Ash and Antler
Part Two of the Blooderflies Mythology
"I would kill for you, make love to you in the wreckage, I would crawl through the hells to bring you back" ~ Rowan Thorne
His heartbeat raced as he raised his sword, chest slick with sweat. Around him, the Blooderflies flitted, tiny harbingers of life. One rested on an antler that now curved from his left temple, the white-tipped point a stark reminder of what he had become. Rowan, the hunter, the forest king, was now less man than he once was. In places, his skin had turned to bark, and time had carved its marks through the centuries he had spent hunting the lost pieces of his beloved. The second antler was still growing, his form leaner, his presence both human and not.
His green forest eyes blazed with something that had never been there before, edged with red. He had traveled realms with solemn purpose, tracing every fragment of the life that had been stolen from him. He was no savior of souls—he was only hers. Every realm, every shadow, every danger would burn before he let a single piece of her remain lost. His life was bound to hers, and he would reclaim it, no matter the cost.
Those lovely Blooderflies, the tether between them, both love letter and wound. He was here in the Undersanctuary, the place where souls came to rest and shadows played at the edges of darkness. It was also where the Abyssi Domani of the Dae roamed through lands unknown. Here, Rowan stood face to face with the one who had torn his beloved mostly from him.
He could still hear her scream, her final words as she shoved him away: I love you. Don't forget me. His desperate grasp of magic had only held a fragment of her, carrying it into the Hollow Court. He had poured his own power and the essence of the deep woods into that remnant, shaping it into the Blooderflies. The memory replayed endlessly in his mind, the way her scream was cut short, the hollow weight of her moonlit bones in his hands.
His green forest eyes blazed with something that had never been there before, edged with red. He had traveled realms with solemn purpose, tracing every fragment of the life that had been stolen from him. He was no savior of souls—he was only hers. Every realm, every shadow, every danger would burn before he let a single piece of her remain lost. His life was bound to hers, and he would reclaim it, no matter the cost.
Those lovely Blooderflies, the tether between them, both love letter and wound. He was here in the Undersanctuary, the place where souls came to rest and shadows played at the edges of darkness. It was also where the Abyssi Domani of the Dae roamed through lands unknown. Here, Rowan stood face to face with the one who had torn his beloved mostly from him.
He could still hear her scream, her final words as she shoved him away: I love you. Don't forget me. His desperate grasp of magic had only held a fragment of her, carrying it into the Hollow Court. He had poured his own power and the essence of the deep woods into that remnant, shaping it into the Blooderflies. The memory replayed endlessly in his mind, the way her scream was cut short, the hollow weight of her moonlit bones in his hands.
Each visit, he tried to piece her back together, but she was never whole. Not yet.
Above him loomed the Abyssi Domani—the one he had hunted for centuries, the one who had torn her soul from Iskara. The cruelest part was the face it wore. Her face.
Rowan’s heart ached. She looked so real. Those dark eyes, those ruby-red lips. It had been lifetimes since he had seen her like this. Now the Abyssal Lord of the Dae stood before him, its body a mass of twisted shadow and mangled fragments, gold veins pulsing with stolen life. Broken horns curled toward the sky like reaching roots.
The air shimmered with shadow. From the chasm below came a cacophony of screams—the trapped souls devoured by the Dae. This one was known by many names: the Memory Stealer, the Devourer, Endless Hunger. But Rowan had learned its true name. Memorath.
The stench of sulfur and ash filled his lungs. He had traveled farther than most men could dream—through realms not even on Astrovos—to find the pieces of his beloved. This was the last one: the fragment that held her living essence.
Steel met claw, ringing through the chasm like lightning splitting the sky. Memorath’s talons scraped against his blade as the Blooderflies swirled around them, a storm of color against ruin. Rowan drew a sharp breath between strikes, his chest burning. This thing wore her face, but it was not her.
His chest ached as he crouched low, pivoting to dodge another strike. The ground shuddered beneath him as abyssal claws ripped the earth, the Undersanctuary trembling under the raw magic unleashed in their duel.
Iskara’s face, twisted in horror, appeared across the creature’s mask. Her mouth opened, revealing rows of jagged teeth, and the faint echoes of her screams mingled with the agonized voices trapped inside Memorath.
“Rowan!” Her soft, sweet voice cut through the chaos, a shard of light amid the darkness.
But Memorath paid it no mind. The Dae continued its relentless hunt, stalking him across the cavern as the walls of shadow seemed to pulse and writhe with its hunger.
The Blooderflies swarmed to aid Rowan, each one a memory, a tether to her voice, terrifying in its clarity. He needed to end this, to reclaim her, to bring her back. One rested on the crown of his head for the briefest moment, and through it, he glimpsed her eyes in the Hollow Court. Blood from the Blooderflies dripped down his face, a stark reminder of the deed he had come to do.
Above him loomed the Abyssi Domani—the one he had hunted for centuries, the one who had torn her soul from Iskara. The cruelest part was the face it wore. Her face.
Rowan’s heart ached. She looked so real. Those dark eyes, those ruby-red lips. It had been lifetimes since he had seen her like this. Now the Abyssal Lord of the Dae stood before him, its body a mass of twisted shadow and mangled fragments, gold veins pulsing with stolen life. Broken horns curled toward the sky like reaching roots.
The air shimmered with shadow. From the chasm below came a cacophony of screams—the trapped souls devoured by the Dae. This one was known by many names: the Memory Stealer, the Devourer, Endless Hunger. But Rowan had learned its true name. Memorath.
The stench of sulfur and ash filled his lungs. He had traveled farther than most men could dream—through realms not even on Astrovos—to find the pieces of his beloved. This was the last one: the fragment that held her living essence.
Steel met claw, ringing through the chasm like lightning splitting the sky. Memorath’s talons scraped against his blade as the Blooderflies swirled around them, a storm of color against ruin. Rowan drew a sharp breath between strikes, his chest burning. This thing wore her face, but it was not her.
His chest ached as he crouched low, pivoting to dodge another strike. The ground shuddered beneath him as abyssal claws ripped the earth, the Undersanctuary trembling under the raw magic unleashed in their duel.
Iskara’s face, twisted in horror, appeared across the creature’s mask. Her mouth opened, revealing rows of jagged teeth, and the faint echoes of her screams mingled with the agonized voices trapped inside Memorath.
“Rowan!” Her soft, sweet voice cut through the chaos, a shard of light amid the darkness.
But Memorath paid it no mind. The Dae continued its relentless hunt, stalking him across the cavern as the walls of shadow seemed to pulse and writhe with its hunger.
The Blooderflies swarmed to aid Rowan, each one a memory, a tether to her voice, terrifying in its clarity. He needed to end this, to reclaim her, to bring her back. One rested on the crown of his head for the briefest moment, and through it, he glimpsed her eyes in the Hollow Court. Blood from the Blooderflies dripped down his face, a stark reminder of the deed he had come to do.
“Forest King... you cannot escape me,” Memorath crooned, speaking in the soft, beloved voice that once belonged to Iskara.
Rowan froze where he stood, chest heaving, horror twisting through him as he searched for a plan. The sight before him was an abomination. She had saved him once, and now she was bound to the monster that wore her face. His fingers brushed the hollow of his throat, where her mark still burned against his skin, the hollow-bone signet of their bond, her promise etched into him forever.
Memorath’s voice slithered through the air. “You think you can take what’s mine?”
The words rolled through the chasm like thunder. “I took her and split her across realms. She is mine, little king of the deep woods.”
He slammed his fist into the ground, and the Undersanctuary shuddered. Shadows bled from the cracks in the stone, and the air filled with the scent of sulfur and the metallic tang of sorrow.
The horror before him was unimaginable. A visceral vision of Iskara hung from the monster’s grotesque mouth, her soul twisted like a puppet in Memorath’s grip. The sight only fueled his fury. This torment was not real. He was the Forest King of the Ancient Deep Wood, Rowan Thorne, the Hunter, the one spoken of in hushed tones. He would drive his sword through that monstrous vision of Iskara to tear her from Memorath’s hold and bring her home.
"You cannot claim what was never yours," Rowan said, his voice low and fierce. The Blooderflies brushed against his skin, drinking his blood as more of them emerged, feeding on fragments of her essence. Memories of her pieces raced through his mind. He needed them all.
He began to climb the jagged peak, each movement deliberate, every heartbeat a drum of determination. The Blooderflies swirled around him, a storm of red wings marking the path of his vengeance.
He angled his sword. Gods, her eyes were staring at him. He had one, maybe two chances at this. He had hunted every Dae who would speak, searched every dark corner, followed every whisper of where the pieces of people went after the veil was torn. Those eyes—her eyes—glowed dark and luminous. This twisted beast was using her like a puppet.
Memorath stalked closer to Rowan and his swarm of Blooderflies. Fear, love, and devotion coursed through his veins. The Blooderflies pulsed with his heartbeat. Rowan watched as Memorath raised his claw and slammed it down where he had been standing. He jumped and began running down the giant Dae’s twisted arm, his boots trampling writhing faces of captured souls. The gleam of his sword was a beacon in the darkness. As he ran, he leapt, landing on Memorath’s shoulder.
The Dae floundered. Rowan moved quickly, eyes fixed on the twisted visage of Iskara as Memorath yelled through her mouth.
"Nothing more than another pathetic soul coming to steal from me," Memorath growled. "An insect, these are abominations."
"You cannot claim what was never yours," Rowan said, his voice low and fierce. The Blooderflies brushed against his skin, drinking his blood as more of them emerged, feeding on fragments of her essence. Memories of her pieces raced through his mind. He needed them all.
He began to climb the jagged peak, each movement deliberate, every heartbeat a drum of determination. The Blooderflies swirled around him, a storm of red wings marking the path of his vengeance.
He angled his sword. Gods, her eyes were staring at him. He had one, maybe two chances at this. He had hunted every Dae who would speak, searched every dark corner, followed every whisper of where the pieces of people went after the veil was torn. Those eyes—her eyes—glowed dark and luminous. This twisted beast was using her like a puppet.
Memorath stalked closer to Rowan and his swarm of Blooderflies. Fear, love, and devotion coursed through his veins. The Blooderflies pulsed with his heartbeat. Rowan watched as Memorath raised his claw and slammed it down where he had been standing. He jumped and began running down the giant Dae’s twisted arm, his boots trampling writhing faces of captured souls. The gleam of his sword was a beacon in the darkness. As he ran, he leapt, landing on Memorath’s shoulder.
The Dae floundered. Rowan moved quickly, eyes fixed on the twisted visage of Iskara as Memorath yelled through her mouth.
"Nothing more than another pathetic soul coming to steal from me," Memorath growled. "An insect, these are abominations."
"Forgive me, beloved," Rowan whispered like a prayer.
He thrust himself forward, sword piercing the visage of Iskara. She screamed, and his blade found its mark. He caught her twisted arm, forcing the sword deeper until the bone split. Iskara’s image began to dissipate as Memorath’s scream echoed, hollow and pained. Rowan roared with anger.
Memorath hit the ground with an echoing crash, hollow and empty, as the souls it had claimed over the years began to pour free. Dust and viscera clung to Rowan.
"Iskara!" he called, his tone desperate as souls sprang free around him. His eyes searched for the piece he needed, the part of her that made her whole.
The Hollow Monarch was there when the dust settled, her soul restored. She looked at him as she fell to her knees, already feeling the pull between realms. He knelt and gathered her, cradling her essence against his warmth. Souls around him offered silent prayers, making their way to the Black Reliquary where Nelous, god of death, passed judgment.
Slowly, on tired legs, he carried her. She could not speak, but her arms were around his neck, her breath brushing his collarbone. His heart pounded as the cloud of Blooderflies followed him through the sea of darkness.
He stopped abruptly as the air turned icy around him. A presence filled the space. The Blooderflies paused, resting on him and around him, as if time itself had stopped. His eyes scanned the darkness, searching for the source. The form materialized before him. Nelous, the god of death, stood there, silent and imposing.
Rowan’s heart pulsed in his chest as he clung to Iskara, terrified that the god of death might take her from him again.
A warm breeze brushed his cheek, carrying the presence of Nelous’ wife, Ygharis, the goddess of life. She stood beside him, her eyes dark and nebulous, and they both bowed to him.
“Forest King,” Nelous’ otherworldly voice echoed through the space, infinite and weighty.
“My lord,” Rowan whispered, kneeling and holding Iskara’s essence. She trembled against him, pressing closer as if sensing the power around them.
“Rise,” Nelous commanded. Both he and Ygharis bowed once more before Rowan.
“You have come and claimed what is yours. We bow to you, Forest King,” Nelous said, rising moments later.
“Take this seed of life and place it where her heart lies within her bones, so that life may be bound and whole,” Ygharis spoke, her voice soft and full of the promise of spring.
“Follow your Blooderflies to the Hollow Court. Care for our daughter as you always have,” Nelous added.
Daughter… Rowan thought, the word settling in his chest like sunlight breaking through shadow. Her parents were gods of life and death. He had loved a being born between endings and beginnings.
The Hollow Monarch was there when the dust settled, her soul restored. She looked at him as she fell to her knees, already feeling the pull between realms. He knelt and gathered her, cradling her essence against his warmth. Souls around him offered silent prayers, making their way to the Black Reliquary where Nelous, god of death, passed judgment.
Slowly, on tired legs, he carried her. She could not speak, but her arms were around his neck, her breath brushing his collarbone. His heart pounded as the cloud of Blooderflies followed him through the sea of darkness.
He stopped abruptly as the air turned icy around him. A presence filled the space. The Blooderflies paused, resting on him and around him, as if time itself had stopped. His eyes scanned the darkness, searching for the source. The form materialized before him. Nelous, the god of death, stood there, silent and imposing.
Rowan’s heart pulsed in his chest as he clung to Iskara, terrified that the god of death might take her from him again.
A warm breeze brushed his cheek, carrying the presence of Nelous’ wife, Ygharis, the goddess of life. She stood beside him, her eyes dark and nebulous, and they both bowed to him.
“Forest King,” Nelous’ otherworldly voice echoed through the space, infinite and weighty.
“My lord,” Rowan whispered, kneeling and holding Iskara’s essence. She trembled against him, pressing closer as if sensing the power around them.
“Rise,” Nelous commanded. Both he and Ygharis bowed once more before Rowan.
“You have come and claimed what is yours. We bow to you, Forest King,” Nelous said, rising moments later.
“Take this seed of life and place it where her heart lies within her bones, so that life may be bound and whole,” Ygharis spoke, her voice soft and full of the promise of spring.
“Follow your Blooderflies to the Hollow Court. Care for our daughter as you always have,” Nelous added.
Daughter… Rowan thought, the word settling in his chest like sunlight breaking through shadow. Her parents were gods of life and death. He had loved a being born between endings and beginnings.
His stride grew heavier, exhaustion pulling at him, but he did not stop. The silver trees of the middle sanctuary swayed as he passed, their leaves whispering in soft greeting. The castle loomed ahead, vast and gleaming beneath the ghostlight of the moon. He held her with such reverence it hurt to breathe.
“Not much longer, beloved,” he murmured, bending to kiss the crown of her essence. Her faint light flickered in response.
He entered the hall quietly, her body cradled in his arms. The marble floor shimmered beneath the pale spill of moonlight, cold and eternal.
At the throne sat her lovely bones—every piece he had gathered, every fragment he had hunted through shadow and time. Around her, the Blooderflies swarmed, their crimson wings whispering life into stillness.
Lovely is the queen on her throne of hollow bones.
Rowan had stood here countless times, yet this moment felt sacred, as though carved into the marrow of the world. He knelt before her remains. The hollow tilt of her skull seemed to turn toward him, as if she still remembered the sound of his voice.
He set her gently down, reverent, and opened his hand. In his palm pulsed the Seed of Life, small and luminous, a heart of living gold. His gaze fell to her ribs—her poor heart, where once it had beat faintly against his chest.
“Forgive me, my love,” he whispered.
He placed the seed within her ribs. It pulsed once, twice, then unfurled, its roots curling through bone. Vines of light wound themselves through her chest, blooming in a soft, golden radiance as her form began to glow.
Rowan lifted the final fragment of her soul, the piece he had carried across realms, and pressed it to her breast. The instant it joined her, the air trembled. A deep, resonant hum filled the hall as her pieces began to knit together.
The sound of it—flesh and magic weaving life anew—was beyond belief.
Iskara Eira, daughter of Ygharis and Nelous, was being reborn. Slowly, her skin formed over her bones, her heart began to beat, and the silence of death gave way to breath.
Life—the life he had lost, the love he refused to surrender—was returning to him.
The sound of her first breath was music to his heart.
She stood before him draped in black silk and crimson, dark hair spilling over her shoulders, her ruby lips exactly as he remembered them. At the hollow of her throat lay his mark, faintly glowing. She was alive—flesh and shadow made whole again, pulsing with life.
He almost wept.
He took a step toward her, but she moved faster, slamming into him with a force born of lifetimes. Her arms wrapped around him as tears streamed down her face.
“Rowan,” she whispered, her voice breaking. The sound carried everything—grief, love, centuries of longing—all crashing together like waves against stone.
He held her close, his arms trembling as he buried his face in her hair. Their lips found each other in a fierce, desperate kiss, one that spoke every word they had never been able to say. Her voice trembled against his mouth, his name a prayer he had waited an eternity to hear answered.
The Blooderflies swirled around them, his creation, his love letter made flesh. They were his tether to her, the proof of his devotion. Now they dispersed throughout the castle, their crimson wings scattering like blessings as the two of them stood together once more.
He breathed her in, holding her close. She reached up to touch one of his antlers, her fingers tracing its curve as a soft giggle slipped from her lips.
“I could hear you,” she confessed, her gaze locking with his. “Every prayer, every confession. Sometimes I could even see where you were.”
Rowan drew in a slow, unsteady breath. He had spoken a thousand words to her across the centuries, but in this moment, he was speechless.
“More beast than man now?” she teased gently, brushing her hand over his antler again.
“Yours,” Rowan said.
“Yours,” Iskara whispered in return.
He kissed her then, deeply, like a man drinking water for the first time after a long and burning thirst. She met him with the same fervor, the years of longing dissolving into warmth and breath. Around them, the Blooderflies gathered once more, forming a veil of red light that cloaked the Hollow Court as the lovers finally found one another again.
They say now that if you see a Blooderfly, it is a sign of a bonded pair, a symbol of an unbroken and fated love.
Gods it feels like there is a world sitting there, in the gap between them and it is beautiful.
thank you, i hope to add more to their story.
I hope to read it.