The Ascended — Chapter no 14

Chapter 14

Starling

I WOKE UP TANGLED IN SILK SHEETS THAT PROBABLY COST MORE THAN OUR cottage back home.

Light filtered through tall windows, painting everything in shades of red and gold.

The room was massive, all black stone floors and walls covered in dramatic paintings.

The bath had been the real shock last night. Hot springs ran right through the room—actual natural springs, steaming and perfect. I'd stayed in there until my fingers wrinkled.

Now, looking around in daylight, I had to admit the whole setup was impressive. Oils and soaps lined shelves carved into the walls, everything smelling like seafoam and flowers. It was luxury beyond anything I'd ever imagined.

Part of me wanted to feel guilty for enjoying it, but when would I ever get another chance? If I was going to die, I’d certainly take advantage of this situation before then. Why not?

I reached out through the bond with Thatcher, that invisible thread that had connected us since birth. Still there—faint but steady. He was alive, and from what I could sense, he seemed almost… pleased? At least one of us was handling this decently.

Thatcher was probably already charming Chavore. And here I was, alone in a castle with a mentor who'd rather be anywhere else.

Thatcher and I had promised each other—play the part, be perfect students, learn what we could. But how was I supposed to do that when my mentor wouldn't even stay in the same room as me? The plan only worked if I could get close to him, earn some kind of trust or respect. Hard to do when he treated me like furniture.

My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, interrupting my mental spiral. Right. Food first, figure out how to salvage this mess later.

I forced myself from the sinful comfort of the bed and padded to the wardrobe. Inside, I found an entire collection of clothing in shades of red, black, and charcoal. The fabrics were exquisite—flowing silks, structured velvets, leather so supple it felt like water.

I settled on a lightweight charcoal dress that fell in soft, gathered pleats from a thick, knotted strap over one shoulder. The neckline cut diagonally across my chest, leaving my collarbone bare, while a narrow slit traced down the center—not bold, but enough to catch the eye. The back was completely open and the skirt was split high on one thigh to expose my tanned leg. It was beautiful, impractical, and definitely not designed for whatever passed for training in the domain of death.

The matching strappy shoes looked like instruments of torture. I left them where they were and padded barefoot from my chambers, following the scent of fresh bread and the faint sound of clinking glass through the castle's winding corridors.

The dining area I found was as elegant as everything else in this place— it held a long table of polished dark wood surrounded by high-backed chairs and tall windows offering views of the black sea. The table was set with gold rimmed plates laden with fresh fruit glistening with dew, bread still warm from the ovens, and golden honey in crystal jars.

But it was empty.

A Shadowskin appeared as if from nowhere, bowing low when she saw me approach the table. "Good morning, my lady. His Highness has business to conduct in the capital today. He sends his regrets."

“I’m sure he does,” I murmured under my breath. "The capital?"

"The Eternal City," she clarified, pouring tea into a cup. "He expects to return this evening. You are welcome to explore the estate as you wish, though we ask that you remain within the property boundaries for your safety."

So much for training. I grabbed a roll and settled into one of the chairs, trying not to feel disappointed.

"Is there anything else you require, my lady?" the servant asked.

"No, thank you." I waved her away.

A different perspective occurred to me. He was gone for the entire day, which meant I had free run of his castle.

Perhaps it was time to do some investigating.

ONE THING WAS CERTAIN. This palace was vast.

I spent hours wandering through corridors that seemed to stretch on forever, past rooms filled with purposes I couldn't begin to guess. Chambers that hummed with energy so thick it made my head pound.

The isolation was staggering. I'd passed maybe a dozen servants in all my wandering, ghostly figures in deep red and black who bowed when they saw me but never spoke. No other contestants, no other Legends, no one who might serve as distraction or ally. Just me, alone in a castle built for a population ten times its current size.

It was beautiful, certainly. Every room I entered was a masterpiece of architecture and design, flowing lines and organic curves that seemed grown rather than built. But it was also profoundly lonely, in a way that made my chest ache with homesickness for Saltcrest's cramped, chaotic warmth.

The library was on the opposite side of the castle, and I almost missed it in my wanderings. When I finally pushed open the massive oak doors, my eyes trailed across the display in wonder. The space was enormous—books stretching up to a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations I didn't recognize. Floating orbs of pale light drifted between the shelves like lazy fireflies.

A servant was shelving books near one of the massive windows, his movements careful and precise as he placed each volume in its designated spot. He looked up when I entered, bowing slightly.

"My lady," he said softly. "Is there something specific you seek?"

"Just looking around," I replied, wandering closer to examine the titles on the nearest shelf.

The servant continued his work, and I found myself watching him. He was placing books with unusual care. One caught my eye as he lifted it— thick, black leather with silver clasps.

"Quite a collection," I said, trying to sound casual.

"Indeed. King Morthus spent nearly a century gathering these texts from across all the domains. Much of this knowledge exists nowhere else now."

"If these are so precious to Lord Morthus, why are they here instead of… wherever he lives?"

"This was originally a hunting lodge. Given its distance from the capital and its proximity to the Grief Hound territories, it was meant to house important collections in the furthest reaches of Draknavor—the most difficult to access." The servant carefully placed another book on the shelf.

"It was never intended as a permanent residence, just a repository for valuable things that needed protection. When Prince Xül ascended, Lord Morthus offered it to him as his own residence."

"Grief Hounds?" I questioned. There were certainly other things I wanted to ask, but those words were completely foreign.

He pressed his lips together and studied the floor. "Large creatures with dark fur and glowing eyes. They're… complicated beings. While they serve to comfort souls struggling with their transition to death, they can be fiercely protective of their dens. Dangerous to mortals and divine alike if they perceive a threat." He gave me a meaningful look. "That's why we insist guests remain within the castle grounds. The hounds don't distinguish between friend and foe when defending what they consider theirs."

That explained a lot. The isolation, the luxury mixed with the feeling of being cut off from everything. This place was essentially a beautiful prison at the edge of the world.

I kept browsing, trying to look uninterested while watching where he

placed each book.

"Must be fascinating reading," I said.

"Not for everyone. Rather dark subject matter. But our Prince does have particular interests." He gestured to the section where he'd been working.

"Am I… allowed to read things like that? Being mortal and all?"

The servant turned to look at me directly, pity carved into his face.

"Well, we aren't particularly concerned with this knowledge leaving the divine realm."

"Ah, right," I said, the reality hitting me. "Because I either ascend or die."

The servant simply nodded and continued his work.

I waited until he finished before moving to that section. There—the black leather book I'd seen him place.

The Chronicle of the Last Primordial Conflict.

I pulled it down and opened it randomly. The pages were thick parchment, covered in dense text about beings and powers that no longer existed. I'd heard whispers of the Primordials growing up—stories passed down through generations, bits and pieces that never quite fit together. But mortals had no books from that time, just fragments of tales that had been told and retold until truth and legend blurred together.

This was different. This was detailed. Clinical.

Vivros’s power had grown beyond all natural bounds, standing as the final barrier against the corruption plaguing the divine realms. The conflict was so catastrophic that reality itself fractured. What had once been a single existence split into four separate systems, scattered throughout the Abyss, each cut off from what they had once shared.

I set the first book aside and grabbed another from the same section.

More scribbles in the margins. I flipped through frantically.

There—a whole passage dedicated to Cataclysm Incarnate.

Vivros possessed the ability to manipulate all living matter at its most fundamental level. Witnesses described the Primordial as capable of turning a warrior's own blood against them, making their bones brittle as

glass.

Gods.

I flipped further. —a force that could bend matter to its will with mere thought.

Mountains of flesh became fluid, plants became dust.

Mountains of flesh became fluid.

I stopped breathing.

Drakor's body, caving in on itself. The wet, horrible sound of a god being unmade in an instant. Thatcher's scream of rage and pain, and then… nothing. Drakor had simply been erased from existence.

Just like this. Just like what Vivros could do.

The book slipped in my suddenly sweating hands. I forced myself to keep reading, looking for more marked passages with growing dread.

After Moros was defeated, Vivros was forever changed. No defense existed against the last Primordial’s power, and in the end, it took the combined might of all twelve founding Aesymar to bring about Vivros's end.

A great power yes, but one too dangerous to be left unchecked.

Twelve gods. It had taken twelve gods working together to stop this kind of power.

I sank into a nearby chair, trying to process what I was reading. Was this why Xül had really wanted Thatcher? Gods, did the other Legends have the same thought? Did the Twelve?

I slammed the book closed and replaced it on the shelf. I didn't know what to do with this information. I tucked it away, even as it burned through me. Thatcher possessed Primordial power. And Xül knew. And I had no idea what he planned to do with that knowledge, or what it would mean for us.

By the time I made my way back to the living areas, the strange light filtering through the windows had shifted to deeper shades of red. Evening.

Voices echoed through the main hall as I approached—low, masculine laughter and the clink of glass. I followed the sound and found myself staring at a room that perfectly embodied scholarly luxury. Dark wood paneling stretched from floor to ceiling. Leather chairs were arranged around a massive fireplace, while tall windows offered views of the black sea beyond. The air held the rich scent of old parchment and dark liquor.

Xül was there, lounging in one of the leather chairs with a crystal glass in his hand, and I could see him properly for the first time without formal attire.

He wore a simple black shirt that clung to his lean frame, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms. His dark braids were pulled back, beads and rings gleaming in the firelight. In his hair, on his fingers, and piercing his nose. He practically dripped in gold.

I recognized the other man immediately from the Choosing—Aelix, one of the Legends who'd been seated further down the table. He was striking in his own way, with sharp features and pale skin marked by intricate scars that looked deliberately placed. His dark hair was cropped short, and when he laughed at something Xül said, his teeth flashed a brilliant white.

I stepped back from the doorway, unnoticed, and listened. But I couldn’t help but peek inside. Their chairs were turned just enough.

"Well, obviously it would have been extraordinary to secure the god- killer," Aelix was saying, swirling amber liquid in his glass. "He certainly belongs here."

"And now he's with Chavore," Xül replied, his voice carrying that same aristocratic boredom I was beginning to recognize as his default tone.

"Which means he'll be currying favor with Olinthar before the month is out."

"Naturally. But surely there were other blessed more suited for Draknavor? Why choose a star-wielder of all things?"

Xül's smile could cut. "You know how I enjoy complicating matters for

Sundralis."

Sundralis. Olinthar’s domain.

Aelix laughed. "So I take it you don't plan on shepherding her toward ascension?"

"And provide them with another ally? Hardly. I’d rather rob them of it."

My blood turned to ice in my veins, then began to boil. So that was it. I was nothing more than a political pawn, chosen specifically to deny someone else the advantage of my abilities. Xül had no intention of actually training me, no interest in my survival beyond the satisfaction of thwarting

his rivals.

Well. That was about to change.

I prowled into the parlor like I owned it, snatching the crystal decanter from between them, and pouring myself a generous measure of the amber liquid within.

Neither god seemed remotely surprised by my arrival.

"I see someone decided to put clothing on today," Xül purred.

I didn't grant him the satisfaction of my gaze, though I could feel his eyes on me. Just as I'd felt them last night, tracking every inch of exposed flesh. "Yes, well, no show for you today, I'm afraid." My teeth clicked together.

"I was wondering when you'd grace us with your presence," Xül drawled.

"Couldn't let you have all the fun." I dropped into a leather chair, letting my smile turn razor-sharp. "By all means, don't let me interrupt."

Aelix's scarred face shifted as he studied me. "Aelix. Aesymar of cursed blood. I stay on the other side of the Island." His smile was warm now. "A pleasure to finally meet Xül's new protégé."

"Thais Morvaren." I drained my glass in one burning swallow and slid it across the table. "Now, I'd love to hear more about how you plan to let me die.."

"Your odds of survival are laughable," Xül said, tilting his head to examine me like I was some mildly entertaining pet. "Regardless of any training I might provide."

"How reassuring." My voice dripped honey-sweet venom. "But if you're going to watch me die, at least have the balls to admit it's because you're not capable of teaching me. Not because I'm somehow beneath your notice."

Aelix's laugh cracked through the air before he caught Xül's expression and thought better of it.

"Your power isn't in question." Xül swirled his drink with lazy menace.

"Ripping stars from the heavens, forging them into weapons? Power like

that could turn empires to dust."

"Then what's the fucking problem?"

"The problem is that you held a blade of pure starfire and used it as a shield. The problem is that when the choice came down to kill or die, you hesitated." That golden eye pinned me like a butterfly to glass. "All the power in the world means nothing if you lack the spine to wield it when it

counts."

"I survived."

"Barely." He reclined with insufferable grace. "The Trials won't coddle you. They won't pause while you wrestle with your conscience or your pathetic squeamishness about spilling blood."

Aelix shifted. "Perhaps we should—"

"No." My voice had gone lethally soft. "Let him finish. I want to hear exactly what he thinks."

Xül's smile widened. "You have power enough to be dangerous, but lack the stomach to survive. You still think you're the hero of this story." He leaned forward. "Heroes die screaming. Only killers ascend."

Silence stretched between us.

"Then teach me to be a killer," I said, meeting that dual-colored stare without flinching.

"And why would I waste my time trying to forge something from such… soft material?"

Fire ignited in my veins. "Try me. I might surprise you."

Aelix rose with obvious haste.

"I should collect Marx for…" he said, already retreating. "Yes, well, I will hopefully see the both of you very soon."

Neither of us acknowledged his escape.

But self-preservation finally kicked in. I stood abruptly.

"Tomorrow." I didn't look back. "Train me, and decide for yourself how useful I might be."

Three steps. That's all I managed before he materialized in front of me, moving with that impossible Aesymar speed. I stumbled back until stone met my spine, and immediately felt cold, dead hands emerge from the wall, shackling my wrists.

"Your mortal mind can't begin to fathom what awaits you if you truly want my guidance." His voice had gone low, authoritative. Those eyes fixed on mine with cold intensity. "I don't think you're remotely prepared for what I might demand."

The words were a threat, and I felt a chill of uncertainty. This version of him—focused and predatory and utterly lethal—was infinitely more compelling than the dismissive bastard I'd been dealing with.

"I can handle more than you think." My voice remained steady.

A not-quite-smile crossed his face. "Such bravado from someone who's never been truly tested." He took a step forward. "Tell me, Miss Morvaren —what happens when you're pushed past every limit? When every instinct screams at you to submit?"

"I don't submit to anyone." I lifted my chin.

"Everyone submits eventually." He studied the liquid in his glass.

"Some require… gentle persuasion. Others need a firmer hand."

"And which am I?" The question escaped before I could cage it.

His eyes narrowed. "Oh, you'd fight me with everything you have.

Make me work for every scrap of progress." He slid his glass onto the bookshelf to my left. "You'd push and push until I had no choice but to show you exactly what happens to those who test their limits."

"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."

Dark promise dripped from every syllable.

Fire flooded my cheeks, and his smile turned positively feral.

I wanted to shove him away, to do anything but stand there. But no one had ever spoken to me like this—with such devastating, depraved

confidence. It awakened something in me I desperately wanted to bury.

He stood directly before me, his presence commanding the space between us. The black of his eye seemed to devour light, creating shadows that danced across the brutal planes of his face.

"If you eavesdrop on private conversations in my home again," he stated, "you won't survive long enough to see the Trials."

It sounded like another dismissal, but he didn't turn. Instead, he pressed closer. The hands tightened around my wrists as his breath feathered across my lips.

"You have a problem with boundaries." Velvet over steel, that voice.

"Perhaps you need a lesson in consequences."

"You're quite observant for someone who claims to have no interest in me," I said.

"You enjoy playing with fire, don't you? Seeing how close you can get before you burn." His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth. "Before I

make you burn."

Gods.

A sudden flash of light streaked across the window, followed by a muffled impact that shook dust from the shelves.

Xül's gaze flicked toward the window, one eyebrow lifting with detached curiosity. "Interesting," he murmured before returning his attention to me.

My heart hammered. Had I done that? The heat coursing through me felt wild, untethered, like something trying to claw its way out.

Get it together, Thais.

"Tomorrow," he breathed against my ear.

He held my gaze for one more endless moment before turning away, leaving me still pinned as the hands slowly dissolved.

"Dawn," his voice drifted back. "Don't be late."

I stayed there long after he'd gone, heart trying to claw its way out of my chest, every nerve ending on fire. Finally, I slid down the wall, trying to gather the scattered pieces of my dignity from the floor.