Page 144 of The Ascended
Of course they were furious. The trial wasn't just about survival or collecting keys—it was about secrets. About truths that could be weaponized. The gods wanted to know what potential threats lurked in the hearts of those who might join their ranks.
But they would have to kill us before we spoke our truth. Because our truth was a death sentence either way.
Shouts erupted from the far end of the beach—angry, demanding voices. I turned to see Legends pushing forward, their faces contorted with rage as they approached Thalor and Sylphia.
"I demand immediate disqualification!" called a god.
"My blessed never had the opportunity to pass because of what they did!" A second Legend thrust an accusing finger toward us, his golden eyes burning. "They've murdered my contestant just as surely as if they'd wielded the blade themselves!"
The realization settled over me. We hadn't just refused the truth. We'd sealed a tomb. When Thatcher destroyed the sirens and the Archive collapsed, we'd blocked all other contestants from completing the trial. How many had we trapped below? How many had we condemned to watery graves?
Thatcher stood rigid beside me, jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth, eyes fixed straight ahead.
They watched other contestants use their powers. They encouraged it. But when Thatcher used his—when he saved my life—suddenly it was misconduct? What did they expect? That he would only use his abilities when it aligned with their plans?
Well, I suppose that’s exactly what they expected.
I surveyed the beach again, counting the blessed who'd made it through. Eighteen, including us. Down fromtwenty-five.
Thalor and Sylphia grew more agitated by the minute as Legends pressed in from all sides, voices raised. I searched the crowd, instinct drawing my gaze to a figure parting the masses.
Xül.
He walked with lethal grace, darkness clawing at his feet. The crowd instinctively withdrew as he passed. When he reached the center of the gathering, he positioned himself directly between us and the furious gods, his shoulders squared in silent challenge.
"The Warden of the Damned graces us with his presence," Thalor remarked. "Have you come to collect these lost souls for your prison, Xül?"
"I've come to enforce the rules of your own trial," Xül replied, his voice carrying the chill of the grave. "The Morvaren twins survived your challenge. They collected the keys. They reached the Archive."
"They refused the final task," Sylphia countered, wisps of her form elongating like fingers reaching for his throat. "And destroyed sacred guardians in the process."
Xül's jaw twitched. "Your guardians were torturing my mentee. Did you expect her to simply endure it?"
The accusation sent ripples of unease through the gathered Legends.
"You overstep, Prince of Draknavor," warned another Legend, stepping forward. "This is not your domain to question."
"And yet I question it." Xül's eyes flashed, a slice of white cutting through the gold. "I know you all love your riddles, but perhaps, you should question whether your true intention comes across clear enough to be understood. To some ears, it’s simply bad poetry."
His gaze swept the assembly, challenging each Legend in turn. Most looked away.
“You have always shown such disrespect for tradition, young Prince.” Thalor raised his chin.
"Once, you understood the necessity ofoverridingtradition, if I remember correctly." Xül almost smiled.
"Your father made that same argument once, as I recall," Sylphiasaid quietly, her voice intended only for Xül though it carried on the breeze.
"Then honor that understanding now," Xül replied, his voice equally low. "You recognized exceptions exist for good reason."
Thalor's expression softened infinitesimally. "This is different, son of Morthus. The Trials demand?—"
"The Trials demand adherence to stated rules," Xül interrupted, "not convenient interpretations crafted after the fact."
"The judgment belongs to Thalor and Sylphia alone," insisted a Legend I didn't recognize, though her voice lacked conviction.
"Then let them judge fairly," Xül responded.
The tension crackled between the three of them. I could feel the pressure building in the air, the distinct sensation that preceded violence.
