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First was Caelis, God of Aether, invisible to the naked eye.
Bulder, God of Ground, sculpted the sphere with one belted bellow, building a sturdy globe that did not spin.
The Goddess of Water came next. Rayne fell upon the ground in a billion yearning teardrops of unrequited love, puddling in Bulder’s dips, filling his gorges with her gushing affections.
Clode—Goddess of Air—who hinged on the precipice of immeasurable madness. Her voice was a ribbon of silk, soft to touch, unless it turned to the side and slit you with its edge.
Ignos was a glutton for Clode. The God of Fire feasted on her. Consumed her. Loved her so much he could not breathe without her.
They made Gondragh their spawning ground. Some folk were brave enough to venture close. To raid a nest and snatch an egg. Brave . . . or stupid.
they lured Caelis into their trap and captured him. Subdued him.
Until one aurora rise, for the first time in more than five million phases . . . Another moon fell.
My clip. “No token, no entry,” he grinds out, immediately dismissing me as a lesser. A null. Someone who doesn’t hear any of the four elemental songs.
“Orig.” A wall settlement I’ve never been to—not
I quietly thank the Creators that waifs are rare, haunting only drapes of mist where they nibble souls in exchange for messages from obliging dead.
A boastful token of their ability to hear the different elemental songs: Red for Ignos. Blue for Rayne. Brown for Bulder. Clear for Clode.
“If the King put as much effort into feeding the poor as you do, The Fade would be a much better place to live.”
“Rekk’s Moonplume is in the city hutch.” My heart drops, gaze whipping up, plunging into Sereme’s stony stare. “Who’s he hunting?” “Us.”
Only a Daga-mórrk can wield dragonflame—one so bonded with their dragon they can harness its strength and fire. Though the connection is more myth than reality.
I force myself to continue forward, ignoring the feral urge to stalk to the city hutch, hire a carter, and fly west to Drelgad. To where King Cadok currently resides, overseeing his militia.
I slept in the hutch last slumber, dreaming of happy things while my family slept on pallets they’d never rise from. While some sort of ingested poison threaded through their bodies and strangled them to death. Mah. Pah. Haedeon.
Guess this is the Burn King—Kaan Vaegor.
“Chase death, Elluin Raeve.”
“Chase death, Moonbeam. And I pray your bloodlust brings you the same sense of peace I feel just knowing you exist.”
Only her. The only beam of light I’ll ever need or want in this world, my love for her sitting like a moon in my chest.
