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Cerydra liked to think she had everything in control, because she had already mapped the universe the way she planned her strategies—three moves ahead, five if she was bored, every sacrifice measured and every outcome anticipated long before the first piece ever touched the board.
She had lived the way she wanted, and had died the way she chose to, slain at the hand of her very own Dux Gladiorum, the stars just barely out of her reach shimmering in promise of a future she would never be able to see, one where Amphoreous, her Amphoreous would be able to finally break free from the shackles of such a frivolous thing as fate and stand amongst the stars....
It had always been her deepest ambition, one she trusted with the same certainty she placed in her strategies, because there was no version of the future in which she did not succeed—only outcomes where she herself was replaced by those capable of carrying victory the rest of the way. No matter what her triumph was guaranteed regardless of the cost she may hope to achieve it.
So her surprise was immediate when consciousness returned to her not with triumph, but with the dull pressure of stone beneath her back; a frustrated groan escaped her as she pushed herself upright, only to pause when the color of her hands caught her eye, blue faintly iridescent, the sight alone unsettled enough to prompt a sharp, impatient attempt to scrub it away, an effort that proved useless when the pigment remained stubbornly etched into her skin.
Something shifted behind her.
She turned, tension snapping through her spine, and found her wings larger than before, broader, heavier, their unfamiliar weight tugging at her balance; it was unusual, unacceptable, she had seen worse in her time but she absorbed the information without (much) panic, filing it away as she always did, another variable demanding explanation. Yet she would not deny this was getting increasingly frustrating.
Her gaze lifted to the skyline.
The sun hung wrong in the sky, tainted crimson, and the absence of Kephale’s dawn device struck her at once as the first undeniable error in this reality; lightning tore through the horizon, thunder rolling after it and casting jagged shadows over towering city structures, while somewhere in the distance an explosion bloomed, followed by screams that barely earned more than her mild irritation.
How noisy. How inelegant.
There was no one of interest in sight.
A sigh slipped from her lips, equal parts disappointment and disdain. The Theoros had promised much, too much, apparently—and yet even he was nowhere to be found; if this was a scheme of his, he was doing an abysmal job of announcing it.
To say she was disappointed would have been generous.
Residual warmth lingered in her fingertips as she studied her hands again, once lifeless, now strange in their contradiction—warm to the touch, cold beneath, a sensation she could not immediately categorize; not pain, not sensation she recognized, perhaps a memory misfiring or a reflex shaped by habit rather than need, and she flexed her fingers once more before glancing down at her abdomen, where golden blood still stained her dress despite the complete absence of pain. Her fingers grazed it almost intimately her expression remained unreadable, yet her eyebrows furrowed in an emotion she did not want to acknowledge.
The obsidian sheen of a nearby rock offered her a reflection, and she paused long enough to assess it her hands folded: her attire largely unchanged, but her skin carried that same bluish cast, horns curling from her temples, her crown darkened yet still alive with a cold blue flame, eyes staring back at her from a face she did not immediately recognize.
She had looked better.
Still—
It was a beautiful visage.
The smirk came unbidden, accompanied by a slight tilt of her head, an expression that did not quite feel like her own yet lingered all the same as crimson pupils narrowed, appraising rather than admiring.
Was this another trick of the Antikytheran?
The thought irritated her, sharp enough to spark anger, but she dismissed the emotion with a slow exhale, sentiment was inconvenient, and this situation required clarity; nothing about this place resembled Amphoreous, and whatever game was being played, she had already determined her first objective.
Find the Antikytheran.
And in which case she failed to do that-
She would need to speak with whoever believed themselves in control here.