Chapter 8: Chapter 7: Judgement

“Amelia,” Birgitta began, following Deimos out of the gate, “I’ve collected some data from Deimos’ session. Please—let me come with him. I can help plead his case.” She stammered. Amelia raised a hand, silencing her.

“Thank you, Doctor, but that won’t be necessary.”

“W-what? Why not?” Birgitta protested. “If the Queen knew about his Soul’s Core, she wouldn’t need to imprison or execute him!”

“I understand,” Amelia replied coolly, “but the reasoning is strictly confidential. However, if you’d like, we can discuss your findings after the Sun Tarot’s trial.”

Birgitta sighed.

What’s with her tone? Deimos mused. She sounds completely professional now—nothing like the friendly attitude from earlier.

“...I understand,” Birgitta murmured, clutching the device and papers in her hands.

“Well then,” Amelia said, gesturing to the guards stationed outside Deimos’ cell, “escort Doctor Birgitta to the residence exit.”

“This way,” one guard muttered, tapping Birgitta’s shoulder as they began to walk.

“Birgitta,” Deimos called. She glanced back. “I’ll see you later.” He offered a smile.

Birgitta returned it with a weary, uncertain look before turning away.

“Let’s go,” Amelia commanded. The remaining three guards fell in line as they all marched back through the cellar.

“Why were you in such a rush to get her out of here?” Deimos asked.

“The Queen wishes to see you alone—even the guards aren’t permitted inside,” Amelia replied as they ascended the cellar stairs.

“Which is blasphemous, if I may add, considering what you—” another guard interjected.

“Quiet. No one asked you.” Amelia’s sharp retort instantly silenced him.

The group emerged into the now-empty main hall, its floors spotless, and climbed the grand staircase. At the top stood an imposing regal door, its center emblazoned with the same emblem adorning the guards’ chest plates.

“This is the throne room,” Amelia announced. “Beyond this point, you’ll no longer be under our supervision—you’ll be face-to-face with the Queen of Dol Marne, the Tarot of the Moon.”

A ripple of unease shot through Deimos at her words.

“Do not mistake our absence for an opportunity. Dozens of guards wait outside this door alone, and thousands more patrol the manor. Any act of defiance will be met with force.”

Even if I tried, I doubt I’d get far, Deimos thought. Even now, I can feel the sheer pressure of arkhaios energy radiating from the other side of this door—from someone unimaginably powerful.

No wonder the Queen doesn’t need guards in here. Her will alone is enough.

Two guards stepped forward, gripping the golden door handles. With a slow, heavy groan, the doors parted, spilling a wave of golden light over Deimos.

“...Good luck,” Amelia whispered behind him.

Deimos turned to see her nod in farewell. Swallowing hard, he stepped into the throne room.

Compared to the black gothic design of the rest of the castle, the throne room felt eerily tranquil by contrast. The walls were pale, almost white—eerily close to the color of Deimos’ hair—and tall golden pillars lined the path before him like watchful sentinels.

At the far end of the hall sat a towering throne. Draped across it was what appeared to be an impossibly long cascade of jet-black hair. For a moment, Deimos wasn’t sure if he was looking at a person or an elaborate display of fabric and wig.

“That must be her,” he muttered, stepping forward. The clink of his chains echoed with each step, ringing faintly like a distant chime.

Not a word passed between them as he approached. The silence was oppressive, but not empty—it felt intentional. When Deimos finally reached the base of the throne, the woman seated above him regarded him with glowing golden eyes and a faint, unreadable smile.

“U–um, mother?” Elvira spoke softly from the smaller throne beside her, her voice a strained attempt to break the tension.

The Queen didn’t look at her. Her gaze remained fixed on Deimos.

“So, we finally meet, Deimos,” she said, her tone calm, deliberate. “I only regret that it had to be under these circumstances.”

“You know my name?” Deimos asked, eyes narrowing.

“Of course I do,” she replied, voice light, almost amused. “You carry the mark of the Sun Tarot. I make it my business to know everything about one who walks into my domain with that kind of power.”

An awkward stillness followed before she lifted one hand and gestured to the young woman beside her.

“Formalities first,” she continued. “This is my daughter, Princess Elvira Ardelys—heir to the throne of Dol Marne.”

Elvira gave a small nod, eyes avoiding Deimos’ as a light flush crossed her cheeks.

“And I am Queen Selene Ardelys, Tarot of the Moon.”

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Deimos gave a stiff nod. “Pleasure to meet you, Selene.”

Selene smiled faintly. “I imagine you have questions. You’ll get answers. But before that, allow me to extend my gratitude. You dispatched the beast from last night. That act alone spared lives.”

“Questions?” Deimos raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think I’d be getting answers. I thought I was here to be judged.”

He glanced around the empty hall.

“Also—where’s the Prince I supposedly attacked? Isn’t that why I’m here?”

Elvira shot her mother a weary look before speaking. “Prince Remus is currently receiving treatment. He won’t be able to attend today.”

Deimos's voice was low but steady. "That’s a bit vague."

"So why exactly am I here?" he demanded, a sharp edge to his tone.

Selene met his gaze without flinching, her voice calm and measured. "To be direct, your fate was decided before you stepped into this room. This is not a trial, but an investiture."

Deimos’ brows furrowed. "What do you mean?" His hand instinctively clenched into a fist, scanning the room, as if expecting weapons to suddenly appear.

Selene's gaze softened but remained firm. "For your actions—attacking Prince Remus of Dol Marne—your punishment will be to serve as his protector. A royal guard, a sworn sword by his side."

Deimos blinked, his mind struggling to process her words. "Wait, what? My punishment... is to protect him?"

Elvira’s voice cracked with disbelief. "Mother... what?"

Selene’s expression remained calm as she continued. "Someone with your skills, experience, and power would make the perfect right hand for my son." Her eyes locked onto Deimos as she spoke, her words deliberate and unwavering.

Deimos shook his head, his tone growing firmer. "I only follow the orders of my goddess, not another Tarot." He let out a long sigh, bracing himself for whatever might come next.

Selene did not react with anger, only quiet acknowledgment. "Eirene is gone," she said, and for the first time, Deimos saw a flicker of something in her eyes—perhaps sorrow, or perhaps something darker.

Deimos' eyes widened in disbelief. "Y... you remember the goddess?"

Elvira looked between them, confused. "Who... is Eirene?"

Selene raised her hand, signaling Elvira to leave. Without question, Elvira vanished, blending into the shadows.

Now, alone, Selene took a step closer to Deimos. "I remember her, yes. And more than that, I remember the world before everything changed. I'm one of the few who still carries that memory, and I know you are the only truly free soul in all of Enmida."

Deimos frowned, trying to grasp what she was saying. "What world before?"

Selene smiled, though it was a smile laced with melancholy. "We have much to discuss," she said, rising from her throne, her ethereal hair flowing like a cloak around her. "I want you to stay, to protect my son and the kingdom. In return, I will offer you my aid—and the knowledge I’ve kept hidden, waiting for you."

Deimos tilted his head, unimpressed. "Your aid? No offense, but... why would I need your help?"

For a moment, Selene’s expression grew solemn, and she approached him, her presence more commanding as her hair seemed to encircle them both. "Ever since you awoke, Lirael has become aware of your existence."

Deimos’ eyes narrowed. "Why is that a problem?"

"Because," Selene's voice dropped, her tone growing darker, "Lirael will send a Revenant for you. After she took control, she reset the entire world—every Tarot included."

"But the only ones the reset didn’t affect... were you and technically me, we are anomalies in her perfect order."

Deimos frowned, but his mind was racing. "What’s a Revenant?"

"A creature born of Lirael’s will. When something or someone doesn’t fit within her new world, she sends one to eliminate the fallacy.”

“One came for me 500 years ago, before Dol Marne was even founded, and I barely escaped with my life.” She pointed at Deimos,

“And now that you’re awake, Lirael will surely send one for you as well, if it isn’t already on its way.”

Deimos felt a chill. "Why would she do this? What’s happened to her?"

Selene’s eyes darkened with the weight of knowledge. "With each waking moment, her madness deepens. As a vessel, her anger and confusion have twisted her mind. But she's quickly adapting to her new role, and I fear... what will happen when she finally becomes comfortable in it."

Deimos stood in stunned silence, the full gravity of her words sinking in.

“Then that makes it all the more reason to go. I have to save Princess Lirael, and the people of this world. That’s my purpose, no matter how perilous it sounds.”

Selene frowned. “Then you have complete free will—unlike the other Tarots bound to Lirael’s will. You can leave. You can stay. But tell me—what would you abandon that purpose for?”

“Nothing,” Deimos answered.

“Even if it meant uncovering your past life?”

“My past life is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is the purpose I hold now. It was the goddess’ final command, and I will see it through—no matter the cost.”

He turned and began walking away.

“W–wait, I—” Selene’s voice faltered. She collapsed to her knees, her black hair bleeding into red as her body weakened.

Deimos turned, rushed back, and knelt beside her. “What’s happening?”

“My energy… is depleting,” she managed. The Arkhaios aura once flooding the chamber now flickered like dying embers. “You must understand by now, don’t you?”

“You’re not truly a Tarot,” Deimos said flatly.

“I’m not,” Selene admitted, coughing harshly. “I carry the memories and a fragment of the Moon Tarot’s Core. But its power overwhelms me. Every use degrades my soul…”

“Why use it now?”

“To speak with you. The real you. The way she would have.”

A pit formed in his stomach. “Then… the real Moon Tarot is dead? And you were given her power? But how—”

Selene broke into another coughing fit. The guards outside, alarmed, burst in. They tackled Deimos before he could finish speaking, surrounding him with leveled spears.

Selene’s irises flared gold. She rose halfway, voice booming through the chamber.

“Get. Out.”

Her Signature activated. Reality folded. The guards staggered back in reverse motion, as though time recoiled from her word. The doors slammed shut behind them.

More blood at her lips now, Selene keeled forward. Deimos stood, visibly concerned.

“You didn’t have to do that. You’re hurting yourself.”

She gripped his hand, her pale, painted nails grazing his calloused fingers.

“Your purpose is to save Lirael… and protect humanity. But if forced to choose, which one matters more?”

Deimos froze. “What are you implying?”

“If Lirael’s madness drove her to destroy mankind… would you kill her to save humanity? Or would you let the world burn trying to redeem her?”

“I’d find another way. There’s always a middle ground.”

“There isn’t. Not for you. You, of all the Tarots, must learn that before it’s too late.”

Silence settled. The weight of her words hung over him.

“That dragon you killed… it hunts my son,” Selene said, forcing herself to her feet. Deimos helped her.

“It’s hunted him since the day he was born. Seventeen years. Villages have burned yearly. But lately… the attacks have grown frequent. Five months without rest.”

“I’ve grown too weak to keep defending them. I fear I won’t last much longer. And when I fall… so will my son. So will others.”

Her gaze locked with his—stern, heavy with consequence.

“The people look to you now. They see a symbol of hope. They need that symbol.”

She paused.

“So will you fulfill your purpose by saving the people of Dol Marne, or will you let them burn while you chase the purpose of saving Lirael? Which one matters more?”

Deimos stayed quiet. The delay said more than words.

Selene’s expression fell. But then—

Deimos smiled. “You should’ve said all this at the start. Would’ve made this ‘trial’ go faster.”

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again. I follow the goddess’ will. That doesn’t change. And I can’t be the sworn sword of just your Prince—because I'm already the sworn sword of humanity.”

Selene’s eyes lit up, like catching a falling star.

“So I won’t just protect him. I’ll protect everyone. That’s a promise.”

She looked at him with a distant softness.

This feeling… nostalgia. You saw him this way too, didn’t you? Over 500 years ago… that same reckless hope, maintained behind stubborn devotion.

I truly adore it.