Ymir squared her shoulders. This was her moment. She would not hesitate. Her mast- husband - she felt giddy whenever she thought of him as such- had believed in her . He had placed his trust in her ability to aid him in shaping a nation. Ymir held back a shameful blush. Damian was too kind and trusting, she did not believe that a weak creature like her had done even a fraction to earn it.
She grit her teeth. No, she would not feed the monster that whispered to her of failure, of despair. She would not let this self-doubt become an obstacle. Damian expected great things of her and she would not disappoint.
Ymir walked through the wide streets of Othrys, her back straight and her eyes unwavering. Consistent practice before a mirror worked wonders, she decided.
Crowds, of which there weren't many in the newborn capital, parted as she passed. Her people whispered amongst themselves, their hushed voices barely containing their excitement and awe. Children practically climbed over each other's heads to see their Empress and the adults were no better- men and women alike stumbled over each other to catch a glimpse of her. Ymir was… flattered. Being so well-liked was something she still had a hard time coming to terms with. Their reverence, respect, and awe left her with all sorts of strange feelings.
She wondered if it was the power she shared with Damian that made them tremble? Was it because she was his wife? Or was it the beauty he had gifted her that caused their heads to turn and their eyes to widen? She knew enough of the lusts of men and women to understand the power behind a pretty face and an attractive form.
It could be either but not lust, no. She felt the relentless and secretive gazes of Aetherians and knew their hearts and minds as if they were her own. No, they did not lust, not after her. They would not dare and they could not , she let a small smirk grace her lips. Her Emperor was a possessive and vicious man when he wanted to be.
Ymir had mastered the art of willful innocence, and so when her husband had been molding the minds and bodies of every Aetherian in the Paths, he had also ensured that none of them would ever truly lust after her. She had nearly burnt her ears off with the heat that crept up into them but she'd managed- Nidhogg was a dear friend on such occasions, though Ymir was confused why the Great Serpent was amused.
Damian, at the time, had simply brushed it off as something he did for her continued safety within their Empire. "I do not trust the people with your well-being when there is even the slightest chance that they could harbour ill thoughts about you."
Ymir had nodded, of course, but in the Paths, her beloved's mind, heart, and soul were bared to her. He could hide his mind in the waking world but not there, where Three met as One. She had felt the simmering red heat of his possessiveness ripple across his being and decided that she loved every ripple. It made her feel wanted, desired and worthy enough to worry over.
A bright-eyed Aetherian child shyly waved at her, only to hide his face in his mother's bosom when Ymir smiled back. The mother, too, blushed and hurriedly lowered her head.
'No, there was no lust here,' Ymir thought, 'Only an abundance of love and respect.'
She ignored the wretched part of her that told her that she did not earn or deserve any of it, she would not be able to keep her peace of mind otherwise.
Her attention was soon caught by a woman who came running up to her with a clothed bundle in her arms. Not an Aetherian , her power whispered to her. Her four guards must have sensed the otherness of the woman and leapt into action. One remained behind her with his hand curled around the handle of his circular shield, ready to pull it overhead in case of a projectile. The other two stood to attention with their hands hovering over the hilt of their swords, and so it was the last guard who intercepted her.
The woman wept and begged but her guard's heart was as steely as his grip and he would not buckle under the weight of pleas and tears.
Ymir cleared her throat and spoke with the clarity and authority she had learned from observing Damian, "Bring her closer, Marlyn. What is it that causes her to weep?"
Marlyn, once a malnourished slave, now a looming bear of a man, stuttered and bowed awkwardly. "G- great Empress, this- Outsider," Ymir knew he meant to say Dothraki but refrained from doing so as the Dothraki were declared a dead race by the decree of her husband. "Says that her newly born babe suffers from shortness of breath and fever. She pleads for your aid."
Marlyn relaxed his hold upon the woman and she fell to her knees before her, Dothraki slipping from her lips like coarse sand as she wept. Then she carefully placed the bundle in arms upon the cool surface of the road. Her hands clasped tightly, she pleaded, and Ymir understood. She could feel the body of the child struggle to hold onto the fraying rope of life. It would not last long as it was.
When asked why she had not accepted to join their great nation as that would've resolved any sickness, the woman answered that she did not have the time to do so as the labours of childbirth were upon her, she had spent a night and the early hours of the morn struggling to push out her daughter. The Oath-Taking was a day from now- time her daughter did not have.
Ymir grimaced at the thin trail of blood seeping across the smooth stones of the road- blood whose origin could be traced from betwixt the thighs of the woman. Running through the city had worsened the wounds of birth.
"Very well." The joy and shock in the mother's eyes warred with the steady stream of tears that dripped down her cheeks. Ymir brushed her hand against the burning cheek of the infant and worked her magic. It wasn't a particularly hard task to heal the child by elevating its blood into the Paths, yet, Ymir struggled to stay focused on it, resisting the urge to pinch the incredibly soft, cloud-like cheeks and make strange sounds while doing so.
She really wanted to.
But to her childish heart's lament, she did not. The changes occurred near-instantly in the eyes of the onlookers- the babe's breathing evened out and the mother's battered body gained a new lustre.
"From this day and onwards, you and your daughter are the Blood of Aetheria. Welcome home, daughters of Aetheria." The woman bowed deep and her eyes spoke what her tongue was too heavy with emotion to utter. An applause rippled through the gathered crowd. As Ymir walked away, she saw the people nearby move to congratulate the woman.
Ymir smiled. Before meeting Damian or witnessing the formation of Aetheria, she could not fathom a land as prosperous or a people so united and at peace with each other. Her Emperor had proven that his vision for a superior society was achievable. Damian was right to mold them with care, to eliminate all that was foul in them. Mankind could be very nasty and had too many failings and bad habits ingrained into its blood. And foul blood should never be allowed to propagate any further, it would only darken the future of humanity.
Infants much like the one she had seen to, died young soon after birth, for one reason or another, while others bore the burden of a twisted body through no fault of their own. It was the ones who lived longer that suffered the most. The world outside the walls was rife with hunger, war, famine, sickness and worst of all- slavery. It ached her heart that, at this very moment, an innocent child was brought into a foul world unknowing of the horrors it would witness as it grew.
Fortunately for humanity, her husband had taken it into his capable hands to scour away their defects. Much blood would be spilled, she knew, but it was inevitable. Some people were simply too tainted and wicked to be of any use in the newly civilised world. Some were outright obstacles and Ymir's blood burned at the thought of them. It made her teeth clench at the thought that there were people out there who would blatantly oppose her husband. Such people could not be human, she decided. Only demons, the foulest of fiends, would oppose his prosperous guidance.
Ymir vowed to stamp out every ember of defiance.
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Ymir finally arrived at her destination- the Green Quarter.
Each section of the Quarter differed from the rest. In one section, tall, golden stalks of wheat swayed lightly with the wind, whereas a few metres away, tomatoes, carrots, lettuce and beans grew in long rows next to each other. In the distance, a large patch of land had been flooded to grow a crop that Ymir had never before heard of- 'rice', Damian called it. He called them 'filling' and 'nutritious'- she did not know what the latter meant but at least it would feed their people well enough to matter. A section had been dedicated entirely to fruit trees- tall, and heavy with clean, shiny fruit- grapevines snaked through the gaps with impossible orderliness.
It had been a week since the first seeding of each crop and today was the day it would all be harvested. 'Harvest Day,' the farmhands and overseers had called it. Their wonder, Ymir shared, though she did not goggle and gasp as they did.
With a great deal of fondness and sadness, Ymir remembered a time before she became a thrall of the Eldians. Her mother, may her soul find peace, had cultivated a small patch of land behind their modest hut, on which she grew four to five different sorts of fruits and vegetables. It was also where Ymir had learned of the varying period of growth, water, and time that each required before they were ready for harvest.
Damian had clearly defied the constraints of nature to accomplish this feat. A week for all crops to reach their harvest, with the only variation being the methods with which the seeds were sown, how deep they were sown, and the amount of water used. He had tried to explain how he had 'modified' the seeds, but much of it went over Ymir's head. Perhaps the next time he worked his magic, Ymir thought, she'd make an effort to learn.
"My Empress," Minister Voreon finally broke the momentary silence that settled over the Quarter with her arrival. He subsequently dropped to one knee and his right fist thumped vigorously against his chest. His underlings and farmhands quickly followed suit.
"Rise," she commanded and the genuflecting crowd rose smoothly to their feet, though none dared lift their gaze, not even the Minister.
"The crops seem to be ready for harvest, Minister," Ymir voiced her observation.
"Indeed, it is as Your Majesty says."
"We are here to oversee the harvest, Minister, and its eventual distribution amongst Our citizens." Ymir was glad she didn't stutter- that would've been incredibly embarrassing.
If Voreon was surprised, he did not show it, only bowing deeper once and sweeping his arm smoothly towards the fields behind him. "Please, My Empress. It would be our honour to host your radiant presence."
Ymir maintained a polite smile, and with a wave of her hand raised a pavilion and a throne to sit on, "Very well, Minister. Let the harvest commence. And while it does, sit with Us- We wish to know all about what the Quarter has cultivated and how it shall be distributed among the populace." Another seat rose nearby, not as grand, but comfortable enough.
Voreon nodded gracefully and sat, his posture rigid and attentive. He spoke of much, diving into the details of what they had accomplished here, and with a mind that did not forget, Ymir listened. As she had promised the man she loved, Ymir picked the mind of the Agricultural Minister.
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A large crowd had gathered inside the Granary- a large, domed warehouse constructed by Damian for the sole purpose of food storage, packaging, and distribution. Damian had referred to it as a 'state-owned warehouse' that would house foodstuff and grain that the Green Quarter produced. This would continue until a farmer class rose to prominence. Privately run farms would naturally be given the opportunity to store their goods here for a reasonable fee.
The air was regulated and cooled through means the Aetherian people were unaware of. Sweat and suffocation due to a large gathering were, thus, not a concern- being physically superior to the common human form helped as well. Every Aetherian that could attend, was present. Those who could not were either not within Othrys' walls or serving her husband.
Ymir looked down upon the crowd with an impassive gaze. Her gaze swept across a myriad of countenances, each painted with awe and respect of some hue or other. Some more than others- there were those whose wide, teary eyes made her distinctly uncomfortable.
With liquid grace, Ymir, Empress of Aetheria, stood up to address the murmuring crowd. The murmurs ceased.
"On the blessed day that our great nation was founded, my husband and I promised you much. Let no Aetherian doubt our words. The Green Quarter has borne fruit- hunger is now a concern of the past, it shall trouble you no longer." The crowd erupted into cheers. Ymir smiled and let them celebrate. She spoke again, once the cheers died down. "While it is true that the Quarter would provide for all here and more still, an endless supply of grain it is not." Confusion and worry rippled through the crowd.
"The Quarter's fields have limits to how many mouths they can feed." A lie, of course. Damian could make it so that they'd feed Aetheria for a hundred thousand years without fail. He simply refused to do so. Ymir understood why. Her husband was a wise man- he foresaw much indulgence, excess and a people too weak to work for themselves and their nation. Damian did not wish to cripple a core industry and making farming obsolete would do exactly that. The excess and indulgence could only be staved off for a few decades- permanently if he molded their minds, though he disliked the idea- but the weakness… that had to be culled.
"Othrys may appear vast, my people, but these wide and lonely streets would not remain lonely for long." You're doing so well, Ymir, hold on tightly to what you memorised. "As our Empire grows and prospers, so will you. The Blood of Aetheria would multiply and overshadow the population of any lesser nation." Comprehension now rippled through the crowd. Good.
"Each week, a fixed share of the harvest shall be distributed. A reminder that the Empire provides for its children, yet know that its love and grace are not to be taken for granted. That is all."
The message, she knew, had been received as clearly as could be. A few shouts of "Long Live the Empress/Emperor" were expected, and once the passion had settled, an orderly line was formed to receive their respective rations. It twisted like a snake through the spacious hall.
Her part done, Ymir left in a roomy carriage prepared for her.
Damian had jested that it was a 'publicity stunt'. She often wondered about the world he had come from- his people had such strange and colourful names for things.
Upon reaching their shared abode, Ymir sighed loudly and fell face first onto the soft bed.
"So how was it?" A familiar hand poked her leg. She huffed and mumbled incoherently into the sheets.
"What was that?" He was amused. Ymir didn't appreciate that right now.
"Good," another muffled answer.
Damian decided to tease her further, softly poking her in the ribs where he knew she was ticklish. She giggled. This was unjust. Her husband was a brute. "Aww my introvert is exhausted."
Intro... vert? Ugh, more colourful words that she knew not the meaning of! If only he'd let her glimpse into his mind so she'd know what he meant! "S-stop!" She was gonna wet herself if he didn't stop tickling her.
Ymir was crying and laughing. To stop this assault she decided to take matters into her own hands. She bunched up her small fist into a punch and let his shoulder know how cross she really was.
Damian looked shocked and raised an eyebrow, his smile nowhere to be seen. Shyly and sheepishly, Ymir punched him again, lightly this time, the skin around the corner of his lips twitched so subtly that most would doubt it even happened. Ymir's eyes were sharper, however, and so she persisted shamelessly, her punches growing lighter and softer each time until Damian could no longer resist the laugh that bubbled out of him.
"You've become quite the warrior queen," he smiled, laying down beside her, his fingers lightly tracing the back of her hand.
"You don't approve?" she widened her eyes and made them glisten with purpose. She crowed in victory within the sanctity of her heart as Damian's eyes grew worried for a moment. Of course it didn't take him long to recognise the teasing for it was and when he did, he scoffed, muttering something to the likes of, "Give me strength."
"It wasn't too bad, was it?" His eyes now devoid of the earlier mirth.
"No," she replied with a whisper.
Several moments passed and Damian said nothing, choosing to stare at the intricate carvings in the ceiling with her.
"It was… different." Ymir carefully worded her thoughts. "Not in a bad way. They… they looked up to me," She knew he was listening even if he said nothing. It was easier for her to speak when he wasn't staring at her. "I felt their love and their… devotion. It was… beautiful and… terrifying."
"It's unnerving, I know. Did you meet with the Minister?" He asked.
"Yes."
"And? Is he any good at his job?" 'Or do I need to replace him?' was implied, whether as a jest or not, Ymir wasn't sure.
"He is. He's quite knowledgeable. Very…"
"Dedicated?"
"Yes. That."
"That's good to hear."
"Um..."
Damian turned to her and Ymir cursed some of her thoughts for floating away. "Your magic… any new spells?"
He smiled and Ymir's tummy did strange things. "Progress is steady and I think I've got the hang of manipulating fire without overdoing it. Water is a bit tricky but I'm sure I'll have some basic stuff down soon enough." Ymir was glad he was taking it slow and steady. They didn't want a repeat of the last incident. An Imperial Palace with a large melting hole in its walls was a terrible look. She rather liked their new home and preferred to keep it unburnt.
Damian suddenly got an excited glint in his eyes, "I was wondering…"
"Mhm?"
"I'm taking some promising volunteers for their first flying lessons tomorrow morning. You wanna tag along?"
Ymir couldn't stop the smile from splitting her lips and nodded with such swiftness that if she wasn't an Aetherian she'd pull a nasty muscle.
Damian chuckled and shook his head. "Better be at the walls at first light then."
Oh, she would be.
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Author Note: Now we get closer to the timeskip. Can't manage too long without one. The groundwork for a conquest is being laid. Will be devoting an entire chapter to Damian's magical research and another to what's going on with Slaver's Bay.