Page 122 of Immortal Sun

I preach not to look too close to us, and yet forget not to look into the sacrifice, into her fathomless blue and green eyes. I see the future. I see myself so fully as the monster I’ve become.

I’m haggard.

I’m broken.

I’m doing a job for humanity but really, it’s for myself. At what cost? I swear as she’s tasting me, tears coursing down her face, I hate myself for the first time in my existence.

I truly hate.

And it’s not the gods.

It’s me.

What evenamI?

My heart clenches as ice breaks around me, crumbling, falling, dying.

I jerk away from her and fall to my knees.

And for the first time in a century…

I, the creator of worlds, Ra, God of Gods, after seeing a vision of what I will become if I stay on this journey.

Weep in blood---of those I’ve killed.

CHAPTER 30

CLEO

“Stand by your own trial and not by what others say.”– Gudmundur Jonsson

Ihate him, but I can’t hate his tears.

My own cascade down my face.

He’s cruel.

Mean in a way I never thought possible.

He knows that every touch he gives me is like a gift and yet he uses it as a curse, and I hate him for it. Every time he leaves this cave, I’m left wanting. This time he was trying to punish me, but I think he’s the one who got the punishment.

My single goal when he came in here was to try to seduce him, to get him to falter, to fall. Instead, I was the one tricked, the one who was broken, or so I thought for a few brief moments.

He digs his hands into the dirt and screams.“The gods have failed me, I have failed myself.”

His hands shake as he lifts them from the ground, covered in dirt, he presses them to his chest, then his eyes flash to mine.

I’m not sure if he saw what I saw, him forcing me, him silencing me, but it’s all I can do to sit there, mouth open, tears streaming down my face, for him, for myself.

“Why would you do this?” he rasps.

“What?” I question. “I did exactly as you asked.”

“The cold is gone.” He gulps and looks away, hands shaking. “I can’t—” His eyes divert to the ground again before he stands and dusts off his robe as if nothing even happened. “Time to train. Today we talk about Dag. He likes?—”

I reach for his hand and pull him toward me. He comes willingly, and I realize that his hands feel like ice on the tips but are warm across his palms. “What just happened?”

“Nothing but what could have happened.” He steels his expression and jerks his hand away nearly sending me flying toward the wall. “Dag prefers leisure, so if you want to choose him all you need is wine and good food. But, later, he’s going to want you on your back screaming.”

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