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From their dreams came oceans and forests, mountains and stars. From their whispers came mortals. From their pride came the Aesymar, divine children who carried fragments of their makers’ power. But power breeds ambition.
Elaren, the mortal realm,
Olinthar, mightiest of the Twelve,
claimed the highest throne as King of Gods.
Trials of Ascension,
a crucible where the power-touched could prove themselves worthy.
I had the same black hair as Thatcher's, though mine fell in salt-stiffened waves past my shoulders while his was cropped short. We both had the same square jaw, dimpled cheeks, and freckles scattered across fair skin tanned from years under the coastal sun. Our indigo eyes were a trait from our mother, much like our stubbornness and affinity for trouble, according to Sulien.
I paused, taking in the view I'd seen every day of my twenty-six years. Simple wooden houses with their weathered gray boards, the stone temple on the hill, fishing nets hung to dry between posts. Nothing ever changed here, which was exactly how we needed it to be. Perhaps that was why I launched myself into every tavern challenge, every wild swim, every midnight tryst.
Because I’d never been able to escape the feeling that, at some point, all of it was going to end.
The familiar tingle numbed my fingertips, then the cool rush of power as tiny points of light appeared above my palms, swirling into a miniature constellation.
This was the secret that could destroy everything—the power I'd been born with, the reason we could never leave Saltcrest.
But over time, the leak widened. More mortals began showing signs of divine blessing. The ability to manipulate fire, to speak with animals, to heal wounds with a touch. But that type of power was never meant for mortal hands. And the gods noticed, of course. How could they not?
So they created the Trials of Ascension. Every decade, those with gifts were gathered, tested, broken down, and rebuilt in the gods' image. A few would ascend to join the pantheon. The rest would die, their power reclaimed by the Aesymar.
My secret had become our family's secret.
twenty-six years old
And Thatcher... He laughed and flirted and kept everyone entertained, but I saw the loneliness in his eyes sometimes. The way he pulled back just when things started to get real.
They were both trapped by what I was. Living half-lives because of me.
But sometimes, in my darkest moments, I wondered if honoring it was actually an act of love or the ultimate selfishness.
Here, I could finally let go. I raised my hands, feeling the connection to energies that pulsed millions of miles away yet somehow lived inside me. Light gathered around my fingers.
my very existence the result of violence.
"Sometimes I wonder what it would be like. To be free to use this power. To see what I'm truly capable of."
Sometimes I fantasized about entering the Trials not to ascend, but to destroy. About using what flowed through me not to please the gods, but to hurt them.
I'd never had the heart to tell him that sometimes I didn't know which I feared more—being discovered or spending my entire life hiding.
"Him. Olinthar." The name felt strange on my tongue. It was the first time I'd said his name aloud in years. The King of Gods himself, ruler of the Twelve Aesymar, master of light. The creature who had sired us.
"I won't lose you to them. I can't."
"And I think maybe adventure isn't always about going somewhere new. Sometimes it's about finding something worth staying for."
For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to be the kind of woman someone could love without reservation. One who didn't carry secrets—who could give her heart freely instead of sharpening it like a weapon.
dancing." "I'm not interrogating.
conversation." "There's a
Osythe's very essence and simply... froze it in time. It wasn’t true immortality, wasn’t godhood. It was suspension. She exists now in the space between life and death—aging slowly, but still fundamentally mortal.”
"Osythe lives with her lover in Draknavor now," Dorna finished. "Their son ascended in the last Trials—Xül, Warden of the Damned.
"I love you too, little fish. Both of you. More than all the stars in the sky."
The priest’s smile widened. "A blessed walks among you tonight."
Then darkness took me, merciful and complete, stealing away the sight of my father's blood and the sound of my brother's screams.
I love you both. Remember that. Always remember that.
The truth of it hit me hard. I was going to have to play their game, follow their rules, make myself into whatever they wanted me to be.
Be smart, I told myself. Use the anger. Don't let it use you.
I tried to summon the competitive fire that I'd spent years suppressing in favor of keeping my head down, staying unnoticed. It was strange to let it fully surface now, to embrace that part of myself that had always wanted to prove I was better than anyone expected.
"Not all who serve the divine realm agree with every tradition we're asked to uphold."
He was tall and lean, built like a weapon wrapped in divine flesh. Bronze skin stretched over sharp cheekbones and a jaw that could cut glass. His hair was braided and woven with golden beads. But it was his eyes that stole my breath—one burned pure gold, bright and predatory as a hawk's. The other was completely black. And settling over his full lips, hung a golden ring pierced through his nose.
The arena drowned in their light as I dragged night into day with nothing but will and that feral thing inside me that had always belonged more to the sky than the earth.
I could taste starfire and eternity, could smell smoke and cosmic dust—ancient and terrible and mine.
I had to grip the couch to keep from doubling over. Not just revenge. Not just justice. But balance. He'd created us through violence. It seemed fitting that violence would be what destroyed him.
The decision didn't feel like a choice. It felt like gravity—inevitable, inescapable.
The Aesymar thought they'd captured two terrified mortals. They had no idea what they'd actually unleashed.
"Please remember, dear, mentorship isn't like mortal teaching," Lyralei explained. "The gods expect absolute obedience and complete dedication. They'll reshape you into whatever they think you need to be to survive, regardless of what you want."
"Power like that," Xül said through gritted teeth, "comes from the same source as mine. Life and death, growth and decay—these belong to my domain alone.”
"I'll take the other one."
"The other Morvaren."
To Draknavor. A place I'd only heard of in whispered stories—the domain where all souls went, where the dead dwelt in eternal darkness.
