The blade pressed cold and sharp against her throat, its reflection caught in the shimmer of golden candlelight flickering against marble walls. The chamber smelled of old stone, incense, and betrayal. Makima—or the woman who had lived a thousand lifetimes under countless names—did not flinch. Instead, her amber-colored eyes locked onto his, serene yet piercing, like a predator sizing up the courage of its prey.
“Do it,” she whispered, her voice silk over steel. “How long will you hesitate? Your ancestors would be ashamed.”
The man gripping the ornate dagger trembled, his knuckles blanching. He wore the tattered tunic of a rebel soldier, his hair unkempt, a dark beard framing his sunburnt face. Beside him, the crumbling throne was draped in blood-red banners embroidered with the crest of a three-headed serpent, its heads devouring one another in an eternal cycle. The ancient symbol of the Atlantean Dominion of Aegiris.
Outside the citadel, the storm raged. Thunder cracked like cannon fire, illuminating glimpses of the dying cityscape—spiraling towers submerged in the rising tides. Aegiris was drowning, its marble streets transformed into rivers, the gods’ punishment for centuries of greed. But Makima only saw opportunity in the chaos.
The Gambler’s Face
She shifted slightly in her seat, adjusting the crisp folds of her white silk chiton, which mirrored the simplicity yet precision of her modern-day suit. A striking black sash tied around her waist clung tightly, not unlike a noose ready to cinch. Her red hair shimmered unnaturally even in the dim light, cascading like molten copper over her shoulders. The outfit stood out amongst the embroidered tunics and flowing robes of the palace, alien yet commanding.
The blink of lightning illuminated the intricate carvings on the stone walls—hieroglyphs that cataloged the rise of the Atlanteans’ empire through mastery over water and fire. Those same carvings foretold their eventual decline. Makima, ever the careful meddler, understood the futility of such warnings.
“You are hesitating,” she said again, her tone laced with mock disappointment. “You have fought a war for twenty years to stand before me. And now that you have your chance, your hand trembles? Or perhaps you comprehend, deep in that simpering heart of yours, that removing me will achieve nothing.”
The rebel glared at her, fury burning behind his eyes. “You bound our ancestors,” he spat. “You deceived our kings, enslaved our gods! They whisper of you in the deep oceans, you—”
She interrupted with a chuckle. “Ah, the whispers again. You mortals are fond of blaming those who manage the chaos you create. Tell me, soldier, how fares your city? The floods, the broken levees? Aegiris drowns because men insisted on leashing the tides and choking the rivers. Not because of me.”
Moments in the Tide
He hesitated—long enough for her long, pale fingers to slide over the armrest of the throne, unhurried. He noticed them too late, her nails painted the same glossy black as her tie had once been. An odd anachronism, yet symbolic, as though she bridged the past, present, and the world yet to come.
“I have drowned empires greater than this,” she said, her voice low, measured. “Egypt. Babylon. Even your fabled Atlantis fell long before your ancestors borrowed their knowledge. And while humanity breaks upon the wheel of its own arrogance, I remain.” She now leaned forward, her face uncomfortably close to his. “I do not need to lift a finger to ensure your ruin. But I do so love watching, don’t you see?”
Her captor finally snapped, plunging the blade downward. Yet it struck nothing but air. Makima dissolved before him like smoke, her voice reverberating throughout the chamber.
“Kill me? Foolish. I am tethered to your survival.”
Outside the Abyss
The scene shifted to chaos outside as the tide-devoured city blurred like smeared watercolors. The rebel leader crashed through the grand hall doors, breathing heavily, expecting soldiers. Instead, the palace sat bathed in an eerie glow from phosphorescent algae coating the marble. Somewhere, haunting choral chants echoed, low and vibrating.
He looked to the parapets, his heart hammering. The storm had transformed into something unnatural—pillars of water spiraling into the sky, reaching past the heavens, as though the oceans themselves clawed for revenge.
Makima emerged from the shadows, her red hair billowing unnaturally. “Goodbye, Aegiris. There will be no surviving tales of this age, only ripples in the waters of what was.”
As she walked away, her silhouette became a distant mark swallowed by the floodwaters that crashed upon the palace, relentless and unending.
The Source…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: Elegant Makima Cosplay – Red-Haired Power in White Shirt & Black Skirt
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