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Westhelm was born from twins.
Not just from twins, but from blood spilled between them. The land where Westhelm stands was christened by the blood of Remus as Romulus plunged his sword through her chest, it only makes sense it craves it again and again.
At least, that's what Emperor Jooce IV Pendaris thought, standing in front of his twin sister's grave. Lady Ehrenie Amata died like so many women from House Caesar do; away from home, next to her foreign husband and the sire of the cause of her death. It was a decent marriage at least, the same cannot be said for his own.
Empress Herane Pendaris stood behind him, hard amber eyes stare mercilessly at the cold headstone, as if trying to kill the already deceased. And perhaps she was. Perhaps she was jealous that Ehrenie got to be remembered as Ehrenie Pendaris and not just Ehrenie Amata, a privilege Herane Azur would never have, bound to the Pendaris name as she is. Or maybe because she escaped the burdens of motherhood Herane loathed so much.
Speaking of which, Jooce's eyes wander over to where his children were. Hecate Pendaris and Schpood Pendaris stood on either side of their mother. There was no doubt that they were of House Caesar's. Both tall and proud, face sharp and angular, hair a dark shade of brown. They look almost identical to him… almost. Their eyes tell a different story though.
His eldest's face was schooled into an expression of practiced solemnity, head bowed in quiet mourning. His son, on the other hand, was a mess, tear tracks visible down his cheeks, shoulders shaking as he tried to tone down his sniffles.
They loved their aunt, as so many people do. Ehrenie has always been the more popular between the both of them. Ehrenie with her voice of pure ambrosia, gentle and soft and radiant in a way Jooce, with shadows following his every step, can never hope to be.
Jooce sneered, turning over to scold Schpood, but Hecate beat him to it, his daughter reaching over to hold his hand and like magic, Schpood took a breath and the shakiness was gone. He stood there, posture straight and head held high, his face sculpted exactly like Jooce's, but his eyes the cold amber of House Azur.
He couldn't help but scoff at their linked hands.
One of them would die. That's just how the stories of the Siblings of House Caesar go.
Jooce hoped it would be Schpood.
Schpood, that devil of a child wearing his face. Schpood, who the people love and adore. Schpood, who has his mother's eyes and her ambition. Exul forbid the crown falls upon those greedy, arrogant hands.
He would be Westhelm's downfall, Jooce was sure of it. And he could not let that happen. He could not let everything he built be reduced to nothing in the hands of his madman son. If it were up to him, he would rather have Hecate on the throne.
Hecate was in so many ways her father's daughter. His daughter has his temper, his caution, and most importantly, his gift. Shadows follow her footsteps like it did for him, dancing around her like a perfect storm. Contrary to her brother, whom the light chose. She would be a force of nature, his girl. Perhaps it's time for Westhelm to crown it's first Empress.
Not that he would have any say in it.
Emperor Jooce IV Pendaris died in his sleep, shadows swirling around him. A heart attack, the healers say. Truly a tragedy, cried the inconsolable Empress. The empire mourned. Yggdrasil was quiet. His twin children held each other's hand as he was lowered to the ground.
×××
Schpood was 19 years old when he ascended to the throne, inheriting an unstable and crumbling nation. The crops aren't growing, the water only held death, the mines were filled with terrors rather than ores, and the people are angry.
Gilded laurel wreath placed upon his head by his mother's hands, nestling it around messy, dark brown locks. It weighed like stone.
His sister watched from the sidelines, wearing the shadows like a second skin. People barely realized she was there.
×××
"Father hates me, I think," Schpood whispered one night, when they're laying together on his bed, his eyes tracing the wood paneling on the ceiling. "I don't think he likes looking at me."
"At least he still looks at you," Hecate replied, face buried in his pillows.
×××
Ever since she was a little girl, Herane Azur dreamt of bigger things. While most girls wanted a fairytale prince and happily ever after, Herane wanted more. She wanted glory. She wanted power. She wanted her name printed in the front page of history and by Ish she will get it.
On paper, a marriage to Yggdrasil's most powerful family was an easy way to achieve that goal. It was loveless, yes, and she didn't particularly care for the then Crown Prince. But power was power, influence was influence. And Jooce is oh so easy to mold, so easy to poke and prod him to the right direction, so easy to make him do as Herane pleased.
And yet her name remains a footnote in his life. All her ideas and plans credited under his name. Pendaris. Jooce IV Pendaris the Great, the Visionary, Westhelm's Hope and Pride.
Old, familiar rage of eldest daughters coursed through her veins. Azur was a line of warrior, Ishdammit! Pendaris may have the blessings of Exul in their blood, but she is just as great! She doesn't want a footnote. She doesn't want a passing mention. She doesn't want to be known as wife and mother. She doesn't want to just be a Pendaris.
Still, Herane bided her time, played the part of the perfect wife and mother even as she seethe, even as she covets more. She waited, as docile as a dormant volcano, as tame as a tiger waiting to pounce. She waited and waited, until her baby boy is of age.
Jooce had always been afraid of Schpood. Afraid of the way his son could command a room with just a smile and a laugh, afraid of the way he carries himself with that self-assured confidence Jooce never had, afraid of the way his eyes have a glint that is too much like hers. But she is not her foolish husband. Where he saw danger, she saw potential. And potential can be shaped, guided, controlled.
Schpood was his mother's son in so many ways. Her boy has her temper, her tenacity, and most importantly, her ambition. He may not have her mind, but that's okay, he got the charm to make up for it. People listen to him, turn toward his voice like sunflowers to the sun. He wanted to be more. To be great. To be in the front page of history. And she can give him that, if he would simply… hand over the reins.
And so, Emperor Jooce IV Pendaris died like so many men from House Caesar do; a glass of wine spiked with a special concoction of deadly herbs. Not even the shadows he commanded can save him.
And from where he fell, Emperor Schpood Pendaris shall rise.
A handful of tearful goodbyes and mournful sentiments later, her husband was being buried next to his twin while his own children hold each other's hand over their graves.
She couldn't help but scoff at their linked hands.
One of them would die. That's just how the stories of the Siblings of House Caesar go.
Herane hoped it would be Hecate.
Hecate, that devil of a child wearing her eyes. Hecate, who Schpood loved and adored. Hecate, who has her father's face and paranoia. Ish forbid Westhelm be cursed with another pushover for a ruler.
She would be Westhelm's downfall, Herane was sure of it. And she could not let that happen. She could not let everything she built fall in the hands of her wretched daughter. Too soft, too weak-willed, too much like her father. No, one way or another, Schpood would have the throne.
And she will make sure of it.
The golden laurel wreath sat primly on her boy's head, glinting in the light of the blazing Westhelm sun. The people cheered, clapped so loudly she swore the ground of Yggdrasil itself was shaking. Westhelm loved Schpood. And it will follow him to war if he simply asked.
Hecate stood on the sidelines, shrouded in shadows like her dear old dad. Quiet and stalwart and stagnant, watching as the world pass her by. She looked at Herane with the same hard amber eyes she saw in the mirror, like Hecate knew what she did, what she was guilty off.
And perhaps she does know. Hecate may be her father's daughter but she has her mother's mind.
Which is exactly why she cannot have the throne.
×××
Hecate was 20 years old when the hushed whispers of a coup reached her ears. Discontent and resentment hissing like snakes hidden within the walls of the Citadel.
Something sinister hid in the shadows. Unfortunately for them, the shadows are not very good secret keepers.
They want her brother dead, the shadows whispered. And they want her on the throne.
×××
"Mother doesn't like me very much," Hecate whispered one night, when they snuck out their rooms to play in the riverbank, twiddling with a stone in her hand. "I don't think she knows I exist."
"At least she leaves you alone," Schpood scoffed, tossing another rock into the boiling water.
×××
It seemed like Herane underestimated just how much she and her son were alike.
"I am Emperor, Mother," he spat, eyes as cold as steel. "I am Westhelm and I do not answer to you. You forget that I am not Father."
Schpood was his mother's son in so many ways. He has her temper, her tenacity, and her ambition, all of that tenfold. He is not his father. He is Westhelm's Light and he will not let her dim him.
She cursed herself for her miscalculation, cursed her son for being her wretched mirror. They both covet the same things, unfortunately only one of them can get it.
And then it clicked. This plan was never going to work, not when her boy is her mirror. No. If she wanted a vessel, if she wanted a puppet, she should've gone for the child that was more like their foolish father.
Hecate was her father's daughter.
Weak-willed. Stagnant. Soft.
The perfect puppet.
So, a new plan was formed. Hidden in the shadows of the Citadel now that her husband isn't here to eavesdrop anymore, a quiet rebellion began to form. Despite his popularity with the citizens, it seemed like her son's reputation wasn't so good among the nobles. They thought him too rash, too arrogant, too violent.
She fought back a laugh, it's funny that they let her in this rebel plot, considering she is everything they thought her son to be.
It was a simple plan all things considered. Overthrow the Emperor and put the far more docile Princess in his place.
Hecate may not have her tenacity nor her ambition, but that's alright, she was her father's daughter after all. And if Herane knew anything about Jooce, it's that his hunger for power is greater than that of his love for his sister.
It took her almost a year, it was worth it. A few whispered words there, a few nudges here. And her duaghter who had been starved for affection since she was born devoured everything she gave whole.
Doesn't she want to be great too? Wasn't she tired of being blinded by her brother's light? Wasn't it her turn? Her turn to lead? Her turn to shine?
It was too easy. Almost too easy. Herane asked her if she wanted the throne and Hecate, poor darling Hecate, said yes.
She led her to the church. And Hecate followed.
And yet, despite all her plots, despite all her schemes, Herane Azur-Pendaris forgot to account for one crucial thing.
Her children love each other. Far, far too much.
×××
Schpood was 21 years old when his mother and sister died. The church that the former Empress and the Princess were visiting went up in flames. No one made it out alive.
People saw who did it. But they can't quite remember their face, the shadows hid it too well.
×××
Here lies
Hecate Pendaris
Gone but Never Forgotten
×××
Westhelm was born from the blood of twins, but in this generation, the land christened by the blood of Remus would not taste the it.
"I still think it should've been you," Schpood said flatly while they're laying down on the Citadel's roof, watching the stars that watch over Westhelm. "You're better at this Emperor shit than I am, Hex."
Hex laughed, a bright and tinkling sound. "Nah, you're doing just fine," she said with a smile, looking over at him. "Remember what auntie said about being a leader? How you should look after your people and keep them close to your heart in everything you do? You care about the people, Schpood, and in turn they care about you too. That's why you're Emperor, not me."
"No, it's because Mother thought I'd be easier to manipulate," he scoffed, trying to hide the pain in his chest at the mention of their late aunt.
"Well, she's dead now, isn't she?" she replied sharply. "And technically, so am I."
An echo of smoke and flames play in the back of his eyes. The church where his mother and her conspirators gather exploded in a fury of reds and oranges. They say his mother died to boiling water, none of them bothered to check the gash on her neck and a corpse with his sister's dress was recovered in the ruins. To the world, Hecate Pendaris was dead.
"I'm sorry," he said for there is nothing else he can say. He reached for her hand and held on tightly.
"For what, dumbass?" Hex chuckled but squeezed his hand back. "It was my idea."
"But you did it for me."
"Yeah." She shifts to look at him properly. "Because I love you. You know that right? I only want what's best for you."
Schpood hummed, "I'll build you an observatory."
Hex coughed out a startled laugh.
"After we stamp out the rebellions and sort out the famine, I'll build you an observatory. Maybe name it after you as well." He continued.
"You don't have to do that," she said, barely audible in the quiet night air.
"You didn't have to fake your death for me either," he countered. "And yet here we are. Let me do silly things for you, I'm Emperor now after all."
A beat passed between them, a quiet lull in their banter. It wasn't unusual nor uncomfortable, they know each other's silence just as much as their words. Schpood lets them sit there, in the weight of words unspoken.
Tomorrow, he will speak to the Senator of Construction about the observatory. Tomorrow, he will listen to his people's woes. Tomorrow, he will be Emperor Schpood. Tomorrow, he will leave fresh flowers at her grave.
But tonight?
Tonight, he watched the stars with his sister's warmth by his side. Tonight, he listened to his sister ramble about the constellations and their history. Tonight, he can just be Schpood. Tonight, his sister is alive.
Westhelm was born from the blood of twins, but it can only flourish from the love between them.
×××
Schpood was 31 years old when he fell in love.
Hex was 31 years old when she watched his brother lose his greatest love.
×××
"Do you ever wonder what love looks like?" Hex asked one day, sitting on the floor of her room surrounded by opened books.
"It doesn't look like Mother and Father's, that's for sure," Schpood scoffed and continued braiding her hair.
×××
Queen Jophiel of Tricolor died like so many royals do; stabbed in the back by her most trusted Lady.
Her lover slumped over her grave and wept and wept. He was there even as the sun set and night enveloped the land, like a statue frozen in time, a stalwart guardian for Tricolor's guiding light.
If people payed enough attention, if they dared to peel back the fog in their minds, they will know the Emperor was not alone in his vigil.
His sister sat beside him, holding his hand as she had done countless times before. He gripped hers back as if it was the only thing anchoring him to this world. Her presence warm, solid, and real.
One of them would die. That's just how the stories of the Siblings of House Caesar go.
Schpood hoped it would be him.
Hecate hoped it would be her.