Page 166 of The Ascended
For a moment, I remained still, cataloging the sensations in my body. The burning in my lungs had subsided to a dull ache. My throat felt raw but functional. The fever that had consumed me for the last few days had broken, leaving me wrung out but clear-headed.
Moving to the edge of the bed, I tested my legs. They trembled but held my weight as I stood. A silk robe had been draped over a nearby chair—black, of course, embroidered with silver thread. I pulled it over his shirt.
I walked to the window, looking out over the bleak landscape of Draknavor. The blood-red sky was just beginning to lighten, revealing the twisted shapes of the forest and the dark shorebeyond. It was beautiful in its way—stark and honest about its nature.
Where had he gone? Had there been a summons from the Eternal City again? Some divine crisis that required the Prince of Death's attention? Or had he simply grown tired of playing nursemaid?
When I tried the door, it was locked.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, rattling the handle.
Kneeling, I extracted one of the long pins from my hair and bent it into the shape I needed. The lock gave way with a satisfying click, and I allowed myself a small smile of triumph.Take that, Death Prince.
The corridor outside was empty, silent save for the soft whisper of the draft that seemed to permeate the Bone Spire. I padded barefoot down the hall, following the route I'd memorized during my explorations. The fortress was always quiet at this hour.
A thin line of light beneath a door halfway down the eastern corridor drew me like a beacon. Xül's study door stood partially open, spilling warm amber light into the hallway.
He stood with his back to me, examining something held carefully between his long fingers. It looked like a shard of crystal, similar to those we'd seen at the ruins. The sight of it sparked memories of that day—the ancient battlefield, the remnants of a war between beings beyond comprehension. Questions I'd been too cautious to ask then still burned in my mind.
His confession about the priests had emboldened me.
I stepped into the room, deliberately making enough noise to announce my presence, though I suspected he'd known I was there all along.
"You’re up early." I said, trying to keep my tone balanced.
Xül didn't turn, but I saw the slight rise and fall of his shoulders as he drew breath. "Immortals don't require much sleep."
"Convenient excuse."
That earned me a glance over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Feeling better, I see. Your temperament has certainly recovered."
I moved further into the room, drawn to the crystal in his hand. "What is that?"
"Arcanite," he said, turning it so the light caught its facets.
I hesitated, weighing the risk of my next question. Days ago, he'd shared one dangerous truth with me. Today I would push for more.
"Those ruins we visited," I began, watching his face carefully. "How did it happen? Before Moros and Vivros were the last ones standing? You showed me their battlefield, but what preceded it?"
He finally turned, setting the crystal down on his desk. His expression shifted, a flicker of surprise—either at my question or my audacity in asking it.
"The Sundering," he said, testing the words. "That's a dangerous topic, starling."
"Seems like a natural progression to me." I shrugged, leaning against the side of his desk.
He smirked, but it seemed more curious than mocking. "I suppose that's true."
His eyes stayed on me a beat longer before he sighed and moved to a chest tucked against the far wall, unlocking it with a key he withdrew from inside his coat. From within, he retrieved a round case that was cracked and stained.
"The Primordials numbered thirteen originally," he continued, carefully extracting a scroll made of yellowed parchment. "They existed in a state of perfect equilibrium. Until they didn't, of course."
He unrolled the scroll on his desk, revealing diagrams and script in a language I'd never seen. At the center was an illustration of thirteen interconnected symbols arranged in a perfect circle.
"The Sundering wasn't a single battle," Xül continued, his voice lowering. "It was a slow death. A centuries-long decay."
"Sounds riveting."
"For some." He tilted his head. Observing me. "For others, something to be forgotten."
