Page 206 of The Ascended
I sank down, my mind reeling. "You... you can tell I'm—? Just by looking at me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Child," Heron said, his voice gentle, "I can see the threads of fate that bind you to the heavens and the earth." He reached for a teapot on the low table before him, pouring the steaming liquid into a cup. "Your divine nature shines to me as clearly as sunlight—a bright, golden thread."
"Heron is the son of Vorinar," Xül explained, settling beside me. "Mortal."
The revelation crawled across my skin. Another half-divine child. Like me. Like Thatcher. But older—far older.
"That's—" I struggled to find words. "But then why aren't you?—"
"In Voldaris?" Heron finished for me, a sad smile playing at his lips. "Well, that was my father’s decision. As I’m sure you’re all toofamiliar with, the only way to live in Voldaris is to ascend, and there is only one way to do so. I was born blind, my dear. These eyes have never seen the physical world." He waved a hand vaguely toward his milky eyes. "And while blindness is no impediment to seeing the paths of fate—indeed, it perhaps sharpened that particular gift—it would have been a death sentence considering the physicality of the Trials.”
I processed this, the implications sinking in. "So your father hid you."
“Yes,” was all he said.
A new, terrible thought struck me. "But your mother... did she...?" I couldn't finish the question, the memory of my own mother's fate choking the words in my throat.
Heron's expression softened. "My mother survived my birth," he said gently. "With my father's help. She lived a long and full life—nearly eighty years."
I couldn't stop the small, strangled sound that escaped me.
"How?" I managed, my voice raw.
"Vorinar wove her fate differently," Heron explained. "He bound her life thread to mine in a way that sustained her through the birth. It required considerable power and... sacrifice on his part." He paused, seeming to consider his next words carefully. "Not all Aesymar are equally callous with mortal lives, Thais Morvaren."
I looked down, nodding.
“My mother was a temple scribe during the Autumn Solstice," he continued. "Recording the prophecies that came when the veil thinned. My father noticed her because she was the only one who didn't cower when he manifested. She looked him in the eye and corrected his pronunciation of an ancient word." A sad smile crossed his face. "He returned the next solstice just to debate linguistics with her."
Xül shifted beside me. "Heron's existence has been one of the most carefully guarded secrets in the divine realm for centuries.Vorinar hid him here, under his protection, knowing what would happen if the wrong Aesymar discovered his existence."
Heron nodded, handing me a steaming cup of tea. "My father concealed me in this remote corner of Elaren, where I've lived in relative peace, serving as his eyes and ears."
He took a contemplative sip from his own cup. "I have lived here for nearly three hundred years, watching the threads of fate unfold from a distance."
The cup nearly slipped from my suddenly numb fingers. "Three hundred..."
"Divine blood grants longevity," Heron explained, his voice gentle. "Though not true immortality."
I stared at him, truly seeing him now—not as an old man, but as a being who had watched empires rise and fall, who had lived through centuries. Who had existed in hiding all this time, a living rebuke to the cruelty of the system.
"You've outlived everyone you ever knew from your early life," I whispered, the personal horror of such an existence washing over me.
"Except my father," Heron acknowledged with a small nod. "And those few divine beings who know of my existence." He reached across the table, his hand finding mine with unerring accuracy. His skin felt impossibly warm. "It is both a blessing and a burden, Thais. One you may come to know yourself, if you survive what lies ahead."
His words sent a shiver down my spine—not just for the reminder of the deadly trial still to come, but for the lonely centuries that might stretch beyond anyone who succeeded. They would watch everyone they’d ever known grow old and die while remaining unchanged.
"You've come about the trial," Heron said, turning to Xül. "Vorinar and Aella's creation. A particularly... unpredictable combination."
"Any advice you can offer would be greatly appreciated," Xül said. “This doesn’t exactly fall under my domain of expertise.”
Heron sipped his tea thoughtfully. "You know I cannot speak directly of what awaits. For that knowledge is hidden even to me." His face turned toward me. "But I can speak in principles. The first one, and perhaps the most important, is to remember that chaos and fate are opposing forces by nature. Where one creates pattern, the other disrupts it."
"That's hardly helpful," I said, unable to keep the disappointment from my voice.
A small smile touched Heron's lips. "The useful is rarely obvious, young one." He set his cup down. "Consider this: what is uniquely yours that cannot be taken or corrupted? What connects you to your past and your future simultaneously?"
I frowned, uncertain what he meant. "My power?"
