The Ascended — Chapter no 49

Chapter 49

The Blind Seer

THE MIDDAY SUN HUNG HIGH IN DRAKNAVOR'S BLOOD-RED SKY. XÜL walked beside me, his long strides measured to match my own as we made our way back to the Bone Spire. Five days had passed since that night in his study, and neither of us had brought it up—what happened on his desk, the way he'd watched me, the promises whispered in darkness.

"Your crown is growing," Xül said, his voice casual as his gaze flicked to the motes of starlight that now hovered above my head—three more than when I'd first summoned them.

"Ten points now," I replied, unable to keep the pride from my voice.

His lips curved into that not-quite-smile. "You’ve certainly improved."

"Such high praise," I said dryly. "Should I faint from the honor?"

"Save your theatrics," he drawled, but there was no real bite to his tone.

When his arm brushed against mine as we navigated a narrow part of the path, neither of us pulled away.

"Your hair's grown longer," he observed, his voice dropping to that low timbre that sent shivers down my spine.

"An unfortunate side effect of not dying yet," I replied, forcing lightness into my tone.

His laugh was soft and genuine. "Ever the optimist, Morvaren."

The Bone Spire rose before us in all its terrible majesty. A figure waited at the gates—one of the Shadowkin servants, his form rippling in the crimson daylight.

Xül's posture changed, all ease vanishing as he straightened to his full, imposing height. “Yes?” he called as we approached.

The servant bowed low. "My lord. A message has arrived." He extended

a sealed letter.

Xül took it, examining the wax seal.

"What is it?" I asked, moving closer to see.

"We received this one in time, at least," he murmured, more to himself than to me.

I leaned against the obsidian gate, studying the symbols on the letterhead. Two emblems intertwined—one a spiral, the other a complex knot.

"Whose symbols are those?" I asked, though I sensed the answer would be unpleasant.

"Fate and Chaos," Xül replied, his eyes still on the seal. "Vorinar and Aella will host the next trial."

I straightened, unease crawling up my spine. "That doesn't sound like a promising combination."

"No, it doesn’t." A troubled expression flitted across his features before he masked it. He broke the seal and scanned the contents quickly, his brow furrowing.

"Is it bad?" I asked, not entirely sure I wanted the answer.

“Not necessarily,” he said, turning back to the servant. "You may go.

Prepare for Miss Morvaren and myself to be absent this evening."

The servant nodded and disappeared into the shadows.

Xül folded the letter and tucked it inside his jacket. "Come. We need to

get you cleaned up and ready."

"Ready for what exactly?"

He began walking toward the Bone Spire's entrance, his pace brisk.

"We're going to the only place where a master of fate resides outside of Voldaris."

I hurried to catch up with him. "I’m confused."

He paused, turning to meet my gaze. "This man lives in Elaren,

Starling."

"What?”

"Yes." He resumed walking. "Go clean up. We leave in an hour."

I wanted to press for more information, but the set of his shoulders told me I'd get nothing further—not yet. So, I headed to my chambers, my mind

whirling with possibilities. The mortal realm. After everything that had happened since the Trials began, I was going back to where it all started.

WHEN I EMERGED AN HOUR LATER, Xül was waiting in the entrance hall.

He'd changed as well, foregoing his usual elaborate attire for something far less flashy—though he still looked every inch the divine prince he was.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Can you at least tell me what region we’re visiting?"

"In time." He extended his hand, and I took it without hesitation. "Close your eyes."

I did as he asked, feeling the now-familiar pull of portal magic wrap around us. The air crackled with power, and then — Heat. Dry, searing heat against my skin. And air that tasted different— cleaner, lighter.

I opened my eyes to find myself standing in an endless expanse of desert, golden sands stretching toward the horizon in every direction. The sky above was a brilliant, painful blue.

I inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar quality of the air. It had been so long since I'd breathed it that I'd almost forgotten how it felt in my lungs.

Xül was already striding forward across the dunes, his boots leaving barely a trace in the sand. I hurried to catch up with him.

"When exactly are you going to explain any of this?" I demanded.

"All will be revealed in due time," he replied, not slowing his pace.

I scowled at his back. "That's the most insufferably mysterious thing

I've ever heard."

"Then my reputation remains intact."

"Who is this master of fate? Why isn't he in Voldaris? Why are we trudging through a desert to find him?" The questions tumbled out of me as I matched his stride.

"She asks, as if I would suddenly change my mind about revealing everything just because she demands it with increasing volume," Xül mused

to no one in particular.

"You’re infuriating," I hissed.

"And you’re observant, starling."

As we crested a dune, a small village appeared in the distance, shimmering. Mud-brick buildings in warm ochre tones clustered around what appeared to be a central well. Palms provided patches of shade, and colorful awnings stretched between buildings to shelter the narrow streets from the punishing sun.

As we approached, people came into view—women carrying clay jugs, children playing in the sparse shadows, merchants calling out their wares.

As we entered the village proper, I noticed how the residents reacted to Xül. They didn't scream or bow, but they definitely recognized him as something other. They gave him a wide berth, eyes cast downward, bodies angled away.

Xül, for his part, seemed to enjoy their discomfort, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"They’re afraid of you," I said quietly.

"Of course they are," he replied. "All mortals fear death."

We finally reached what appeared to be a temple at the far edge of the village. Unlike the simple mud-brick structures of the homes, this building was made of pale sandstone, its façade carved with swirling designs. Robed figures moved in and out of its arched entrance, their garments a soft gray.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

Priests. Even if they weren't the white-robed followers of Olinthar, they were still priests—servants of the divine, enforcers of the gods' will among mortals. My heart began to race, my palms suddenly slick with sweat that had nothing to do with the desert heat.

Xül turned, one eyebrow raised in question before understanding dawned on his face. He moved closer, his voice pitched low so only I could hear.

"These are not like the priests you knew," he said. "They serve Vorinar, and they harm no one. Their purpose is to observe and record, not to hunt or capture."

I watched as one of the robed figures walked past us, head bowed in quiet acknowledgment of Xül. Unlike Olinthar's priests with their cold, searching eyes, this one's face was serene, almost contemplative.

"I'm not going in there," I said, my voice distant.

"This is the best I can offer," Xül replied, his expression unusually serious. "If it's even possible to prepare for what Vorinar and Aella have planned."

"I'll take my chances," I said, stepping back. "I'd rather wing it."

Xül's eyes narrowed as he studied my face. "Don’t be ridiculous." He glanced meaningfully at another priest who walked past us. "You can’t actually expect me to believe you’re afraid of these people."

I stiffened. "Fear and hatred are two very different things."

"Yes," he agreed. "And you can use either to fuel your stars if you feel threatened."

“So I have your permission then?” I eyed him.

“I suppose, though you won’t need it.” He smiled. “Everyone in there would simply shatter if you brought the sky down. These aren’t warriors or strategists. They’re peaceful.”

I watched the priests moving about their business.

"So I shouldn’t expect any violence then?" I asked, hating the vulnerability in my voice.

Xül’s expression shifted. "I promise. And if they tried, they would not survive the attempt."

The fierce certainty in his voice steadied me. I took a deep breath and nodded. "Fine. But if anything feels wrong—"

"We leave immediately," he finished. "You have my word."

He extended his hand again, and after a moment's hesitation, I took it.

His fingers closed around mine.

The interior of the temple was cool and dim after the harsh desert sun, lit by oil lamps that cast dancing shadows on the sand-colored walls. The air smelled of incense and old parchment. Priests moved about quietly, some transcribing scrolls, others lounging in alcoves carved into the walls.

Xül led me through the main chamber and up a spiraling staircase. The higher we climbed, the fewer people we encountered, until finally we stood before a simple wooden door.

He turned to me, taking a deep breath. "What I am about to show you can never be repeated to anyone. Do you understand?"

The seriousness of his tone made me hesitate. "Why show me at all, then?"

"Because you need every advantage you can get," he replied.

Before I could respond, he continued. "Promise me, Thais."

I nodded slowly. "Fine."

He held my gaze for a moment longer, then rapped his knuckles against the handle. Without waiting for a response, he pushed it open and gestured

for me to follow him inside.

The room beyond was small and sparsely furnished—a few cushions on the floor, a low table with a tea service, and shelves lining the walls, filled with scrolls and strange objects I couldn't identify. Sitting cross-legged on a cushion was an elderly man, his back straight despite his age, his eyes closed.

His skin—the color of parchment—was deeply streaked with wrinkles.

His hair was a pure, luminous white that curled up at his shoulders. He wore simple robes of shifting gray, but unlike the other priests, an aura of golden light surrounded him.

As I stepped inside, the old man opened his eyes, and I had to stifle a gasp. They were milky white. He turned his face directly toward us.

"Prince Xül," he said, his voice deep and melodious.

Xül inclined his head—something I'd never seen him offer anyone, not even his own father. "Heron."

The man's attention shifted to me. "And you've brought a guest. One with a most interesting lineage."

I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. I shot Xül a panicked glance.

"Indeed," Xül confirmed, closing the door behind us with a soft click.

Heron merely smiled, the expression transforming his weathered face into something almost boyish. "I won’t pry. Some secrets aren't mine to tell." He gestured to the cushions across from him. "Please, sit."

I sank down, my mind reeling. "You… you can tell I'm—? Just by looking at me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Child," Heron said, his voice gentle, "I can see the threads of fate that bind you to the heavens and the earth." He reached for a teapot on the low table before him, pouring the steaming liquid into a cup. "Your divine nature shines to me as clearly as sunlight—a bright, golden thread."

"Heron is the son of Vorinar," Xül explained, settling beside me.

"Mortal."

The revelation crawled across my skin. Another half-divine child. Like me. Like Thatcher. But older—far older.

"That's—" I struggled to find words. "But then why aren't you—"

"In Voldaris?" Heron finished for me, a sad smile playing at his lips.

"Well, that was my father’s decision. As I’m sure you’re all too familiar with, the only way to live in Voldaris is to ascend, and there is only one way

to do so. I was born blind, my dear. These eyes have never seen the physical world." He waved a hand vaguely toward his milky eyes. "And while blindness is no impediment to seeing the paths of fate—indeed, it perhaps sharpened that particular gift—it would have been a death sentence considering the physicality of the Trials.”

I processed this, the implications sinking in. "So your father hid you."

“Yes,” was all he said.

A new, terrible thought struck me. "But your mother… did she…?" I couldn't finish the question, the memory of my own mother's fate choking the words in my throat.

Heron's expression softened. "My mother survived my birth," he said gently. "With my father's help. She lived a long and full life—nearly eighty years."

I couldn't stop the small, strangled sound that escaped me.

"How?" I managed, my voice raw.

"Vorinar wove her fate differently," Heron explained. "He bound her life thread to mine in a way that sustained her through the birth. It required considerable power and… sacrifice on his part." He paused, seeming to consider his next words carefully. "Not all Aesymar are equally callous with

mortal lives, Thais Morvaren."

I looked down, nodding.

“My mother was a temple scribe during the Autumn Solstice," he continued. "Recording the prophecies that came when the veil thinned. My father noticed her because she was the only one who didn't cower when he manifested. She looked him in the eye and corrected his pronunciation of an ancient word." A sad smile crossed his face. "He returned the next solstice just to debate linguistics with her."

Xül shifted beside me. "Heron's existence has been one of the most carefully guarded secrets in the divine realm for centuries. Vorinar hid him here, under his protection, knowing what would happen if the wrong Aesymar discovered his existence."

Heron nodded, handing me a steaming cup of tea. "My father concealed me in this remote corner of Elaren, where I've lived in relative peace, serving as his eyes and ears."

He took a contemplative sip from his own cup. "I have lived here for nearly three hundred years, watching the threads of fate unfold from a distance."

The cup nearly slipped from my suddenly numb fingers. "Three hundred…"

"Divine blood grants longevity," Heron explained, his voice gentle.

"Though not true immortality."

I stared at him, truly seeing him now—not as an old man, but as a being who had watched empires rise and fall, who had lived through centuries.

Who had existed in hiding all this time, a living rebuke to the cruelty of the system.

"You've outlived everyone you ever knew from your early life," I whispered, the personal horror of such an existence washing over me.

"Except my father," Heron acknowledged with a small nod. "And those few divine beings who know of my existence." He reached across the table, his hand finding mine with unerring accuracy. His skin felt impossibly warm. "It is both a blessing and a burden, Thais. One you may come to know yourself, if you survive what lies ahead."

His words sent a shiver down my spine—not just for the reminder of the deadly trial still to come, but for the lonely centuries that might stretch beyond anyone who succeeded. They would watch everyone they’d ever known grow old and die while remaining unchanged.

"You've come about the trial," Heron said, turning to Xül. "Vorinar and Aella's creation. A particularly… unpredictable combination."

"Any advice you can offer would be greatly appreciated," Xül said.

“This doesn’t exactly fall under my domain of expertise.”

Heron sipped his tea thoughtfully. "You know I cannot speak directly of what awaits. For that knowledge is hidden even to me." His face turned toward me. "But I can speak in principles. The first one, and perhaps the most important, is to remember that chaos and fate are opposing forces by nature. Where one creates pattern, the other disrupts it."

"That's hardly helpful," I said, unable to keep the disappointment from my voice.

A small smile touched Heron's lips. "The useful is rarely obvious, young one." He set his cup down. "Consider this: what is uniquely yours that cannot be taken or corrupted? What connects you to your past and your future simultaneously?"

I frowned, uncertain what he meant. "My power?"

"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 spite from 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.

"That's not possible," I said, my voice shaking. If we kill Olinthar, we'll both die. That's the plan. That's always been the plan. We'd accepted that cost together. I had never once considered a future where I lived, and he didn't.

"Plans and fate are seldom aligned," Heron said gently. "But take heart —fate can always be changed if one alters their path."

I shook my head, unable to form words through the terror gripping my throat. The idea of continuing without Thatcher, of ascending to godhood while he died, was unbearable. We were twins—two halves of a whole. I had never imagined existence without him.

Before I could press Heron for more information, his expression smoothed into that same serene mask he'd worn when we arrived. A moment later, Xül returned.

"We should be going," he said, apparently not noticing my distress. "I think we’ve taken up enough of your time."

Heron rose to his feet with surprising grace for one so old. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Thais Morvaren." He took my trembling hand in his.

"Remember what I said about fate. Nothing is truly fixed until it happens."

I nodded mutely, my mind still reeling from his revelation.

As we walked back through the village, Xül glanced at me with narrowed eyes. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

I forced myself to breathe normally, to keep my expression neutral.

"Just processing everything."

He studied me a moment longer, clearly not entirely convinced, but he didn't press the issue.

We reached the edge of the village just as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the desert sands. Xül raised his hand to open a portal but hesitated.

“Would you mind terribly if we stopped somewhere before returning to Draknavor?” He eyed me, lifting a brow.

I was so lost in my own thoughts, I barely registered his words. I forced myself to shake my head.

As the portal swirled open before us, I made a silent vow. I would find a way to speak with Thatcher, to warn him about what I'd learned. Together, we would change our approach—find a longer game, perhaps, or a different path entirely.

Because I had not fought my way through the Trials, had not endured Xül's training and the horrors of Voldaris, only to live for eternity without the one person who mattered most to me. If fate decreed Thatcher's death, then I would tear fate apart and reweave it to my liking.

Xül's hand touched my shoulder, pulling me from my dark thoughts.

"Ready?"

I nodded and followed him through the portal.