of living a life of bliss if he couldn't do it with his special person by his side?
The king refused to accept this answer.
And Galatea was well aware of this. She gave him a small smile, turned around, and poured him another drink. She also grabbed another cup and gestured for Atilla to sit down and drink—which he obliged.
"I am well aware of the man you seek, young one. You will find him just across the horizon. Continue going straight and the path will lead you to his dwelling." She said. "But know this: the plant you seek is a rare and precious jewel. There is only the one. Be steadfast and guard it well."
And so, once they had finished their cups, they set off in the direction the goddess had pointed at them.
As they walked off, Atilla turned to look behind him and was stunned to see that the bar had vanished.
Ever since he had embarked on this journey, the young knight had encountered many things, things that left him stupefied, things that left him feeling amazed and afraid. Yet the disappearance of the bar had surprised him the most—more than his encounter with his sister and nearly drawing in the river.
Just as Galatea had said, Tiresias' dwelling was just up ahead—or at least what Ceremus believed to be his dwelling. The only thing they saw was a large cave and from afar, it looked as if it was unoccupied, at least until the king saw a figure emerging out of the cavern.
He was a man of medium stature, with long, dark hair styled into intricate braids, some falling freely while the rest were loosely twisted into a low ponytail framing his chiseled face. He had skin the colour of oak and was wearing a beige tunic that covered his arms. Ceremus didn't know why, but there was a certain familiarity with him. As if he had seen him before, but this was impossible considering how he had only heard of this elusive man a few months ago.
Seeing the man's youthful face surprised the two men as he turned to look at them. The old shopkeeper had described him as an old coot, and the Chief from earlier called him Elder, yet nothing about him fit those titles.
Just what was going on? Had they gotten the wrong person? And why did Ceremus feel like he had already seen Tiresias before?
"Are you two here to see me?" The man spoke, his voice gentle, like the sea.
Atilla blinked as he regarded him with suspicion. "... Are you Tiresias?" He asked hesitantly.
Tiresias' eyes that were the colour of molten amber with specks of gold—a powerful indicator of his divine lineage glinted as he regarded the boy with mild interest.
"The one and only."