The Ascended — Chapter no 67

Chapter 67

Xül

THE TEMPLE DOORS EXPLODED INWARD. MY FATHER AND I BURST THROUGH, death magic already coiling around our hands— And froze.

"Stop!" My father's voice carried the weight of mountains, but it came too late.

Thais stood over Olinthar's prone form, a blade of pure starlight slamming through his chest. Blood spurted and pooled beneath the King of Gods, spreading across dark, cracked stone. The air still simmered with residual power.

Thais's eyes found mine across that blood-soaked distance. Empty. Not cold, not defiant—simply empty, as if she'd poured out everything inside her. The star blade flickered once, then dissolved, leaving only the wound it had carved through divinity itself.

She swayed on her feet. I moved before thought, shadows carrying me across the temple in an instant. I caught her as her knees buckled, pulling her against my chest, my hand cradling the back of her head.

"I've got you," I murmured against her hair. "I'm here, starling. I've got you."

"Thatcher." The word came out flat, empty. "He took Thatcher."

“Who?” I asked.

Her fingers curled into my shirt, mechanical, like she was going through motions she'd forgotten the meaning of. Olinthar's blood stained her hands, already drying to rust.

I pressed my lips to her temple, tasting salt and ash. "Tell me what

happened. All of it."

She didn't respond.

My father approached Olinthar's body. He knelt, pressing two fingers to the fallen god's throat. The gesture was purely ceremonial—we could all feel the absence where Olinthar's divine presence should have been. That particular flavor of power that had dominated the pantheon for eons, snuffed out like a candle.

"Dead," Morthus confirmed, his voice grave. "Truly and completely dead." He surveyed the carnage—Elysia's body in a pool of blood, the destroyed temple pillars. "What happened here?"

Thais didn't react at first. She stared at the blood on her hands like she didn't recognize it. When she finally spoke, the word came out hollow.

"Moros."

The name hit the air like a thunderclap. My father went completely still, the color draining from his face. I felt my own blood turn to ice.

My father spoke. "That's impossible. Moros died in the Sundering. We all felt him die."

Silence. Then, barely audible: "He was inside Olinthar."

"No," my father said. "We would have known."

"How long?" I demanded, my mind racing through every interaction with Olinthar in recent memory, seeing them all in a horrifying new light.

Thais blinked slowly, like even that small movement took enormous effort. "Centuries."

My father sank to his knees beside Olinthar's corpse. "You speak of Primordial possession. It cannot be. He was obliterated." His hands shook as he examined the body with new eyes.

"Tell us everything," I urged gently, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Thais, please. We need to know."

She stared at nothing for so long I thought she wouldn't answer. When she finally spoke, each word came out carefully, like she was afraid they might shatter. "Thatcher disappeared. I followed him and Olinthar here. He was trying to open Thatcher’s chest—then Elysia showed up and stabbed me."

I glanced towards the dead goddess. “Where is Thatcher now? Moros?”

“Gone.” It was all she said.

"Vivros's power," my father murmured, understanding and horror mixing in his tone. "If what she says is true, then that’s something Moros would want to absorb. The ability to unmake matter itself—in his hands, he would be unstoppable."

Thais's expression didn't change. "We fought him. Thatcher ripped him out." Her voice went even flatter. "Then Moros opened a hole. To nothing.

He pulled Thatcher in."

My father's head snapped up. "He opened a passage to the Abyss?"

She turned to look at him, and the emptiness in her eyes was terrifying.

"I held his hand. I held on. But he slipped away." Her gaze drifted back to nothing. "Just… slipped away."

The silence stretched, broken only by her breathing—too steady, too controlled, like she was manually remembering how to do it. “He said he’d find Thatcher in there.”

The implications crashed over us. Moros alive. Moros having controlled the pantheon's highest seat for years. Moros with knowledge of all our secrets, our weaknesses, our plans. And now Thatcher—with power that could rival a Primordial's—lost in the ether where Moros could reach him.

"Fuck," I exhaled.

"That's one way to put it," my father agreed, still looking shaken. "We need to—" He stopped, gathering himself with visible effort. "First things first. Olinthar. The power transfer. Then we deal with the rest."

"Can we get him back?" The question came out toneless, like she already knew the answer but had to ask anyway.

My father's silence stretched too long. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful. "Opening a passage to such an Abyss requires… specific

conditions. Extreme conditions."

"Tell me."

"The tear Moros created—it only happened because two Primordial forces were tearing at reality's fabric. Vivros's power and Moros's essence, ancient enemies locked in direct conflict." He shook his head slowly. "We could gather all twelve Aesymar and still not generate that level of paradox.

It requires powers that predate the pantheon itself, violently opposed, creating an anomaly so severe that existence gives up."

She absorbed this information without expression.

"We'll find another way," I said fiercely, though I had no idea how.

"There has to be—"

"There isn't," Morthus cut me off. "The expanse between realms isn't some door you can unlock. It's the absence of everything. Only a fundamental break in reality itself can bridge that gap."

Thais looked at me then, and the absence in her eyes was worse than

tears. "He's gone."

"Thais—"

"And Olinthar?" Morthus asked carefully. “What did he do after?”

She blinked. “He’s dead.”

Her words were empty of the vengeance she'd craved for so long. Even killing him meant nothing without Thatcher.

"And Elysia?" I asked gently. "How does she fit into this?"

Thais's gaze drifted to the body in its pool of blood. "She was with him." A pause. "With Moros."

“There is something the two of you are failing to understand here.” My father stood slowly, his expression darker than I'd ever seen it. "You struck the killing blow, Thais. Olinthar's domain, his responsibilities, his very essence—it will all flow to you."

She looked down at where the divine power was seeping into her. "No."

"Want has nothing to do with it," Morthus said quietly. "It's already beginning. Can't you feel it?"

She could. I saw it in the way she swayed, the way her breathing changed. Divine power beginning its inexorable flow from the cooling corpse to its killer.

"I need to find Thatcher," she said, as if she hadn't heard him. As if nothing else existed. "I need to get him back."

"Thais, listen to me —"

"He's gone," she repeated, staring through me. "I let go. I let him fall."

"You didn't let him go," I said fiercely, cupping her face in my hands.

"You fought a Primordial. You survived. You —"

"I let go." Her voice broke on the words, the first real emotion I'd heard since she'd said Thatcher's name. Then the numbness settled back over her like a shroud. "I need to find him."

She kept repeating it, a broken mantra, even as tears ran down her face.

She didn't seem to notice them, didn't sob or shake—just stood there leaking grief while her mind stayed locked on that single, impossible goal.

I'd never seen her like this. Never imagined she could look like this. My Thais—who burned with starlight and fury, who'd faced down gods with

her chin raised—reduced to this empty shell. I couldn't reconcile the woman who'd driven a blade through Olinthar's heart minutes ago with this hollow- eyed stranger in my arms.

She’d been so strong. Unbreakable. Even in her darkest moments, there'd been that core of fire, that refusal to yield. But losing Thatcher had done what no god could—it had extinguished her light. And I had no idea how to reignite it.

"We need to move quickly," my father said, but even his voice held a note of uncertainty as he watched Thais's vacant stare. "The others will have felt Olinthar's death. They'll come to investigate."

"Let them come," I growled, death magic sparking around my free hand.

"Anyone who steps foot in here—”

"Will see opportunity.” Morthus cut me off with a look that could kill.

"Think, Xül. She's newly ascended, grief-stricken, inexperienced. To the Twelve, she's not Olinthar's killer—she's Olinthar's crown, waiting to be claimed."

The implications slammed through me. Every member of the Twelve would see Thais as the key to ultimate power. Not a person, not even a rival —just a stepping stone to the throne that had been denied to them for millennia.

"We protect her," I said, the words coming out more plea than statement. "The reformists—"

"Are outnumbered." My father's expression softened fractionally.

"Syrena would stand with us, but Vorinar? He’s an unknown now. Axora?

Terralith? Pyralia? They've hungered for power. They'll tear the pantheon apart for a chance at it."

Thais had gone quiet in my arms, that terrible emptiness returning. She stared at nothing, tears still flowing. “Vorinar is not himself.”

“What?” Morthus asked.

“Moros. He corrupted him during the trial.” Thais’ voice was almost inaudible.

“So we have even less support then.” Morthus turned, running a hand

through his hair.

“What do we do?”

"There is… another option," Morthus said carefully.

I cut my gaze up. "What option?"

"I claim credit for the kill."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. Thais didn't react—I wasn't even sure she'd heard. But I understood immediately what my father was suggesting, and anger flared hot in my chest.

"Of course." My voice bit through the air. "Olinthar's body isn't even cold and you're already calculating how to use this. Everything's an opportunity with you, isn't it?"

"Would you prefer I let his actual killer take the blame?" Morthus's voice remained maddeningly calm. "A grief-stricken girl who can barely stand, let alone defend herself against the entire pantheon?"

"Don't pretend this is altruism," I snarled. "You've wanted Olinthar's throne for centuries. And now it's conveniently empty, and you just happen to be here to claim responsibility."

"Yes," he said simply. "I have wanted this. I've worked toward this. The difference is, I'm prepared for what comes next. She isn't."

I wanted to rage at him, to call him the opportunistic bastard he was.

But looking down at Thais—lost in her grief, unaware of the political hurricane about to descend—I knew he wasn't wrong. That made it worse.

"The others would challenge you," I said, trying to find holes in his logic even as I hated myself for considering it. "You're already a threat to the traditionalists. If they think you killed Olinthar—"

"They'll move against me, yes. But I'm established. Powerful. I have allies, resources, centuries of political maneuvering to call upon." He gestured to Thais. "She has nothing but raw power she can't control and a

target on her back."

"Exactly. We have allies who will—"

"Do what, exactly?" My father's tone took on a cutting quality. "Stand guard over her every moment? Fight off the entire pantheon when they come calling?" He stepped closer, and I saw the cold calculation in his eyes that had made him second only to Olinthar for so long. "All of them will challenge her, Xül. One by one or all at once. And they will prevail."

"Then they'll have to go through me first. Every. Single. One."

"You're powerful, my son, but not that powerful. Axora alone could—"

"Could try." My voice dropped. "I'll paint this temple with divine blood before I let them touch her."

Morthus studied me for a long moment. "You'd die for her."

"Without hesitation." I stroked Thais's hair as she trembled against me, my touch gentle even as my words turned vicious. "But I'd make sure to

take as many of them with me as possible. Starting with whoever reached for her first."

"A romantic gesture. Also a futile one." His expression darkened further.

"I won't allow another god to seize this opportunity."

His tone made my blood run cold. I tightened my hold on Thais instinctively. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if I claim this kill, I need to be strong enough to hold it.

Strong enough that no one dares challenge me." His eyes bored into mine.

"Your marriage to Nyvora would split the traditionalists. Give me the alliance I need."

"Go fuck yourself." The words came out as a snarl. "I'm not trading Thais's life for chains."

The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken threat. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, dangerous. "Then I'll have to consider all options to maintain stability in the pantheon. Every option. Even ones I'd prefer to avoid."

A low growl escaped my lips. "You wouldn't dare."

"I've ruled Draknavor this long by doing what must be done," he replied simply. "Don't make me prove that to you now."

I rose to my feet, lifting Thais with me, cradling her against my chest.

"You'd murder an innocent woman? Your own son's—" I couldn't finish.

Couldn't put words to what she meant to me.

"To prevent a war that would destroy everything we've built? To stop the traditionalists from turning this realm into something even darker?" His eyes blazed with conviction. "Yes. And you know it."

Thais stirred slightly in my arms, lost in her grief, oblivious to her life being bartered over her head. The choice was no choice at all.

"You bastard," I whispered.

"Yes," he agreed without emotion. "But a bastard who keeps his word.

Agree to the marriage, and she lives under my protection. Refuse…" He didn't need to finish.

His expression shifted then, showing something deeper than cold calculation. "I will not abandon my goal for this, Xül. Not for her, not for you, not for anything. We've worked too long, sacrificed too much to let chaos destroy everything now. The pantheon must change. The old ways, the cruelty, the endless power games—they die with Olinthar. But that change requires stability first."

"The end justifies the means?" Each syllable stabbed the silence.

"When the end is a realm where children aren't harvested for divine amusement? Where mortals aren't pawns in immortal games? Yes. I've done terrible things to get us this far. I'll do worse if needed. Because the alternative is unacceptable."

He looked at Thais, and for a moment, I saw genuine regret cross his features. "She doesn't deserve to be caught in this. But none of us get what we deserve. We get what we can salvage from the wreckage."

I looked down at her—my fierce starling who'd carved her way into my heart—then back at my father. In his eyes, I saw the truth. He'd do it. For his vision of a better pantheon, for the prevention of something worse, for the greater good he'd pursued his entire existence. He'd add her death to his ledger of necessary sins.

The future I'd imagined shattered. All those stolen moments, her laughter echoing through the Bone Spire. The way she challenged me, defied me, made me feel alive for once in my life. The plans I'd barely admitted to myself—showing her the hidden corners of the realm, watching her grow into her power, maybe one day hearing her say she loved me too.

All of it crumbling to ash.

Because I loved her more than my own freedom. More than any future.

More than anything.

"I'll do it," I said quietly. I pressed my lips to Thais's forehead, breathing in the scent of starlight and storm, memorizing it.

Pride flickered in Morthus's eyes, and I wanted to hurl myself at him.

"You have my word. She'll be under my protection."

"She's worth more than that," I said softly, adjusting my hold on her as she pressed closer to my chest, seeking comfort even in her broken state.

"Worth more than your ambitions, your greater good, your perfect pantheon."

"Love makes fools of gods and mortals alike, my son."

"Then I'll gladly be a fool." I looked down at her vacant eyes, at the woman who'd never know the bond I’d carved into my skin to make sure she’d always be safe—so that I could always find her. She’d never know that my soul was tied to hers. That my heart bled for her, more and more every passing day.

This was the price of her survival. And I'd pay it a thousand times over, even if it meant watching her from afar for eternity, belonging to another

while she lived and breathed and maybe, someday, smiled again.

Morthus moved to Olinthar's body, dark power gathering around his hands. "We need to make this convincing. It must run deep enough that no one questions my involvement."

Death magic poured from his hands, seeping into Olinthar's corpse. The blood turned to tar, the peaceful expression twisting into a rictus of agony.

Shadows crawled beneath the skin, leaving marks of dissolution that spoke of slow, deliberate murder. When he finished, Olinthar looked like he'd been tortured by death itself before the final blow.

"His essence is transferring to her," I said, my voice tight. "How exactly do you plan to explain that when the others arrive? They'll sense it immediately."

"They'll sense something," my father conceded with a slight nod. "But this is unprecedented. Even more so with one of the Twelve."

"And your claim that you killed him?"

"Will be believed because it's what they expect," Morthus replied, his eyes calculating. “But the power…" He gestured to Thais. "All of this is theory, of course, but I don’t believe it would have transferred to me even if I had been the one to strike the killing blow. Death and Light are fundamentally opposed. I'm not compatible."

"But she is," I said, looking down at her vacant form. "Light calls to light."

"Precisely. Her domain is the same as his. The power naturally seeks her." His expression darkened. "Which means she'll need to learn to suppress it quickly. To hide what she is becoming."

My jaw tightened. "In her current state? She's barely conscious."

“We’re going to take advantage of the unknown and the chaos surrounding the situation. Now…" Morthus said, wiping his hands, "we summon the others. Let me do the talking. Xül, don't leave her side, but don't appear too protective. We need them focused on me, not wondering about your involvement."

I nodded, adjusting my hold on Thais. She'd gone completely limp, eyes open but unseeing. Shock, grief, and nascent divine power made a dangerous combination. I could feel Olinthar's essence settling into her bones, trying to remake her into something she'd never wanted to be.

"It's going to be alright," I whispered against her hair, rocking her gently.

"Thatcher," she murmured, barely audible. "I need to find Thatcher."

"I know, starling. I know."

She didn't respond after that, just stared at nothing while I held her. Her body was present but her mind had retreated somewhere safe. I'd seen this before in torture victims—when the pain became too much, the mind simply… left.

The game was beginning. And all I could do was hold her and pray to powers older than prayer that somewhere in that broken mind, she was still fighting to return.

But as I felt her sit there, vacant and still, I knew the truth.

I'd already lost her too.

Just in a different way.