Chapter Four
And when the appointed moment revealed itself—when fate, long watched and waited upon, at last unveiled its hand—Th’ Eamon gathered his host and marched upon the Palace of Terfelial.
The heavens themselves seemed to still as his army advanced.
And standing before the gates of the Queen, Th’ Eamon lifted his voice and called out across the sacred expanse, summoning his sister to meet him upon the field.
And she came.
Terfelial, Great Mother Hen, Sovereign of Araboth, stepped forth from her palace of light and stood before her brother as he had demanded. Yet as her gaze fell upon what had gathered before her, confusion gave way to sorrow.
For she beheld her Hyrelim—her first creations, her cherished children—and in their eyes burned a fire she had never known: anger… and something far worse.
Doubt.
And beyond them, she saw the abominations.
Twisted forms wrought in defiance of her sacred design, creatures of jagged corruption and darkened essence, coiled and trembling with the hunger for violence. They stood as a mockery of creation itself.
And her heart was grieved.
“Th’ Eamon…” she called, her voice heavy with both power and pain. “What have you done? What meaning lies behind this display of force?”
Her brother stepped forward, and the shadow within him was no longer hidden.
“I will no longer stand beneath your rule,” he declared, his voice sharp with long-buried resentment. “Your throne was not destiny—it was chance. Power that could have been mine as easily as yours.”
His eyes burned as he spoke.
“Relinquish the throne of Araboth… or watch it be taken from you.”
A silence fell between them, vast as the void itself.
And Terfelial, though wounded by his words, did not answer in wrath. She spoke instead with the calm of one who had shaped worlds.
“Brother… this path you walk leads only to ruin. Stand down, and this may yet be undone.”
But reason found no place within him.
Her mercy only stoked the fire.
“Enough,” Th’ Eamon roared, his patience shattered. “You will yield!”
Once more, he demanded her surrender.
And once more, she refused.
For the Queen of Araboth stood unbroken.
“You have revealed your heart this day,” she said, her voice now firm with judgment. “And by your own hand, you have proven that you are unworthy to rule.”
Her words struck him like a blade.
And in that moment, whatever remained of brotherhood was consumed by fury.
With a cry that echoed through the heavens, Th’ Eamon cast aside all restraint and gave the command:
“Attack.”
And thus, the first war of Araboth began.
Yet the designs of Th’ Eamon were not as unseen as he had believed.
For in the hour before his dark host reached the gates of the Queen, Eilo, Goddess of Tranquility, had stood within the halls of Terfelial. And as she departed, her gaze fell upon the distant horizon… where she beheld the gathering storm.
She saw the march of the Hyrelim, their spirits turned. She saw the twisted host of abominations that followed in their wake. And in that moment, peace gave way to urgency.
Swift as thought, Eilo departed and went forth to the scattered realms of her kin, seeking each of the Gods in turn. To them she spoke of what she had witnessed—the rising betrayal, the march upon the Queen—and her words stirred the heavens themselves.
And they came.
Foremost among them was Valron, God of Honor and Might, second only to Terfelial in strength and unwavering in loyalty. Like a thunderbolt cast from the firmament, he arrived upon the field, placing himself between the Queen and the coming tide.
And not long after, the others followed.
One by one, the Gods descended upon the battlefield, their presence shaking the very foundations of Araboth. What had been a coup born in shadow was met instead by the full wrath of the divine.
And the rebellion broke.
The forces of Th’ Eamon faltered beneath the united might of the Gods. His abominations were cast down, his armies scattered, and the Hyrelim—once radiant—were driven back in shame and ruin.
Thus was the uprising undone.
And when the clash had ended, and the echoes of battle faded into silence, Terfelial turned her gaze to Lahmzu.
At the edge of the forest, where the army had first emerged, there stood a great and dreadful carriage—vast and ironbound—drawn for a purpose now laid bare. Within it rested chains of immense weight, forged not for mortals, but for a god.
Chains meant to bind the Queen herself.
And Terfelial, beholding them, spoke with quiet gravity:
“For whom were these prepared?”
And Lahmzu, the First-Born, could no longer conceal the truth.
“They were meant for you,” he confessed. “You were to be cast beneath the palace of Th’ Eamon… bound in those chains… forever.”
And in that moment, the depth of the betrayal was fully revealed.
And when the truth was laid bare, the Gods stood in stunned silence, for the depth of the treachery revealed was beyond even their imagining. The design was not merely rebellion—it was desecration. An infernal prison, wrought to bind the Queen of All, hidden beneath the very seat of Th’ Eamon’s power.