FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

She Sleeps with Snakes

By Dark Violet

The first warm rays of the dawn slipped through the temple windows, and sent shivers down Liljana's back.

It was time.

She placed her feet one in front of the other, raised her head, and arched her back in the way she'd done hundreds of times before. She slipped the back of one hand against the palm of the other, let emotion drift away from her face, and lidded her eyes - motions so practised to be a serene dance.

Her gaze rested on the woman in line in front of her. Sara. She'd joined the temple after Liljana had, and had been inducted into the priesthood only a year ago, and yet her poise seemed so much straighter, keener. Liljana's gaze wandered down to the folds of the loose robe, red and violet swirling over each other - was her own as straight as Sara's? Her fingers burned with the need to check, and she squeezed them together to stop herself. She needed everything to be perfect - she needed to be perfect - else she wouldn't be chosen.

"Sisters."

The command made her eyes dart back ahead, unfocusing from Sara. Out of the corner of her eye, there was a slight shift of motion as their Head Priestess, Myrtale, surveyed them.

“The gaze of Dionysus, of Demeter and Ares, is upon us," Myrtale intoned, "and in it, He awaits. In the sun's light, He will see us."

"And we will see." The chorus sent tingles down her arms.

She squeezed one hand with the other to suppress the urge to play with her robe. She was getting nervous. She always wanted to fidget when she was nervous. Instead, she took a slow breath in and held it, before parting her lips to silently let it out. Notice the world, she reminded herself. The cold stone underfoot. The scent of tree sap in the spring dawn. The sanctuary, its shadowed stone walls chiselled into reliefs of serpents and servants. An errant current curled around her cheek, the air still cool from the night, now warming in the rays of the sun as it trickled across her half-bared shoulders.

On the edge of hearing, muffled by stone walls, a slow chant was resonating through the stones. Wait - there. Something else. A clattering - metallic, discordant... different.

The visitors were here.

The Head Priestess strode to the head of their line, and as she wordlessly slipped in ahead of them, their precession began. Their steps were confident, practised, with a serpentine manner to them. That ease of practice again, running through her.

And with that elegance, one by one, they stepped out into the sun.

Liljana took in a deep breath as she slipped out from the threshold of the sanctuary, the warm air playing over her skin. The temple ground spread around her, its smooth flagstones ending in a lip of craggy rocks before opening up into the wide, hazy valleys crowned with distant, dusty peaks. Between those steep, rocky slopes, the ocean shimmered, catching the light of the violet dawn sky.

She mounted the steps to the head of the temple grounds, passing between spindly juniper bushes that sat atop pale rock cast gold in the dawn sun. Overhead, green beech fronds hung silently, almost reverently, in the warm and still air, creating an arch for their arrival.

As they stepped out from under the trees there was a murmuring, and again, that clatter. Liljana found herself leaning ever so slightly to the left, peering around her sisters to see. There they were: the foreigners. Their armour - clean, unblemished by dirt or arrow marks - gleamed in the sunlight, and Liljana had to resist trying to squint to see them better. She caught a glimpse of dark beards and olive skin, common to the people on the mainland.

They gazed at the sisters with wide eyes and shifting lips. As attention turned towards her, she slipped back to standing up straight, refocusing her attention on where they walked. Their probing, voyeuristic gaze made the hairs on her neck stand on end.

The sisters strode towards the altar - gentle, arcing steps leading up to a raised dais of white stone. At its centre sat a great bowl, slightly turned towards them, surrounded by granite shaped into weaving coils and patterned with intricate scales, their edges shimmering in the sunlight. Cool lines of deep shadow were cast across the dais from tall, fluted pillars clad in verdant ivy, that surrounded the altar in a great circle, with an opening to its front to display the dais for all to see. Servants, heads bowed and still, stood between the pillars, their broad, pale drums still and silent.

They passed between the columns; the rock floor was smooth with decades of use, and Liljana could almost feel the footprints of all the priestesses that came before her.

The foreigners turned as they walked, their armour clattering against the handles of their knives. Their muttering was louder now - unheard comments, short chuckles... the sound, so eerie and out-of-place, made her skin crawl.

But as they rounded to stand by the altar, one more slipped into view, standing apart from the group - silent, his helmet removed, dark eyes watching them from below a heavy brow. Liljana found herself unable to look away - so silent, and yet, it was almost like there was more to the twitch of his gaze than there was to all the mutterings of his guard.

At a command from Head Priestess Myrtale, the sisters came to a stop. For a moment, they were still, like the predator upon seeing her prey. Then, as one, they turned to the foreign group.

The muttering ceased under their collective gaze. Liljana had to resist smirking - but all desire to do so was lost when her eyes once again found the older man, standing by the head of the group. The sunlight caught the lines of experience on his face, a faint scar on his cheek, the marks of swords on his breastplate. He was about her height, but with the way he held his head, the calm and dour expression etched like stone into his face, it was like he towered over them all.

Beside them, the Head Priestess Myrtale mounted the dais and turned. For a moment, there was quiet - just the creak of cicadas down the mountainside, and the whisper of robes swaying in faint touches of breeze.

"He is watching." the Head Priestess said, curtly.

There was a gentle scrape of armour on armour as the guard exchanged glances. The older man, meanwhile, stayed as still as the priestesses.

"We of the Mysteries of Samothrace will hear your wish." Myrtale continued.

One of the guard detached themselves from the group, his armour simpler, with some odd marks on his epaulettes that Liljana guessed marked status.

"The King of Macedon wishes to see what only the Gods may," he said, spreading his hands as he stepped up beside the older man, injecting the words with amused gravitas. Liljana's eyes twitched as she peered at him.

Head Priestess Myrtale lowered her gaze. "Speak clearly."

The speaker smiled, clasping his hands together. "We wish to see the future."

"For what reason?"

There was a pause. The speaker's eyes darted towards the older man. A smile pulled at his lips, but did not reach his eyes. "Ah, the King of Macedon wills it. You see, you need not ask another reason."

Liljana bit her lip - and in that instant before she overcame the impulse, the older man turned his gaze towards her.

It was like being hit with a mace. She had to fight to keep from recoiling. His eyes were not dark, just shadowed - and where the dawn sun caught them, they gleamed like emeralds in a cave.

"The future has many paths," the Head Priestess continued without hesitation. "Life and death dance in the rising of every sun. You must tell us which path you seek to know."

The speaker raised his eyebrows at her, a chuckle playing as he shook his head. He waved his hand in her direction. "If you know the future, oh Queen of Snakes, you must be able to-"

The older man raised his hand, not any higher than his waist. Sunlight gleamed off bronze rings. The speaker was quiet in an instant.

He lowered his hand. Then he turned his gaze away from Liljana, looking instead to Priestess Myrtale. Liljana let out a held breath as softly as she was able.

"I shall march my troops, until I surround the sea of Aegeus." he said. His words were not loud, but they quaked with an energy that could not be matched. Even the shifting of his guard, as slight as it had been, stopped when he spoke. "And then, I will cross east, into the lands of bronze and darkness. I wish to leave an empire in my wake, the likes of which this earth has never seen."

Head Priestess Myrtale gave a slow nod of her head. "And you wish to see if the Gods smile upon you?"

The king lifted his head by a fraction, the early light playing over his well-groomed beard. "I wish to see what I will make."

A knot formed in Liljana's stomach. Something about that answer stuck in her chest like a thorn, but she couldn't quite place it.

If Head Priestess Myrtale felt the same thing, she didn't show it. She tilted her head, her voice taking on mild chastisement. "It is not us who may see the future. Only Lykonos has the sight to see what you desire."

There was a ripple through the priestesses at His name. It was not invoked except in ceremony, and the sound of it in the warm morning air made Liljana's heart skip a beat.

“It is customary to provide an offering for good fortune," she said, eyes flicking briefly to his guard. “What do you offer to Lykonos?"

The King tilted his head, as if to think for a moment. “Do you ask so that you might weigh my piety?" His words were soft, conversational, yet with an edge of bronze. “Can you say that the prophecy would be the same if I offered one talent or one thousand?" One of the King's eyebrows twitched upwards, and he squinted at Myrtale. “I assure you that Lykonos will not find my patronage lacking; but I will hear the prophecy first, so that it may remain untarnished."

Myrtale raised her head, and for a moment there was silence.

“If that is your answer," she said, finally. Then she turned to the priestesses, bringing her hands together in front of her. "Lykonos speaks only through us. Choose the one who is to be the Voice."

Liljana found herself standing up straighter all of a sudden. Again, that tingling in her arms. Her heart thumped in her ears - could anyone else hear it? She ached to pull at the fabric of her robe, to close her eyes. She took in a breath, awaited the calmness that came with it, and found nothing but trembling, discordant thoughts.

Five ceremonies. Five! She'd been at the temple since she was just a few summers old, and in the priesthood for the last three. Five times now, it had been others chosen instead of her. She wouldn't have the chance to be the Voice forever. She needed it soon.

The king stepped forwards, inspecting each priestess in the line. Liljana had lived and trained with each and every one for more than a decade, and her mind burned each time his gaze rested on another. At the head of the line was Jovana - the oldest of them, always so smooth in her motions! Now he was looking upon Agelaeia, with hair like fire in the dawn, who could move her robe so that it shimmered and hypnotised... Sara now, with that perfect fit of fabric over her curves. Liljana's mind turned somersaults. What could she offer, that they could not? She had been rejected five times before - she obviously didn't-

And his gaze met hers. The king stopped in his walk, and those emeralds sparkled. She fought to not wrench her eyes away, to stop the feeling of his gaze lancing deep into her.

"I choose her."

Liljana swayed back and forth. In the distance, a thrush called, and then flew off towards the valley.

Did... did he just...

"Priestess?" Myrtale was saying, in a voice that sounded like it came from underwater.

Liljana's skin tingled all over. Her cheeks burned - they must be a bright red; and dimly, part of her realised that she didn't care if they were.

She had been chosen. The ceremony was not to be turned back.

"Priestess. Step forward."

Liljana's head swam as she did, as if in a warm fog.

"The choice has been made. This priestess will be His Voice."

"She is seen, and she shall see." chorused the other priestesses, and Liljana had to stop herself from saying the words along with them.

Thrum.... Thrum…

The servants around her started their drumbeat - low, gentle, expectant - and yet, unstoppable.

She turned, and in time with the drumbeat, she stepped towards the dais. Her heart pounded in her ears, and yet even as she mounted the steps, it was like all the weight had slipped from her shoulders.

She mounted the dais, and as she floated to the next set of steps that lead to the bowl, her feet found jagged stone. This was not the smooth rock of the temple, worn over the centuries by the passings of many people. This was the ceremony of the Oracle, where He appeared to bestow His sight to them. This was the only time the altar was stepped on by anyone, even priestesses. For a moment, she realised how few people had stood where she did now. A wave of pride bloomed in her chest.

She stepped up to the great bowl, and for a moment, looked into it. She was struck, strangely, by how unblemished it was, no marks on its smoothed surface. There was only the hole in the bottom, perhaps as wide as her forearm was long. She squinted, looking inside it - before jerking her gaze away. She could not look before it was time.

She clutched at her robe with one hand.

Thrum... Thrum...

She lifted a leg, her robe falling away from it, and she stepped over the edge of the great bowl. Her bare foot kissed its surface - still cold from the night. She stepped in with her other leg, and she turned, with the gentle grace of a sunflower.

All the priestesses were facing her now, as were the guards - and in front of them, the king fixed her with that cool, unyielding gaze.

Hands reached for her, gripping at her robe. She relinquished her own grip, and the fabric slipped away from her smooth skin, until the rising sun shone upon her bare form.

Thrum... Thrum...

Slowly, hoping that the others wouldn't see how her hands trembled, she knelt down, straddling the hole.

"Who are you?"

Liljana's head jerked up, and she spoke to the drumbeat. "Cara sut Lykonos rha. Oracalus deia rha."

I am the Voice of Lykonos. I am the Oracle of our God. Words she had practised in her head, every night in the quiet of the hut, in the hopes they would be one day spoken aloud. The feel of the words in her mouth sent liquid gold coursing through her.

Liljana's nose twitched at a sudden smell - pungent, floral, like a flower smelt too close. Thin white smoke rose from around the bowl, and she knew that the incense was alight.

"Cara sut Lykonos rha. Oracalus deia rha."

Around her, the other priestesses took up their own chant.

"Cara sut Lykonos tha. Oracalus deia tha."

She clasped her hands together, raising them above her head. Her eyes slipped closed, and she focused on the words, on the quick breaths between the lines.

"Cara sut Lykonos rha. Oracalus deia rha."

Warm oil drizzled down her back, clinging to her skin, poured from the hands of unseen servants. It mingled with the floral scent of the incense, catching in her nose, making her eyelids flutter.

"Cara sut Lykonos rha. Oracalus deia rha."

And then there was stirring in the hole beneath her.

She could hear Him - that's what amazed her. A shushing, scales on scales, scales on stone, like the whisper of wind before a bolt of lightning. She dared not open her eyes, keeping her head raised, letting the scents of the oil and the incense flood her senses...

But she couldn't stop herself from gasping as the scales touched her leg. She hadn't expected them to be so cold, or so smooth. It was like the touch of stone, wrapping its way around her thigh. Once... twice... scales gripped at her skin...

There was a sudden flick of something against her hips. Her God had paused - why? For what? What had she done? And yet, a moment later, He was moving again - that body slipping between her thighs again, around her rear, and then up to encircle her waist.

She found herself sinking down under His weight. She straightened, her legs already aching, and she tried to refocus on the chanting. "Cara sut Lykonos rha. Oracalus deia rha." The drumbeat was getting faster, and beneath it, that infernal muttering from the guard had arisen once more. She pressed on, keeping the rhythm, letting her head be carried by its entrancing beat. "Cara sut Lykonos rha. Oracalus deia rha."

He was winding His way around her chest now. His head pressed against one breast, then the other, and with the next turn He encircled her torso completely. His body rose and fell with her rhythmic breathing.

"Cara sut Lykonos rha. Oracalus deia rha."

How much thicker His body was behind His head! Her legs burned now with the weight, His coils pressing into her, wrapped so tightly they squeezed against one another. And still, the hiss of scales on stone continued, as He pulled yet more of Himself from the hole. She fought to keep from sinking down, the strain making her head spin - and the incense clouded her mind as it did. Her eyelids fluttered again, and beyond them, the world was blurred.

"Cara sut Lykonos rha. Oracalus deia rha."

Another susurration, suddenly right by her ear. He was there - tasting the air, tasting the incense, tasting... her. Her emotions. Her worthiness, perhaps? She gulped air between chants, forcing herself to kneel up, despite the serpentine body pressing in from all sides, constricting, choking. There was no more whisper of scales on stone - was He revealed in His entirety? Did she... did she hold Him?

"Cara sut Lykonos rha." She spoke so slowly that she almost lost the rhythm. In her mind, the words seared like a brand. I am the voice of Lykonos. "Oracalus deia rha." I am the Oracle of our God.

He was shifting. His coils tightened around her, pressing into her ribs. She would tremble if He wasn't holding her in place. She forced her chest to rise, to take in another breath, and her ribs burned with the effort. Her hips swayed with His weight. The scales pressed into her skin, so tightly that it was like their pattern was imprinting itself onto her bones.

Something wet pressed against the back of her thigh. She gulped, almost stumbling over the chant, but held firm. What was that...?

Her God shifted again, His coils moving around her, almost like He was repositioning. But not for a tighter grip - and not a softer one, either. Just… a different one. One that pressed that wet spot against the inside of her thigh now. He… couldn't be...

"Cara sut Lykonos rha."

Thrum...

"Oracalus deia rha."

Thrum...

Was anyone else seeing this? No, they couldn't. Five times, she'd seen this happen. All those times, the scales had gleamed in the morning light, sliding and shifting this way and that in a hypnotic dance of coils, until there had been little of the Voice to be seen beneath the shifting, dark grey scales. Just flashes of tan skin, and their head, eyes closed, gasping and chanting.

"Cara sut Lykonos rha. Oracalus deia rha."

She was the Voice of Lykonos. Don't think about what was happening, think of that. This was her duty. This was her.

The body shifted again. That wetness - a warmth, now, warmth between the cold scales - pressed firmly against the side of her lower lips. He couldn't be! Her eyelids fluttered again, but she forced them to stay closed. She was the Voice. She was His oracle. She must not stop...!

"The sun is above the highest peak." Priestess Myrtale's voice came, almost from far away, carried over the chanting. A moment later, there was another smell, a tartness to it - the incense from the grapevine, mixed with the rosewood. As it swirled around her, He tightened again, making her wince.

And the wet warmth slid closer to her folds.

His shifting was forcing her legs apart. She gulped. Could they see that? Would they notice? Icy fear cut through her, unlike anything she'd felt before; directionless, a knife of cold stone in her chest. Dimly, she remembered that this second incense from her training - yes, she'd been told long ago by Myrtale, it wasn't just grapevine and rosewood. There was something else in there, something to open her to her God. Make her receptive to His sight.

"Cara sut Lykonos rha. Oracalus deia rha."

"Speak your wish again, King of Macedon," Myrtale commanded. "Let Lykonos-"

"I will build an empire that will cross the land and seas, to the south and to the rising of the sun," he said, stepping forwards, in front of Myrtale. His gaze fixed on Liljana. "What do you see of it?"

Again, her heart tightened. She wrenched her mind from the pressing warmth at her crotch, forcing the words to the front of her mind. What could she see? She wouldn't see anything yet, not yet, it wasn't time, but maybe she could prepare. Maybe it would shift her mind from the wetness, feeling bigger now, jabbing against her, slowly sliding closer, closer...

"Cara sut Lykonos rha. Oracalus deia rha-Ah...!"

The warmth pressed between her lips - oh, who was she fooling? It was His shaft! His cock, slimy and wet, now pressed up against her sensitive insides. What was He doing!? Liljana gritted her teeth, forcing out the rest of the chant before she lost the rhythm. "Oracalus... deia rha." Her hands trembled, still clasped high above her head. He was insistent, unstoppable. As she jerked, His shaft found a receptive hole, malleable, and now He was working His way inside her with insistent, indulgent undulations.

Sweat beaded at her forehead - and a hiss right against her ear made her jolt as a shiver lanced down her spine. As she moved, His wet shaft slid, and she shuddered as odd shapes and protrusions played across her hole as they sank inside. There was more, too - more warmth, more wetness, pressing against the outside of her lips again. Another shaft…? Something dripped down from between her legs, and she silently hoped it would be thought to just be oil.

"Cara... sut... Lykonos rha!" She gasped, desperately clinging to the rhythm. She had to fight for each intake of breath, forcing her lungs to fill with air against the crushing weight of His coils - and each time she breathed out, He slipped tighter, making the next breath that bit harder. "Ora...calus deia rha!"

Was that some movement in the guard? Was the king still staring at her? Oh please, not like this. Not with that shaft sliding deeper into her, swelling as it did, jabbing at her insides with each tightening undulation of the coils. More fluids dripped from between them, spattering on the stone - the sound hidden beneath another slam of the drum. No, no one could see. They just thought she was in His embrace.

Was this what He did...?

Her eyelids fluttered again, but she didn't see the outside world; sparks flew in her vision, like a burning log splitting open. Pillars flashed in her sight before her eyes slipped closed again. She could barely hear the chants, the drumbeat, beneath her laboured breath and gasping words.

The fluids spurted again against her crotch, before dripping down her thighs, warm and clinging to her skin. And... that wasn't all. There was a pressure now, just at the base of her belly. An inner tightness. Another twitch of His coils, a bulge at the invasion inside her, and the tightness intensified. Mouthing the words of the chant now more than saying them, she coughed, her chest tightening-

His coils tightened suddenly around her chest, crushing her ribs, and stayed there.

She could barely breathe. She could pull in only the barest trickles of air past His coils. He had her, completely - she was His.

At last… It was time for the final incense.

Any moment now...

The chanting continued, a low drone beneath the swirling of her head.

She choked on her own words, mere croaks now, and she gasped for air around each one.

Please. Please, any moment now...

The tightness at her belly intensified again. More fluids trickled out, each spurt of them like a jab against her leg, inside her belly. She was writhing - she tried to stop, tried to not move, to hold in place. Come on..!

Yet more chanting. Her eyelids flickered, and her vision spiralled, blurred. She tried to cough, but He constricted her chest, and she merely spasmed in His grasp.

Please...! Before... before He...!

...please...!

THRUM.

The drumbeat ceased with a final, heavy bang. There was a gleam of light from behind her closed eyes, and then a sharp, pungent smell lanced in her nostrils as the final incense was lit.

Her eyelids fluttered open. The outside world was bright, painfully so, little more than blurred and indistinct shapes...

Aside from Him.

He was almost a silhouette, His dark shape patterned by hundreds of tiny, gleaming scales. His head hung before hers, a blunt, slate-coloured spearhead, with striations of black along the smooth ridges around His golden eyes. Her God, Lykonos, stared into her.

He was beautiful. For a moment Liljana took in every ridge, every twitch of a scale, every sheen of oil. His forked tongue, red and shining, lanced at the air - it slicked through a trail of white smoke from the incense, making it dance in the currents of air...

And then He lunged at her neck, and two ice-cold points sank through her skin.

She arched back, eyes wide, fingers grasping at empty air above her. Her mouth hung open, croaking, caught in mid-chant...

And she saw the world below.

Mountains and valleys, rivers and plains. Sprawling fields of cabbage and sheep beneath grapevines and date branches under a burning sun. Between choking trees and hedges, she saw into every hovel, and on rising mounds and mountains she beheld every villa.

From the scrub trees of the mountains rose a shining golden horn, trailing mist as it soared into the sky. The horn was grasped in a giant weathered hand, and lifted to a shadowed face with shining green eyes - and as it was blown, a single, chilling note rumbled across the land.

From each building, villa and hovel alike, came a soldier with a lance of solid brass. As they marched a cloud formed to cast a shadow over each one, and their footsteps were of blood and ash. Their faces were masked - bearded, with wrinkles of age, scarred cheeks, and dark eyes.

And then they were an army, an army of bronze soldiers, massed and marching for war. Black horses galloped down the mountain slopes of scrub brush, and where they rode they left a trail of fire, and people screamed and cried as they were crushed under hooves.

The army was spreading now - out into the sea, darkening the waters, a wedge shape that rode towards distant lands on the horizon.

The pealing horn dripped blood into the waters. Red waves lapped against pale shores littered with bones. Overhead, distantly, petulant storm clouds hung and grumbled.

"What is this!?" she croaked in a broken voice.

"What do you see?"

The words cut through her vision. The clouds darkened. It was the king that spoke. An emerald gaze glowered at the land below, and trees withered beneath it.

"Your empire..."

Of course. That was what she'd seen before, what had clutched at her heart and not let go.

It wasn't an empire - it was his. There were no Gods it was dedicated to, and no people it was to save. This was no conquest of retribution, or glory under the heavens. This was vanity.

She watched helplessly as a calloused hand swept across the landscape, and his face appeared in the land, two temples as eyes and blackened trees for his beard, wrinkled skin the backs of a thousand weeping people. Between the ash of his lips lay the bones of a snake, forming a sneer of clenched teeth.

He didn't care for their priesthood. His guard brought no tribute, he gave no thought to Lykonos. He had not asked if the Gods smiled on him, only if he would succeed. And her blood ran cold as she quailed beneath the truth - he would succeed.

And their priesthood would be caught in the fires he started.

“What of my empire!?" The King demanded. The mouth in her vision moved with the words, broken bones scattering from its lips.

No. No, she couldn't tell him! She looked back at the figure gripping the horn. His brow was furrowed, the emerald gaze almost too intense to meet. In her vision, she found herself trying to grasp at the figure - to pull his hands away. If she told him - if he blew the horn - the empire would rise, and the world would end.

Her fingers tugged at the horn, but it was slick with blood, and the coils of Lykonos were heavy on her arms - already the vision wavered, becoming hazy and blurred. She coughed, and the sound was barely a croak, as some of the last of her precious air trickled away. She tried to grab the horn again, but the pain struck again - crashing over her chest. Her God was twitching, jerking, body undulating around her, inside her. His fangs were still buried in her neck, and the aching waves from them reminded her of cool, fresh spring water under a noon sun.

It didn't matter. She couldn't stop him. Even if she didn't deliver the prophecy, he would still march and conquer and destroy.

In the vision, as outside it, she was on her knees, staring at the burned ground. Even if she didn't tell him…

But…

What if she did tell him? Not that he would succeed, but… something else. Something that would stay in his mind. A prophecy… that might influence him. Something that might change the future….

Her vision blurred suddenly. Winds whipped up, catching her hair. The King's face flickered with scars, the horn trembling in his grasp.

Yes. Yes! But what could she say? She had precious little seconds left. The King was shouting again, demanding, in words which sounded muffled, as if from underwater. She fought for each second of consciousness as she tried to clutch an answer…

Her God twitched, a spasm rolling through His coils. She gasped breathlessly, half-falling to the ground. Oh, how full her belly was now, how it ached, swelling in front of her. In her vision, she pressed against it with her hands, holding the intense weight, fingers sinking into the bulged skin…

And in that moment, her fear slipped away, carried off by the breeze.

That was it.

She knew what to say.

She looked to the heavens. Her God no longer felt like a burden to carry. The tightness of His coils was a comforting embrace. The twitching shaft inside her, warm and fitting, was a connection to Him that formed a perfect circle from His crotch and into her, through the fangs still buried in her neck, and around. He undulated as He breathed, and her shaky breaths were in perfect sync.

Yes. This was Lykonos' power.

“I see your empire."

Her words rang out around the temple.

“There is little that can stop it now."

Her vision parted just enough to see the King before her - the actual King, this future harbinger of death across the lands, standing on the flagstones of the temple. A smile slid across his face. Blood dripped from his hands.

“But you are mortal, as any of us are."

The smile turned to a glower.

Liljana gasped, almost yelled, as Lykonos tightened His coils. His shaft jerked, another spurt suffusing her body with surging warmth. Her eyes tightened shut.

“If you wish your empire to stand…" she gasped, preparing for the words, “...you need… an heir."

“A boy already grows that will one day grasp my lance," the King said.

“No!" Liljana cried. And then her vision rippled, and in it, there was a familiar face. “Lykonos sees… another!"

A peal of thunder rang out, a bolt of lightning striking the ground. Fire sprang up, broke into flames, and then was extinguished - and in its place appeared Head Priestess Myrtale. Black coils wrapped around her arm, trailing to the ground, towards the King…

“He will be born of Myrtale…" Liljana choked, “...who will be… Olympias!"

And then, it was no longer the King who gripped the horn, but a younger man, brown of hair and firm of muscle, with thin stubble on his chin and the skin of a lion around his neck. And when he lifted the horn to his lips and blew, cities rose from the simmering fires at his feet. Pale sandstone and shimmering marble stretched to the heavens. The grumbling clouds parted, and sun beamed on a golden land.

“I see white marble that shines in the sun!" Liljana shouted, her breathless voice breaking. “A city on a green river… a building, overflowing with knowledge… a monument of fire on the sapphire sea!" Liljana fell forwards, and she saw her hands hit stone, but felt nothing beneath her palms. “Your empire will spread!" She continued, forcing out the words, “To the lands of bronze and darkness, and the oceans of sand, and the distant jungles. It will be glorious… you will have a great legacy. But you must only see it… through Myrtale!"

She'd said enough. Her vision was set in stone now, unwavering, the world no longer one of ash and bone. She swayed from side to side.

She did not mention what she saw behind the younger man. She did not speak of the crumpled body on the ground, an older man, his emerald eyes dull and unseeing. A long knife protruded from his back, its handle held in black coils.

She raised her head, as if the weight of the sky was upon her neck. Through the swirling bronze fog, she saw the king once more, his face confident, satisfied.

With just a few words, it was complete.

He would not realise the legacy was not to be his. He would not know of the dagger until it was buried in his heart.

Liljana would have smiled if she had the energy, but her God's warmth had touched even her lips now. Another spurt inside her made her tremble, her legs shaking. She opened her mouth to take in another breath, but did not find the sweetness of air. Her eyelids fluttered.

The air was still, the drums and chants were quiet, and even the creaking of cicadas was distant, muffled almost to silence. The only sound was the quiet breathing of her God, an almost imperceptible hiss lulling her.

She sagged, and rough stone dug into her knees, yet she felt no pain. Just the warm embrace of her God, around her, within her. A final trickle of fluids ran down her legs, and she knew that was the last He had to give her, and now she was a part of Him, and would forever be so.

The world blurred; the guard, the temple, Sara and the priestesses, all fading behind a veil of darkness. Even the king disappeared with them, leaving just Myrtale in the clouds, her expression dour, but with a smile at the corner of her lips.

Then, she too was gone, and one by one the mountains faded into the dawn sky, until only the beckoning peak of Mount Olympus remained.

The End