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For the quiet aftermath, when the battle ends and we must face what victory has made of us.
From their pride came the Aesymar, divine children who carried fragments of their makers’ power.
This was the secret that could destroy everything—the power I'd been born with, the reason we could never leave Saltcrest.
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.
"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.
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.
"Osythe lives with her lover in Draknavor now," Dorna finished. "Their son ascended in the last Trials—Xül, Warden of the Damned.
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.
I was Thais Morvaren, wielder of stars, and I had come here to learn how to kill a god.
"You think you could break me?" "Break you?" His laugh was cold. "Breaking would be such a waste. I'd much rather watch you bend."
