Cheryn’s palace was…eccentrically built, to say the least. It had stone fencing placed around it, about as tall as two men, as a means of protection—the gate, however, was almost always kept open. When one entered the palace they were greeted with a stone courtyard, a small decorative garden on the left and the kitchen on the right; a majority of the courtyard was undecorated unless there were special events. As soon as one entered they were in the throne room, and there were two small rooms on either side—one of which was storage, the other of which led down to the cellar. There was a small library on the left side, and the grand hall and the dining area on the right; the second floor held the monarch’s ‘office’ and two bedrooms, while the third floor held two more bedrooms and another storage room.

It wouldn’t have been a hard place to navigate if there weren’t dozens of people there. Iztris tried to ignore their own feelings of displacement; in contrast to the appearance of Cheryn’s people, Iztris preferred to go into the mortal realm with the brown skin they had been born with. Aside from that, Iztris wasn’t fond of formal clothing—which the gods, when sending them down, insisted on.

They were allowed inside the palace without actually being invited, the two guards glancing at them oddly and standing aside so Iztris could enter. Perhaps they showed their discomfort too much—they weren’t used to having expressions to hide, after all—because a boy with dark blond hair came up to them and addressed it fairly simply.

“You look lost,” the boy noted. “I don’t know you, but I can show you around.”

Ignoring the fact that the boy should be suspicious of someone he didn’t know instead of offering help, Iztris did respond. “I heard the king and queen were available for conversation?”

The boy looked at him, seeming confused for a few moments before gesturing. “Follow me,” he said. “Just don’t do anything weird!”

Iztris replied with a small nod, noticing that the boy navigated fairly easily among the crowds. The boy stopped near the throne in the center of the first room, greeting a man and a woman with a sound instead of words. Both of them recognized him and each gave their own smiles.

“This person needs to talk to you!” The boy declared.

There were other men around them—just as casual as the rest, but wearing guard’s armor—that looked as well. Iztris bowed. “I am the servant Iztris, from the gods’ realm. I have need for the king and queen of Cheryn.”

“You’re speaking with them now,” the man said. “What do you need?”

“Preferably a less busy place, if it wouldn’t trouble you,” Iztris replied with as much emotion as they dared. Fortunately the man nodded, either completely trusting that Iztris was being honest or having some prior knowledge. Him, the queen, and Iztris went to the corner of the room instead.

“Do the gods have use for Cheryn?” The queen asked. “Stories say that their servants only come to fulfill their wishes.”

“In this particular case, yes,” Iztris replied. They dutifully began to relay the message they had been sent to deliver, speaking clearly and simply. “Another servant had made a certain declaration in the past, and the results of that declaration are now beginning to have negative side effects. The gods deem it necessary to have children of Cheryn combat it.”

The queen frowned. “You’re referring to the princess and princes,” she noted.

“I am,” Iztris confirmed. “Only the eldest two have been requested; the youngest may remain here. I was told that Cheryn’s heirs were more likely to achieve victory than anyone else.”

“Why them in particular?” The king asked curiously.

“Bias, I’d assume,” Iztris replied, completely blunt and honest. “The gods have offered their protection through me, which is rare for a mortal. The servant’s declaration is an act against all tainted beings—mortality itself, if you will. The princess and eldest prince of Cheryn have shown themselves to be upright, yet have also seen negative side effects of a fallen world; the gods like those who are good but injured, for stories surround them.”

Both of them paused for a moment before the king spoke up. “Would we be allowed to refuse?”

“You are, technically, allowed to decline the request,” Iztris said. “The difference would come in which lives are lost, but the numbers will not drastically change—although those children are the only ones who have been offered protection.” They bowed again, adding, “You have been given nearly a whole month to make a final decision.”

“I won’t complain,” the queen began, “But why so long? This seems to be an issue that should be resolved quickly.”

Iztris was almost getting impatient of all the questions. “The gods are procrastinators—they’ve waited this long to get someone to go against the servant. What’s another month?” They sighed, then said, “Nonetheless, tentative answers will be accepted until then. By the gods’ request, I shall remain within the capital to hear your decision.”

The king and queen both nodded and after a moment left to rejoin the people they had been speaking with earlier. Iztris left the palace, finding a spot with only a few people and sitting down. When they knew no one was looking, they allowed their form to shift into something more reminiscent of what they had grown up in—even in the mortal realm, the bodies of beings like themselves were able to be changed at will since they no longer lived alongside constant, physical beings.

Very few people questioned them—one or two actually greeted them. They weren’t used to the kind expressions, which was rare even in Iztris’s mortal life. They had a hard time believing that the people were so untroubled that they weren’t wary of strangers, especially those that looked nothing like them. It was different from when Iztris last came to the mortal realm, and they had yet to decide if it was a positive or negative change. They were leaning towards the latter.