Page 297 of The Ascended
I stood in the shadows at the edge of Saltcrest, hood pulled low, watching colored ribbons dance in the wind. Music spilled from the square—the same fiddle songs Sulien used to hum while mending nets. Henrick played. Children ran past me, sticky fingers clutching festival sweets, their laughter like glass in my ears.
They were celebrating the end of Olinthar's reign. The end of the Trials. The rise of their savior king.
The cottage looked exactly as I'd left it months ago—weathered blue paint peeling in the same places, the crooked shutter Thatcher never fixed still hanging at its drunken angle. Only now, someone else's laundry flapped on the line. Someone else's child played in the yard where we once practiced with wooden swords.
I pressed closer to the window, breath fogging the glass. Inside, a woman stirred something on the stove. A man sat at our table—Sulien'stable—teaching a boy to tie the same knots my father taughtus. The child's tongue stuck out in concentration, small fingers fumbling with the rope.
Life had simply flowed into the spaces we left behind. Like water filling a hole in sand.
In the square, they'd erected a new fountain where the old well used to be. Water sparkled in the late afternoon sun, children splashing each other while their parents gossiped and drank. A banner stretched overhead: "Freedom's Light Burns Eternal."
I wanted to tear it down.
Instead, I drifted closer to the dancing.
That's when I saw him.
Marel spun a red-haired girl in the center of the square, both of them laughing at some private joke. His hands sat easy on her waist. Comfortable. When she stumbled over the steps, he caught her with the same gentle strength that once steadied me. That crooked smile—the one I used to trace with my fingers—bloomed across his face as he whispered something that made her blush.
She was pretty. Fisher's daughter, probably.
I waited to feel something.
Good for him. I always knew he’d find someone if I ever scrounged up the courage to leave, or let him go. Released the snare I’d selfishly allowed him to endure.
Now I stood here at the window of my old life.
The celebration continued around me as I made my way through the village. Past the baker's shop where Thatcher used to steal sweet rolls, always leaving coins when he thought no one was looking. Past Lira's cottage where she'd bandaged our scrapes and never asked how we really got them. Past all the little pieces of a life that didn't exist anymore.
I'd escaped from the divine realm while everyone fussed over Xül's wedding and found myself here. I couldn’t bear being in Voldaris today.
The past two weeks blurred together in my mind. Morthus before the Twelve, his voice carrying that particular gravity thatmade gods listen. "Moros lives. For years, he wore Olinthar's face while we sat at his table, sought his counsel, trusted his judgment. Every secret we shared. Every weakness we revealed. All of it feeding an enemy we thought long dead."
He'd let that sink in, master of the pause.
The pantheon had listened in silence as he painted the picture. A Primordial who'd learned their every fracture. Who'd dragged my brother into the fabric between realms. Who would return because that's what ancient evils did.
The power shift happened in gestures, not words. Davina's subtle nod. Syrena's hand on Morthus's shoulder. Even Sylphia stepped closer to show support. When Thalor followed, that was it. Four of the Twelve backing him.
Enough to discourage any challenges. Enough to crown a new king without a fight.
Fear, it turns out, was the great uniter. I watched through my haze as old rivals suddenly found common ground. Centuries of division crumbled because there was something worse than each other to fight.
They'd believed him because leaders like Morthus didn't just tell the truth—they made you feel it in your bones.
By the time he'd proposed his reforms, with four domains already behind him, they were grateful for the direction. For someone to tell them how to feel safe again.
The greater good, written in necessary sins. A new king rising from the ashes of the old. And I sat there wondering if we'd simply traded one tyrant for a cleverer one. If Morthus had saved me or just found me a prettier cage.
And through it all, I'd sat silent. Olinthar's power had settled into my bones like molten lead. It made me one of the most powerful beings in the divine realm.
It also made me the emptiest.
I'd hated the spark of him in my blood. Now I carried the whole fire. The universe, it seemed, loved its cruelsymmetries.
Somewhere above, Xül was probably speaking vows to a woman he didn't love. Binding himself for the sake of stability. Another sacrifice on necessity's altar.
I'd thought about forever with him. About the promise in his eyes when he called me starling. About feeling safe in his Bone Spire. But forever was a concept I couldn't grasp anymore. How could I think about eternity when I couldn't feel anything past the next breath?
