Page 274 of The Ascended
A careful response.
“I guesswe’ll find out.”
"In a big way, probably," she said. "Just don't forget about me when you're busy being controversial and revolutionary, okay?"
"As if you'd let me."
"Damn right I wouldn't." She bumped her shoulder against mine. "I'll visit. Often. Even if it means putting up with all this blinding light and oppressive perfection."
"I'd like that." The words felt inadequate for what I was trying to express—how much her friendship had come to mean to me.
"Do you ever wonder—" She hesitated, then plunged ahead. "Do you ever wonder if we'll forget? What it was like to be mortal? To be afraid? To care about the small things?"
"We won't forget," I said, the words a promise. "Not you and me."
"Bold claim for someone who's been divine for all of an hour." But Marx's smile took the sting from her words.
"We're exceptional, remember? You said so yourself."
"I did, didn't I?" She grinned. "Alright, Morvaren. I'm holding you to that. A thousand years from now, you and me, we’ll meet and compare notes. See if we still remember what matters."
"Deal." I raised my goblet to hers. "Though preferably somewhere less... Sundralis."
"Draknavor beach at midnight?"
"Perfect."
We drank to seal the pact. As I lowered my goblet, a strange sensation washed over me—a sudden hollowness. The air sucked from my lungs.
I froze, my fingers tightening around the goblet so hard that cracks spider-webbed across its surface.
Something was wrong. Something was terribly, catastrophically wrong.
I reached instinctively through my bond with Thatcher—the connection that had been humming in the background of my consciousness since birth, stronger than ever after our transformation.
Nothing.
Just... emptiness. A crater where my twin should have been.
"Thatcher?" I whispered, then pushed harder, hurling my consciousness along our bond with desperate force.Thatcher!
Silence. Not even an echo.
The goblet shattered in my grip, liquid and crystal raining to the floor. Cold terror seized my chest, squeezing my lungs until I couldn't breathe.
"Thais?" Marx's voice barely penetrated the roaring in my ears. "What's wrong?"
"He's gone," I gasped, my voice cracking. "Thatcher—I can't feel him. I can't feel him anywhere."
"What do you mean?" Marx gripped my arm.
"The twin bond." My words tumbled out, fast and panicked. "There's nothing. Like he's just been... erased."
In an instant, the casual friend vanished, replaced by the warrior I'd fought beside in the Trials. "How long?"
"Just now. It just happened." I was already moving, shoving past her toward the doors. "We need to find him. Now."
We burst back into the celebration, the laughter and music now a sickening backdrop to my terror. I scanned the crowd frantically, pushing divine beings aside without caring about protocol or politics.
