Page 247 of The Ascended
By having me pretend to serve the god who destroyed everything we loved.
I gripped his hand tighter.I know.
Thatcher considered this for a moment.
Their fear isn’t misguided,he finally said.Olinthar is clearly trying to win me over for something. I hadn’t put it all together yet, but this makes sense.
Another long pause.
They were really going to kill me?The question came with a thread of vulnerability he rarely showed.
Yes. Morthus wouldn't say how, just that it was planned for this trial.I let him feel everything—my terror at the thought of losing him, my desperation to keep him safe, my relief at finding another way.
They want me to swear a blood oath to their cause?
Yes.
To serve gods I don't even know? To pledge my loyalty to strangers who might be as bad as Olinthar?His mental voice hardened.I won't trade one master for another, Thais.
Then don't,I said quickly.Swear that you're against Olinthar. That you'll never truly serve him. That when the time comes, you'll help bring him down. Nothing more.
He considered this, and I felt his mind working through the implications.And they'll accept that?
They need you alive and positioned in Sundralis more than they need your absolute loyalty.I hoped I was right.Besides, your hatred of Olinthar is real. That's what matters.
And after? When Olinthar falls?
Morthus, you better not be a fucking liar,I thought to myself before answering him, then:They want to end the Trials, Thatcher. No more priests hunting innocents. No more people slaughtered to amuse the gods. Morthus wants to provide aid to Elaren.
I felt his interest peak.So, he will take the throne, in the end?
Yes. But think about it—this isn't just about our revenge anymore. It's nearly everything we wanted, everything we’d hoped to achieve by killing him ourselves, but had no way of actually enforcing.
The end of tyranny,he murmured.
The end of tyranny,I confirmed.
Then, with careful deliberation:I'll take their blood oath—but only to confirm what we already know. I'm against Olinthar. I'll never truly serve him. And when the opportunity comes, I'll help destroy him.His mental voice grew fierce.But I won't kneel to anyone else in theprocess.
That's enough,I assured him, relief flooding through our connection.That's all we need.
Together?I asked.
Together,he confirmed.Until the end—whatever that looks like.
A loud clash tore us apart. The mist in the chamber suddenly contracted, recoiling. The fractured mirrors began showing the same image—a figure materializing in the center of the room.
Vorinar appeared first. Heron’s father. It was a strange thing. He looked more like Heron’s son. Deep black robes draped down his frame, decorated with constellation patterns that moved with each breath. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of eons.
"Time is a river," he said, his words echoing strangely in the space. "Fate is the path it carves through stone. Some swim with the current. Others drown."
Before anyone could parse that cryptic statement, the air beside him exploded in a riot of color. Aella materialized—if materialization was even the right word for the way reality seemed to hiccup and produce her. Where Vorinar was order and pattern, she was beautiful chaos incarnate.
Her appearance shifted with each blink—first a young woman with rainbow hair, then an ancient crone. She laughed, and the sound rattled through the chamber.
"Look at you all." She spun in a circle, her form crackling. "So serious, so worried. Don't they know the best fate is the one you never see coming?"
She gestured carelessly, and small distortions rippled through the air—colors inverted, time stuttered and repeated.
