The Epic of Melianos

There once was a town dedicated to Light, trapped in an endless battle between Life and Death. Death desired to put things to rest; to let the dead drift off into eternal, uninterrupted peace. Life, on the other hand, craved perpetual motion; an eternity of living, passing, and beginning anew. Thus, the two forces were inexorably locked together, like summer and winter, courage and fear, past and future. Outside this quiet town, in a tiny village where men’s feet did not stray from the path save to collect some fallen fruit to fuel their journey, lived a warrior. She was a simple woman who lived alone, her sword and shield always ready and willing to protect her people.

The town she called home was nestled in the great shadow of the Mount of Markos, the glorious alter of Lady Light herself: the Goddess Apphias. In the town, the people worshiped the Lady of Light day and night as directed by the High Priest of her favored temple. However, she was not the only goddess whose followers chased after her like sparrows after a spring wind. On the outskirts of town, closer to where our great warrior lived, the followers of the Night-Stalker, Lady of Blood and Death, the Goddess Lykoska roamed freely, banished from the town, but not relevance. One spring day, a servant of Lykoska approached Melianos, our warrior, as she harvested her fruits under the gentle sun.

“Surely,” they said. “Surely you - you who have had your family, your brothers and sisters in arms, ripped away by Life and her destruction, only to have their souls stolen; returned to this incurable world - would see her evils and pledge yourself to Death; to their eternal peace. It is, after all, her blood who runs through your veins. It is she who strives to gift you the upmost honor of unending rest. The Stealer of Souls want only for life to toil on and on in one endless cycle. The Night-Stalker promises one true end.”

Melianos, sun shining off her hair as if it were spun of pure gold, eyes shining like precious stones at the bottom of a clear riverbed, met their eyes with ease, unbothered by their prodding. “This life is as precious to me as my last, as will be my following. Lady Light may have taken the souls of my brothers and sisters from their rest, but if it weren’t for my soul being placed here and now, I would have never had them. Is an eternity of peace worth the loss of what could have been?”

The followers of Lykoska left her house confounded, some furious with her disrespect, others examining the worth of her words. Such was their angst that the Night-Stalker themself caught notice of their desperate confusion and said, “Who is this loyal and devoted servant of the Stealer of Souls to question my work? Endlessly, I fight to give the dead their rest, only to have their souls snatched from me and thrust back into the endless cycle of Life. Who is she to be so devoted to one who only gives endless work, toil, and slavery when I – who's very blood runs through her veins – fight to grant her eternal rest? I will test this loyal servant of Apphias and see exactly how deep her devotion runs. When a dying stranger lies outside her door, lifeblood staining the dirt of her home, will she wet her hands with desecrated blood in direct defiance to Lady Light? Or will she allow the stranger to pass into my realm, their soul cleansed of my blood and recycled by her goddess? Extend a life, lose the light. Let them die, and bring my wrath. Such will be the Test of Melianos.”

And, thus, it began, Melianos had drawn divine interest to her modest life, but little did the Night-Stalker know that Lady Light did not even yet know our great warrior’s name. Her thoughts were preoccupied with her latest schemes for Life. Her long, clawed fingers traced the edges of the Earth, making treetops tremble and mountains quake. Birds and bees carried her wishes throughout the world, whispering into the ears of mortals plans of greed and greatness; guiding her high priest's hand to the sacrificial blade again and again, cleansing her souls of Lykoska’s filthy blood.

It was a cold morning, when Melianos found the stranger. The arms of the trees were bare, their leaves scattered across the ground in a grand carpet fit for the entrance of the Goddess of Death. Lykoska lay on the path in front of Melianos’s house with the straw roof, the blood of thousands pouring forth, sinking into the dust. Would Melianos do Lady Light’s bidding and send the soul on its way to Life once more? Or would she dirty her hands with the Blood of Death? The robins singing their tune in the sky above did not seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. The world should have stopped spinning, everyone should have held their breath as Melianos approached the stranger, but Life went on, unaware.

It took but a moment for her to decide, her tools discarded amongst the leaves. Lykoska’s body rested in her strong arms as they entered the tiny house, her blood staining the great warrior’s forearms and hands. Never once did she hesitate as she nursed the Night-Stalker back to health with the skill of Silvius, the God of Medicine, themself, in her fingers. Blood and Soul be damned as Melianos the Warrior flouted both Life and Death in an effort to save the stranger on her doorstep.

In that moment, something changed deep inside Lykoska. The Night-Stalker, the Owner of Blood, Ruler of Death fell in love with a mortal. They fell in love with a mortal whose soul, as all souls, belonged to Lady Light. Suddenly, the value of living was all the more clear in the eyes of the Goddess of Death. Before departing Melianos’s warm and inviting home, Lykoska sprinkled the Dust of the Dead across her doorstep. A blessing, she told Melianos, but it was so much more. The blessing of a goddess carries the protection of a thousand shields and this one was no different. Melianos’s blood was strengthened beyond that of any mortal. Her cuts and bruises healed in minutes, she rarely grew tired or weary, and her sword blows became like those of a giant; all just in time for Life’s newest game.

War broke out between the mortal factions. Melianos, as always, answered the call of her people, strapping on her armor, lifting her shield, and drawing her sword to protect the innocent. Soon, Lykoska was drowning in a sea of dead seeking their rest. Every spare moment was spend clasping the hands of the deceased as they turned to dust and Lady Light reaped their souls to feed right back into her little game. Lykoska’s every breath was filled with the remnants of the dead, every step in an ever-growing lake of her blood as it ran and ran. Each time a warrior with a crested helmet stepped forward to take her hand, her heart both leapt and fell in her chest as she longed and dreaded for one of the brave warriors to have the face and body of Melianos. Every time, the face was unknown and they passed into nothingness as but another soul for the Goddess of Death to lose.

After a while, Lykoska grew weary. Weary of worrying for her warrior, weary of laying people to rest only to have their souls snatched away again. She left her lake of blood and went to find her love. To her shock, Melianos greeted her by name – not her true name – but the name she had given her: Lykos. Not only did Melianos welcome her with open arms, she offered her a smile more dazzling than the full moon itself. Lykos accepted and soon that smile was not an uncommon sight. Some days, Lykos came to Melianos furious with Life and her wars, exhausted from welcoming legions of the dead, and Melianos comforted her, running a tender hand through their dusty, raven-black hair. On those days she told tales of her victories in battle, her heroic deeds outlined in a few humble words spoken by the light of a campfire. Though they should have been trivial to a god, Lykos treasured them. Other days, Melianos would put her head on Lykos’s shoulder, letting the tears fall from her eyes onto the dark cloth wrapped around their shoulders. She would cry for those Lykos had just put to rest, whose blood had just returned to her and whose dust still rested on her clothes. Lykos would sit with her in silence, mourning the loss of these great people to the Stealer of Souls.

It was like this that Lady Light first noticed them. They sat shoulder to shoulder on the battlefield, blood-spattered and surrounded by discarded weapons, but at peace and Lady Light’s wrath was stoked. She’d noticed the absence of her rival only recently. Her taunts, her magnificent thefts, they went unnoticed, unanswered. The game was no longer as fun as it had once been, so she set out to find the Night-Stalker. She had not expected to find a mortal as well. Certainly not a mortal wearing the armor of her people, carrying a shield with her symbol painted across it. Her smoldering anger grew into an unstoppable fire. She cupped one, clawed hand to her lips, gathering all the souls she had just collected, and blew. Birds, bees, wasps, flies, and all manner of winged messengers flew from her hand, carrying her will to the ears of her loyal followers with voices as soft as a summer breeze, but it wasn’t only her followers who heard the whispers. Lykoska heard them. Before they even reached the ears of High Priest Tyfon, the Night-Stalker had heard them. She heard them, and wept.

It took her but a moment to rush to her love’s side. Falling to her knees – a goddess bowing before a mortal woman – she confessed all. Quickly, urgently, their words pouring forth like blood from an open wound, Lykos revealed her identity. She revealed her original scheme, the depth of her feeling, and the deadliness of Lady Light’s whispered words.

“Melianos, they’ll kill you. Run, flee from here. Throw down your sword and save yourself,” she begged. “Even if you wish to never see me again, do this one thing.”

With a smile as tender as a fresh cherry blossom, Melianos cupped her hand around Lykos’s cheek. “My love, I will not throw down my sword. I will not abandon the people I swore to protect. If they cannot see now that I would gladly die for them, they will see once I have given my life.”

“Mel, please. I have heard the words of the goddess herself -”

“Besides,” her smile turned into a reckless grin. “How can I fear Death when I know you are there waiting for me?”

Lykoska the Night-Stalker watched helplessly as Melianos walked into the sunset, the light shining off her armor like she’d been blessed with the fire of the gods, but even that would not save her from the Stealer of Souls.

High Priest Tyfon’s ear was so specially tuned to the will of his Lady Light that the merest whisper was enough to captivate his attention. When the little birdie told him there was a traitor in his ranks, he did not hesitate to seek them out. It did not take long for his gaze to fall upon Melianos; it took barely a nudge from Lady Light to order her arrest. Her trial was short; her charges unread. Lykoska watched from afar - unable to enter the town dedicated to the Stealer of Souls – heart turning to dust like the dead around her as the sentence was given. The Lady of Light demanded the highest cleansing for the traitor. The draining of tainted blood from the soul so it may begin Life anew; so it may begin the struggle against the Darkness once again.

Melianos, the greatest warrior, walked with her head held high, despite the jeering of the townspeople she had once so fiercely defended. She was led up Mount Markos, High Priest Tyfon by her side and the alter of Apphias the Goddess of Light and Life ahead of her. Tyfon’s blood-hungry knife leapt from its sheath, practically salivating at the thought of slicing through fresh prey.

“You should be thanking the goddess,” Tyfon said, as Melianos the Warrior lay down on the alter. “For she has granted you the highest honor,” the High Priest raised his knife. “to be purged and purified of the blood of the enemy, you will pass into your next life free of the Blood Owner’s mark.”

“My blood will return to its lender and the last face I will see in this life is that of my love. I could ask for nothing more.”

“She dares speak sacrilege on Lady Light’s own alter!” Tyfon declared, unleashing his righteous fury and his hungry knife.

For the first time, the Goddess of Blood shut her eyes to her own domain. She felt a weight settle on her shoulders as Melianos descended into eternal rest. The Night-Stalker dreaded the coming night, for she knew what it brought. The final handshake. The dust of her lover spreading across the lake of blood and her soul taken by the Lady of Light to be returned to Life once again. Darkness came all too soon and Lykoska returned to her home. She faced the legions of dead, as she did every day, sending soul after soul to a rest that would be snatched from them by the Stealer of Souls before morning. Her boots became weighed down with the blood of many. As she worked her way through the masses, she braced for each face to be the familiar one of her love. Finally, once every soul had been sorted, Lykoska saw one soldier still standing, her crested helmet shining even in the darkness.

“My love,” she said softly.

“Mel,” the Goddess of Death ran to her side. “I warned you -”

She placed a single finger on Lykos’s lips, taking their limp hand in her other. “My blood, my heart, my life. It is yours,” her grip tightened as she began to crumble, despite Lykos willing her to stay. Melianos pressed her lips against theirs, “Until next life.”

Then Lykoska was alone, dust sticking to her lips and hands, stranded in a lake of her own blood. In her ears rang the mocking laughter of Lady Light as she reaped the souls of the dead, but, even louder than the taunts, was Melianos’s final promise.

“Until the next life, my blood, my heart, is yours,” she whispered to herself. “May this life be as precious as your last.”

THE END