In the beginning, Tartareians only hunted corrupt souls. But slowly, they realized that they could control them, too. They could use their energy to augment their own power, but they could also use those souls as thralls—blood slaves that did their bidding and createdmorecorrupted souls for them to consume. They became the first demons, sent to mortal realms to debauch unassuming souls and push them towards sin and decadence.
Evil had always existed in the universe as a balancing force to good. Where there was good, there was also bad. That was the principle on which everything was built. But demons skewed that balance.
Thus, a new war began. But this time, Tartareia was in the lead.
The House of Noiya was celebrated for its initiative, and Urteos became revered for his foresight.
But just as all things rise, they must also fall.
The Sons of Tenebreis, Tartareia’s most powerful and elite warriors, said to be descended from the Seven themselves, became drunk on the power of those corrupt souls. They consumed and consumed, until that corruption took root within them and sullied their own essence, leading to a manic madness that affected their judgements.
Tartareia might have had the upper hand in the war with Aperion, but within, the realm was crumbling from new conflicts. Corruption led to thirst of power. And thirst of power led to war.
Two hundred thousand years ago, Tartareia was consumed by civil war.
And it never stopped.
There were intermittent periods of peace, with ruling houses changing every ten thousand years or so. But they were only a bleep in the bloody history of Tartareia. Instead of fighting and killing Aperites, Tartareians were now fighting and killing each other.
When the House of Silla came to power, almost ten thousand years ago, Tor, the current Supreme Lord, managed to stop the war. But with tensions rising high, it’s only a matter of time before the next conflict sparks up.
With this new eclipse and the ominous feeling it inspires in people, everyone expects things to get worse—soon.
Cloudy storms gather in the skies as the wind blows once more. Rheus, the right moon, inches closer to Rhea. Moments trickle by. The inevitability of their union brings hopelessness into the breasts of the onlookers.
It will not be long now until they become one. Until Rheus and Rhea, the ancient god and goddess of the night will have one moment to last them for an eternity to come.
Every home in Tartareia is enraptured by the event, waiting with bated breath to see this rarity, but also anxiously awaiting the calamities to come. Yet there is something more. Something that is not openly spoken of yet condemned nonetheless.
Two hundred fifteen thousand years ago, when the last union of the moons occurred, Urteos was born. The night that marked the greatest loss for Tartareia was the night Urteos was welcomed into the world. Urteos who would usher Tartareia into a new age—one full of bloodshed and continuous animosity. One where the Sons of Tenebreis were no longer brethren working for a common goal, but enemies fighting for their own interests.
Urteos changed Tartareia forever, and though he is long dead, his legacy is more alive than ever.
The eclipse associated with his birth became a symbol of death.
The union of the moons is the beginning of the end.
The agonizing cry of a woman echoes from deep inside the room. A flurry of servants run up and down in an attempt to fix the broken windows and prevent the others from meeting the same fate.
They cannot afford the cold.
“My Lady, you must breathe,” the lady’s maid murmurs as she presses a white cloth against the woman’s brow, wiping her sweat. “It will be over soon,” she says, giving a nod of approval to the other serving girl currently positioned at the end of the bed.
“Where is my husband? Where is he…” she trails off as another wail escapes her lips.
“He is getting the midwife as we speak…”
The sheets are tangled around her writhing, sweaty body. She digs her heels into the mattress as she tries to withstand thegrowing pains. The servant girl spreads her legs apart. Her lips flatten as she gives a nod to the lady’s maid.
“It is coming,” the girl whispers.
“No!” The lady shouts. “He cannot… I cannot… The babe must not be born…yet…”
“My Lady?—”
“I can feel it. Any moment now… I need my husband. He can… stop it…”
“My Lady,” the maid gasps. “You are not implying…”
