Omniphage of Apathy

Elyonari lay on the massive bed, her body sinking into the soft layers of silk.

The intricate carvings on the walls seemed alive, their stories whispering to her in the silence. She stared at a petal in her hand, its soft glow pulsing with her heartbeat and let her mind wander back to the events of the day.

The Richinaria palace was unlike anything she had ever seen, a floating marvel suspended high above the world. The beauty and opulence of it all were overwhelming but it wasn't the grandeur that lingered in her mind.

It was him. Vastarael. His presence had been hauntingly vivid, even though he'd barely spoken.

When she first saw him standing among his sisters, cloaked and masked, he'd been a figure of mystery. She remembered how he had moved with a regular grace, his tall frame exuding an authority that commanded attention. Even with the others—Anamorsia, radiant and angelic, Milliania, striking and confident, Leones and Leon, calm and composed—it was Vastarael who had drawn her gaze. There was something about him that felt different, as if he carried a weight that none of the others did.

The sound of his voice played in her mind, but with an undercurrent of something she couldn't place.

Joy? Restraint? Whatever it was, it had sent a chill through her. Even now, the memory of his voice made her heart quicken. She hadn't been the only one affected. Elyonari had caught the brief flicker of surprise in her mother's expression, a rare crack in Arthrea's usual composure.

And then there was the mask. Her thoughts kept returning to it, the way it seemed to conceal more than just his face. His sisters had joked about it, saying it was necessary because his beauty was too overwhelming, but there had been truth in their words. Elyonari had seen the way they glanced at him; awed, frustrated, even protective. It was as though he bore a power none of them could fully understand.

She thought of how he had stood slightly apart from the group, his posture straight but distant, like a prince who had learned to live with isolation. The way he deferred to his siblings during the tour, letting them take the lead, spoke of a quiet humility. Yet his silence wasn't cold or dismissive. It was thoughtful, as though he saw the world in a way others didn't.

The stories his sisters told during the tour painted a clearer picture of him.

Anamorsia spoke of his wisdom and sense of duty, while Milliania teased about his tendency to strategize. Leones had defended him with a calm certainty, insisting that his quiet nature was a sign of his focus and care. Even Leon, who rarely spoke, had shown an unwavering respect for his brother. Elyonari had watched them carefully, noting the unspoken bond they all shared. Despite their teasing, there was no doubt in her mind that they revered him.

But what struck her most were the moments when Vastarael himself had spoken.

She shifted on the bed, gazing out at the arched window where the stars outside mirrored the ones above her. Elyonari had always thought of herself as observant, able to read people with ease, but Vastarael was an enigma.

He was a puzzle of silence and presence, of strength and restraint, and the more she thought about him, the more she wanted to understand.

Her fingers tightened around the glowing petal she got from the palace gardens during their tour. For all the wonders of the Richinaria palace, it was Vastarael who had captured her attention, who had set her thoughts spinning long after the tour had ended.

______

Elyonari woke as the first streaks of dawn brushed against the painted sky of her. For most, it would still be too early to rise, but for her, it was impossible to ignore the tug of nature. Elves of Mintheris were attuned to the rhythm of the world and the stillness before dawn always stirred her awake.

She stretched lazily, her gaze drifting to the wide window of her room. The crisp morning air wafted in through the slightly ajar panes, carrying faint noises from below. They were sharp, rhythmic sounds that didn't belong to the gentle waking of the palace. Elyonari's pointy eyes perked up as she sat upright.

Those were the sounds of combat.

Curiosity sparked in her chest, drowning out any remnants of sleep. Without much thought, she swung her legs out of the bed, her nightgown brushing her ankles as she padded to the window. Peering out, she saw nothing at first, just the vast expanse of sky glowing faintly in the early light.

But then, movement caught her eye. Far below, in an open training arena, two figures clashed in a furious dance of steel and speed.

She couldn't help herself. The pull of curiosity was too strong. Grabbing a handful of vines that adorned the outer walls of the palace, Elyonari stepped onto the ledge of her window. She barely hesitated before leaping. The wind rushed against her skin as she descended, her bare feet gripping the sturdy vines that seemed to respond to her thoughts, slowing her fall and guiding her safely down. She landed lightly on one of the outer paths that wound its way along the palace edge.

Her mother would kill her for this, she thought with a grin. If Arthrea ever found out she'd leaped from a palace window, barefoot and in nothing but her nightgown, Elyonari wouldn't hear the end of it. But the thrill of her descent and the growing excitement of what lay ahead drowned out any sense of caution.

She walked briskly across the floating garden paths. The sounds of battle grew louder as she approached the training arena. Finally, she reached the edge of the open space and slipped behind one of the tall marble columns to watch.

What she saw made her freeze.

Vastarael stood at the center of the arena, wielding a massive glaive with an ease that belied its weight. His opponent was no less impressive. Her twin daggers moved like extensions of her own hands, each strike aimed with deadly intent.

'That's Adelasta, the only female Viaca in history.'

Adelasta lunged, her daggers flashing in a flurry of quick jabs aimed at Vastarael's torso. He pivoted smoothly, his glaive spinning in an arc that forced her to leap back. She wasn't deterred. Instead, she pressed forward again.

Elyonari's eyes widened as she watched Vastarael parry each of Adelasta's attacks with calculated precision. He didn't waste a single movement. Each swing of his glaive was deliberate, meant to create openings or force his opponent into disadvantageous positions. And yet, Adelasta kept up with him, her speed and agility countering his overwhelming strength.

Adelasta darted in close, her daggers aiming for his exposed side. Vastarael shifted his grip, bringing the glaive's staff down like a hammer to block her strike. The clash echoed through the arena, the force of it sending a shockwave that rustled the distant trees.

"She's fast," Elyonari murmured to herself, her fingers tightening on the column. Adelasta was smaller than Vastarael but her compact movements made her a difficult opponent to pin down. She darted around him like a whirlwind, her daggers seeking any gap in his defenses.

But Vastarael wasn't just powerful. His stance remained unshaken, his movements a masterclass in controlled ferocity. When Adelasta tried to feint to his left, he didn't fall for it. Instead, he countered with a sweeping strike that caught her off guard. She barely managed to roll out of the way, the edge of his glaive slicing a strand of her dark hair.

Adelasta smirked as she regained her footing.

"Getting bold, are we?"

Vastarael didn't respond, but the faintest tilt of his head hinted at a smile beneath his mask. He adjusted his stance, spinning the glaive in a dazzling display before settling into a low guard. Adelasta took the challenge, rushing forward with a series of rapid, unpredictable strikes.

The clash of weapons was deafening. Elyonari could feel the vibrations in the ground as the two combatants pushed each other to their limits. Vastarael's glaive whirled in sweeping arcs, forcing Adelasta to dodge and weave. At one point, he drove her back with a powerful thrust that sent a gust of wind rushing past Elyonari's hiding spot.

But Adelasta wasn't easily overpowered. She used her smaller size to her advantage, slipping past Vastarael's longer reach and landing a glancing strike on his shoulder. Her victory was short-lived, however, as Vastarael retaliated with a spinning kick that sent her staggering back.

Elyonari couldn't tear her eyes away. The raw skill and power on display were unlike anything she'd ever seen. Vastarael moved with the grace of a predator. Adelasta was his equal in tenacity, her relentless attacks impressive.

As the battle raged on, Elyonari felt her heart pounding in sync with their movements. She couldn't decide what impressed her more. Vastarael's overwhelming strength and composure, or Adelasta'sp speed and precision.

The tension in the air was thick as Vastarael's glaive hovered just inches from Adelasta's throat, its razor-sharp edge gleaming in the morning light. For a moment, time seemed to still between the two, the sound of their rapid breaths and the soft wind the only thing breaking the silence. Then, with a swift, decisive movement, Vastarael broke the stalemate. He swept his glaive down in a fluid arc, knocking Adelasta's legs out from under her.

She crashed to the ground with a soft grunt and for the briefest of moments, her face flashed with something other than determination. As she lay on her back, her breath coming in quick bursts, her cold expression remained, but it was far less composed than Elyonari had seen in the past.

"I won. My first victory after 3,647 defeats. I finally did it, Adelasta. I finally beat you in the one thing you take pride in."

But to Elyonari's sharp eyes, it wasn't the triumph that caught her attention. It was Adelasta's response, or lack thereof.

For a fleeting moment, something flickered in Adelasta's gaze. The coldness, the practiced composure she wore like armor, slipped just enough for Elyonari to see. There was a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in her expression, one that no mask of pride or strength could cover.

Beneath that icy veneer, there was... sadness. The weight of defeat wasn't just in her posture. It was in the way her shoulders sagged, in the way she couldn't quite look him in the eyes.

It was as if the moment Vastarael had spoken, the reality of it hit her all at once. This victory, the one thing she had tried to keep from happening, had come.

Elyonari could sense the hurt in the brief pause before Adelasta spoke. She forced a cold smile but it didn't reach her eyes.

"I need to go," she said curtly, her voice colder than it had been throughout the entire fight. "I have… other matters to attend to."

"What about my evaluation?"

Adelasta looked back and said with a cold emotionless voice.

"Perfect. There's nothing wrong this time."

She didn't wait for a reply, quickly standing up and brushing the dirt from her clothes with mechanical precision. Without a second glance, she turned and walked off, but Elyonari could tell there was something fractured in her that wasn't there before.

Elyonari's heart tightened with an unexpected sympathy.

And just as she turned to walk away herself, the quiet voice of Vastarael cut through the silence.

"I know you're there, Princess Elyonari. No need to hide."

She froze.

There was something about the way he spoke that made her blood rush to her ears.

Elyonari hesitated for a brief moment, then stepped forward from behind the column.

Vastarael didn't look surprised. His face was trained on her, almost as though he had sensed her the entire time. He lowered his glaive and gave her a small nod of acknowledgment.

"Come on, then," he said, his voice low but inviting. "I know you're curious. It's alright to watch."