Page 207 of The Ascended
"Power can be stripped away," Heron said, shaking his head. "Think deeper."
Xül leaned forward. "Identity," he suggested.
Heron tilted his head, neither confirming nor denying. "In a realm where nothing is as it seems, the self remains constant—though even that can become... entangled."
The cryptic nature of his advice was beginning to frustrate me. "I appreciate the philosophy lesson, but I was hoping for something more concrete. Like how not to die."
"Death is merely one possible thread among many," Heron replied, unmoved by my frustration.
I resisted the urge to sigh. Apparently, direct answers weren't part of fate's domain.
"Another word of advice, if you will," Heron added, his voice dropping lower. "Never trust what seems to be a clear path. The most obvious route often leads to the greatest danger."
"So, I should deliberately choose difficult paths?" I asked, trying to make sense of his riddles.
"I'm saying that in a trial designed by the mistress of chaos, nothing is accidental. Not even what appears to be luck or chance."He turned back toward Xül. "You understand what I mean, Prince of Death."
Xül nodded slowly. "Aella doesn't create true randomness. She creates the illusion of it. There's always a pattern if you know how to look."
"Precisely," Heron said with approval. "Find the pattern within the chaos."
I filed this advice away, unsure how it would help but grateful for anything that might give me an edge. "Is there anything else I should know?"
Heron took a deep breath. "Some rooms in the house of fate are not meant to be entered. Heed the warnings you encounter, or you may learn truths you're not prepared to bear."
"That sounds ominous," I said.
“Truths direct our paths of fate. Discovering the wrong one can be detrimental. So, if that sounds ominous, my dear, that’s because it is.”
As if summoned, Xül turned away from the two of us, rising to his feet. “There’s something I must take care of. Please excuse me.” And he was out the door before I could protest.
Silence fell between Heron and me. The old man seemed content with it, sipping his tea with a serene expression. But questions burned in my mind.
"You've been here for three centuries," I finally said. "Watching the world change while you remain hidden away."
Heron nodded. "It has been lonely at times. But I have had my purpose."
"And what's that?"
"To witness. To record. To occasionally nudge a thread or two when the tapestry allows it." His sightless eyes turned toward the window. "I have lived a life of observation rather than participation. It has its compensations."
"But you never had a choice," I said, unable to keep the spitefrom my voice. "The Trials, the Twelve—they stole any other possibility from you."
"Yes," he agreed simply. "As they have from many others."
I looked down at my hands, remembering the simple life I'd once had in Saltcrest. The feel of the ocean breeze, the weight of oysters in my palms, Marel's smile in the firelight. All gone now.
"You have a brother," Heron said suddenly, his voice dropping.
I glanced toward the door. Xül was still nowhere to be found. "Yes."
Heron leaned forward, his face grave. "I can see your line of fate, how it twists and turns through the coming centuries." He paused, seeming to weigh his words. "But his... his is cut short."
The blood froze in my veins. "What?"
“The end of the Trials…" He trailed off. “I can’t see his line beyond it.”
Panic seized me, my heart hammering against my ribs. This couldn't be right.
