The Ascended — Chapter no 33

Chapter 33

The King of Gods

THE SHOCKING TRANSITION FROM LIQUID TO AIR BURNED MY LUNGS, A violent reminder that we had survived—for now. Before I could even take a proper breath, hands seized my arms, yanking me toward the shore.

I didn't resist. What would be the point?

Guards dragged us through the shallows. Their faces were expressionless masks, but their grips carried threat. Through our bond, I could feel Thatcher's rage building like a storm, his muscles tensing beneath

their hold.

Don't, I warned silently.

My gaze swept across the beach where other contestants stood watching our approach. Some wore expressions of confusion, others thinly veiled satisfaction. Marx and Kyren stood together near the tree line, their faces tight with concern. Marx mouthed something I couldn't make out, shaking her head slightly.

At the center of the gathering, Thalor and Sylphia stood in deep discussion, their divine forms shimmering at the edges. Even from a distance, their anger was palpable—a pressure in the air that made my skin prickle and my heart race.

"They have fundamentally violated the sacred purpose of this trial!"

Sylphia's voice carried across the water, sharp as a blade, her ethereal form rippling with indignation. "The Archive has stood for millennia, and in a single act of defiance, they've destroyed it."

"We cannot allow such a precedent to stand," Thalor responded, the water around his feet churning.

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 from twenty-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 of overriding tradition, if I remember correctly." Xül almost smiled.

"Your father made that same argument once, as I recall," Sylphia said 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.

Then the world changed.

It wasn't gradual—it was instant, absolute. Sound vanished. Colors intensified to painful brilliance. The very air became too dense to breathe, pressing against my skin like an invisible weight that threatened to crush me to nothing.

For one terrible moment, I thought it. This is how we die.

Then a perfect circle of golden light tore through reality—elegant, controlled, singing with power that made my bones vibrate in response.

Through this golden portal stepped Chavore, his armor gleaming. His eyes locked immediately on Thatcher, his expression a complex mixture of

triumph and concern.

And behind him—

My heart forgot how to beat.

Olinthar.

The King of Gods stepped through the portal with a grace that belied the crushing weight of his presence. Reality seemed to bend around him, accommodating his existence as if apologizing for its imperfection.

The angry shouts died instantly. The challenges, the accusations—all forgotten now. Even Thalor and Sylphia stilled, their argument with Xül evaporating under the sun's full strength.

I had thought myself prepared for this moment. Had imagined it countless times. But nothing could have readied me for what it would feel like.

My lungs seized. No air would come, no matter how desperately I tried to draw breath. The world tilted, edges going white, then red, then white again. My knees locked to keep from buckling as every nightmare, every whispered prayer for vengeance, every tear shed in darkness crashed into this singular reality: him. Here. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kill.

"Quite the performance," Olinthar said, his voice filling the entirety of Western Hydrathis. The sound resonated in my chest, an echo that threatened to replace my own heartbeat with his rhythm.

When his eyes fell on us—on me—I schooled my features into a mask of neutrality, fighting the urge to spit in his direction.

The resemblance was undeniable up close. I saw it in the shape of his jaw, the set of his shoulders—the same lines I'd traced in Thatcher's face a thousand times. I saw it in Chavore too, standing proudly at his father's side.

Would anyone ever look closely enough to notice? To suspect? Or was Olinthar so untouchable that the thought would never even cross anyone's mind?

Xül shifted position, moving to stand at an angle that created a perfect triangle. His earlier defiance had given way to restraint. His posture was relaxed, but I could read the tension in his shoulders, the alertness in his eyes. He was waiting, watching, preparing for whatever might unfold.

"What seems to be the issue?" Olinthar asked, directing his attention to Thalor and Sylphia with casual authority that made their earlier rage seem childish by comparison.

Sylphia straightened, her ethereal form solidifying. "The actions these two took went against the fundamental aspects of our trial," she said, voice carrying despite its softness. "They refused to speak their truths, then destroyed our sirens and collapsed the Archive. It would be unfair for other blessed to have to speak their deepest shame while these two refused."

I opened my mouth to argue, but Xül caught my eye, a jarring warning in his gaze. I clamped my jaw shut, the words dying in my throat.

Olinthar looked between the two gods, his expression mildly curious.

"Tell me again the precise rules of your trial," he said.

Thalor stepped forward. "Contestants must find three keys, reach the Archive, and speak their darkest truth to pass."

"Interesting." Olinthar tilted his head, sunlight catching on the gold threads woven through his dark hair. "Were these exact requirements communicated to the contestants before they entered the water?"

The water around Thalor’s feet stilled. "We instructed them to find the keys and reach the Archive."

"And the truth requirement?" Olinthar pressed, his voice deceptively gentle. "Was that stated explicitly as a rule?"

A tense silence fell over the gathering. Sylphia and Thalor exchanged quick glances.

"The contestants were told that the waters of Memorica release what lies beneath their masks," Sylphia answered carefully. "That what they've kept inside may become their greatest threat."

"Poetic," Olinthar observed, a dangerous smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "But not, I think, a clear statement of rules. You spoke of emotions, of reflections. Not once did you mention a requirement to confess one's darkest secrets to pass."

"It was clearly understood—" Thalor began.

"Understood is not the same as declared," Olinthar cut him off, his voice hardening. "If you did not state explicitly that confession was required, then refusing to confess cannot be grounds for execution."

"And was it explicitly stated that they could not kill your sirens?"

Olinthar continued, a note of amusement coloring his voice.

Sylphia seemed at a loss for words. The balance of power had shifted the moment Olinthar appeared, and they all knew it.

"In fact," Olinthar continued, "I believe such a display should be celebrated instead of scorned." His gaze fixed on Thatcher, and I felt my twin bristle through our bond. "Creativity in the face of impossible choices is precisely what we should value in potential ascendants."

Has he done this before? I wondered, watching the uncomfortable stillness that had fallen over the gathering. Had Olinthar ever intervened in the Trials on behalf of a contestant? The reaction of the other Legends suggested not. This was unprecedented—and it made abundantly clear that Thatcher had captured our father's attention in a way that set off warning bells in my mind.

Thais, there’s something I need to tell you. Don’t panic.

More than I’m currently doing?

I’ve been in Sundralis. Chavore has taken me there on several occasions now.

My heart stilled. What? Is this your first time meeting Olinthar?

His mental voice surged with sudden intensity, a cascade of surprise and revulsion coursing through our connection. Yes. Gods, yes. I've never— His thoughts fractured. I've only glimpsed him from afar, through windows and across courtyards.

Thatcher, there's something I found out. The domains of War and Order are merging.

His eyes widened fractionally before he controlled his reaction. That explains all the activity in Sundralis.

Don't tell anyone. Don't act like you know, I cautioned, my mental voice tight.

What does it mean? Why keep it secret?

I don't know, but it can't be good.

His eyes flicked to mine, indigo irises darkening with concern. How did you find this out?

I hesitated, then admitted, In the Eternal City. I watched Xül interrogate a Lightbringer spy.

A moment of silence stretched between us as the implications settled.

Then my curiosity got the better of me.

What's it like? I asked through our bond. Sundralis.

Thatcher's expression flickered, a shadow crossing his features before

he caught himself. Strange, honestly.

Strange how?

He shifted his weight, eyes darting briefly toward Olinthar before returning to me. For a place that's supposed to be all about light and order, it feels… off. Heavy. Like there's this weight pressing down on everything.

What do you mean?

The light there— His thoughts came in bursts. It's everywhere, right?

Blinding. Perfect. But it doesn't actually feel warm. A flash of memory leaked through our bond—Thatcher standing alone in a golden hallway, shivering despite being bathed in brilliance. Sometimes I'd be standing in direct sunlight and feel cold right down to my bones. Like the light's just for show, you know?

A chill traced my spine despite the heat of the day. And nobody notices?

If they do, they don't talk about it. Thatcher's face remained carefully blank as Olinthar continued speaking with Thalor.

They're preparing for something.

And now we have to find out exactly what that is.

"No rules have been broken," Thalor’s voice cut through our conversation, dripping with contempt. "You have both passed."

Chavore grinned triumphantly at his father's side. Xül's expression remained unchanged, but I noticed a slight easing of tension in his shoulders.

"Then this trial is concluded," Olinthar declared, his voice carrying across the beach. "Those who have passed will prepare for the next challenge."

Every Legend and blessed contestant looked at us now, their gazes burning with a mixture of fear, resentment, and calculation. We had made

enemies today—powerful ones. Even if we made it to ascension, we would forever have targets on our backs.

But as my eyes locked on Olinthar's perfect face, I found that I didn't care. Let them come for me—whenever, however they chose. As long as I had the chance to end the life of the monster standing before us. I saw it all then. Sulien's blood on sand. My mother's fading portrait. The taste of ash and loss and twenty-six years of hiding—it all erupted through my veins.

I bit down on my tongue hard enough to taste copper, using pain to anchor myself. Each beat of my heart seemed to pulse with starlight and vengeance, the twin forces now indistinguishable from each other.

I would see Olinthar dead if it was the last thing I ever did.

As the Aesymar began portaling back to their respective domains, Xül’s hand wrapped around my wrist.

“It’s time to go, Thais.” His voice was stern. “There’s something I need

to show you.”

“Where are we going?”

“A place that doesn’t exist on any maps.”