Page 224 of The Ascended
I hesitated.
"For what it's worth," I said, "I think he's the one missing out."
Surprise flashed across Chavore's face before he masked it with a careless shrug. But I caught the flicker of gratitude in his eyes.
I stepped into golden light, the world dissolving around me. My body scattered and reformed on the other side.
Sundralis blazed around us, its eternal daylight harsh after Bellarium's gentle rain.
And there, waiting at the edge of the arrival platform, stood Olinthar himself.
The King of Gods wore simple white robes today, belted with gold, his only adornment a thin circlet atop his black hair.
"Thatcher Morvaren." Olinthar's voice rolled across the marble plaza. "Welcome back to my domain."
I bowed, the gesture now familiar after my previous visits. "Thank you for the invitation, Lord Olinthar." The words tasted like poison on my tongue.
"Father." Chavore matched my movement, his spine stiff as a blade.
Olinthar's gaze brushed over Chavore. "Wait outside my office." Olinthar turned back to me. "I have matters to discuss with Thatcher."
I glanced at Chavore, catching the flash of hurt before he buried it.
Olinthar placed a hand on my shoulder. "We won't be long."
Chavore bowed again, backing away several steps before turning. His spine remained rigid as he walked toward the distant gardens—a soldier marching into battle rather than a son dismissed by his father.
Olinthar watched him go, expression unreadable. "Come," he said to me. "There's something I wish to show you."
He led me not toward the towering palace I'd visited before, but to a smaller structure of white stone and gold. Inside, a staircase spiraled downward, each step emitting a soft golden glow that faded as we passed.
"Your training progresses well?" Olinthar asked as we descended into darkness.
"Yes, my lord."
"Please, when we speak privately, call me Olinthar." The staircase curved deeper, the ambient light dimming with each turn. "I understand you face certain... restrictions in developing your gift."
My steps faltered. "Restrictions?"
"Your power requires practice to master fully." His voice echoed against stone walls. "Yet you can hardly end lives merely for training purposes."
A chill raced down my spine. "No, I couldn't."
"An ethical dilemma. You wish to hone your abilities without compromising your principles."
The staircase ended at a narrow corridor. Torches burned in iron sconces, their flames unnaturally still—just like everything else in this domain of perfect control.
"What exactly did you bring me here to discuss?" I asked, unease crawling across my skin.
"I believe I've found a solution to your predicament." Olinthar stopped before a heavy door bound with iron. "A way for you to practice your gift without reservation."
He pressed his palm against the door, which swung inward without a sound. The chamber beyond lay in half-darkness, but I could make out a figure bound to a chair in the center.
"What is this?" I asked.
Olinthar stepped inside, and light bloomed from his palm. The sudden illumination revealed our surroundings—a stone chamber stripped of all ornament. And in the center, a Shadowkin servant.
Black and crimson robes draped across his frame, his features almost mortal but elongated, with eyes like pools of ink. The creature slumped forward in its restraints, head hanging low.
