The Ascended — Chapter no 25

Chapter 25

The Banquet

THE PALACE FROM THE PROVING LOOMED ABOVE US, ITS ALABASTER SPIRES cutting into the night sky like teeth. Lanterns floated overhead, seemingly untethered to anything physical, their golden light casting strange shadows across the gathering crowd. Servants moved gracefully, their forms blurring at the edges.

"Remember," Xül murmured, his hand resting lightly on my lower back, "everything is a performance. How you present yourself tonight affects not just the trials, but your potential place in the pantheon should you ascend.

The divine have long memories."

I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry. I hated being back in the place where so many contestants had died screaming, where I'd first glimpsed the true cruelty of the Trials.

Ahead of us, Legends and their contestants formed a loose line, awaiting entrance into the grand hall. I scanned the crowd, searching for Thatcher but couldn't spot him among the sea of finely dressed strangers.

"He'll be here," Xül said, reading my thoughts. "Chavore never misses an opportunity to peacock."

I started to respond, but the words died in my throat as I noticed the viewing portals—dozens of them, shimmering like heat distortions in the air around the entrance. Invisible eyes watched from across Voldaris.

"A larger audience than I expected," I said quietly.

"The domains are hungry for entertainment." Xül guided me forward as the line began to move. "They want to see who thrives, who might pose a

threat, who shows promise."

"And who stumbles over themselves tonight?"

His lips curved. "Precisely."

We reached the entrance, where a herald stood beside a massive ledger.

With meticulous care, he inscribed something in the book.

"Xül, Warden of the Damned, Prince of Draknavor," the herald announced, his voice carrying unnaturally far. "And his chosen, Thais Morvaren of Saltcrest."

We stepped into the grand hall. Crystal chandeliers hung from impossibly high ceilings, their light fracturing through prisms that sent rainbows dancing across marble floors. Long tables arranged in a crescent occupied one half of the space, while the other remained open.

"Where do we—" I began, but Xül's sudden tension cut me off.

Following his gaze, I saw the source of his discomfort. A woman approached—tall and lithe, with wild beauty that seemed barely contained by her formal attire. Her eyes locked on Xül.

Nyvora.

"Prince Xül," she purred, reaching us in a few graceful strides. "What a pleasant surprise. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how to leave your little island."

"Nyvora." He inclined his head. "I see you've managed to escape your mother's watchful eye for the evening."

Her laughter was like venom, beautiful but with a sharp edge. "Mother understands the importance of social connections." Her gaze shifted to me, assessing and dismissive in the span of a heartbeat. "And your little star- wielder, how adorable."

Before Xül could answer, I met her gaze directly and smiled, saying nothing.

Surprise flickered in Nyvora's eyes—I hadn't taken her bait. She turned back to Xül. "She's well-trained, at least."

"Thais," Xül said, deliberate emphasis on my name, "may I present Nyvora, daughter of Davina and Aesymar of Fauna."

I inclined my head. "A pleasure to meet you, Lady Nyvora."

Her eyes narrowed fractionally, assessing my response for any hint of mockery. Finding none she could openly object to, she smiled. It wasn’t a warm thing. "How delightful to meet a contestant with manners. So many of them forget themselves."

A clear warning, wrapped in pleasantry.

"I'm fortunate to have an excellent mentor," I replied, the words balanced carefully between genuine and ambiguous.

"Yes, well." She placed her hand on Xül's arm. "I'm sure we'll have time to become better acquainted throughout the evening."

Before either of us could respond, a new arrival was announced— Chavore and his chosen, Thatcher Morvaren.

My heart leaped at the sound of my brother's name. I turned to see him enter the hall, looking almost unrecognizable in formal attire of the deepest blue, silver embroidery at his collar. Beside him, Chavore cut an imposing figure—tall and broad-shouldered, golden eyes taking in the surroundings.

Thatcher's eyes found mine across the crowded hall, and the bond between us surged with relief and concern.

You're okay, he sent, the thought tinged with worry.

I'm fine, I assured him. You?

Surviving.

Nyvora's voice pulled me back to the immediate moment. "…dinner soon, I expect. Come, Xül, I’ve arranged for you to sit with us." She tugged his arm.

"Actually," Xül said smoothly, disengaging himself from her grip, "I've already requested a table for my contestant and I. Training never ends, as I’m sure you’re aware. Perhaps another time, Nyvora."

Her smile froze, a crack appearing in her perfect composure. "Of course. But I will find you later. Don’t think I’ll allow this evening to end without a proper conversation."

With a final glance at me—one that seemed restrained—she glided away, rejoining a group of Legends near one of the viewing portals.

"That," Xül murmured once she was out of earshot, "was well handled."

"She’s not exactly subtle," I observed.

"Few are." His hand returned to the small of my back, guiding me toward the tables. "Come. We need to establish our position before the real games begin."

As we crossed the hall, I noticed the careful arrangement of the tables.

Near the center, where the arc of the crescent reached its apex, sat a table with Morthus's emblem—a black key crossed with a silver scythe.

Xül pulled out a chair for me, the gesture oddly formal. I sat, expecting him to take a seat across from me, but instead, he settled into the chair at

my side. The table was set for four, two places still empty across from us.

"I thought the Legends would sit together," I said, arranging the folds of my dress. "Away from their… charges."

"Some will," he replied, signaling a servant who immediately appeared with glasses of wine that glowed faintly blue. "But tonight is about perception as much as celebration. Who sits with whom sends messages to

everyone watching."

"And what message are we sending?"

He handed me one of the glasses, his fingers brushing mine. "That you are worth my personal attention."

Before I could process the implications of that statement, a familiar voice cut through the ambient noise.

"Well, well. I thought you might wait for us."

I looked up to see Aelix approaching, Marx at his side. She looked stunning in a dress of deep scarlet, her expression one of studied boredom, though I caught the gleam of interest in her eyes as she took in the gathering.

"Aelix," Xül greeted him. "I was beginning to think you'd found a more interesting engagement."

"And miss this spectacle of divine excess?" Aelix grinned, pulling out a chair for Marx before taking his own. "Never."

"Miss Morvaren," Aelix said, turning his attention to me. "You’re looking remarkably intact."

"I'm difficult to kill," I replied, taking a sip of the luminous drink that tasted like summer berries and sparkling wine.

"So I've heard."

Marx rolled her eyes. "Can we skip the cryptic posturing? I'm starving, and whatever that is—" she nodded toward a servant carrying a platter, "— smells incredible."

As if her words had been a signal, servants appeared around the hall, bearing plates of food that defied description. One was placed at the center of our table. It resembled fish but with colors no natural creature should possess, arranged in a spiral pattern.

As I ate, I let my gaze wander across the hall. Thatcher sat at a table with Chavore, Kavik, and several Legends I recognized from the Choosing.

He seemed engaged in conversation.

"Have you noticed our audience has grown?” Aelix asked. “More viewing portals now than at the beginning of the evening."

I looked around and saw he was right. The shimmering distortions had multiplied, positioned strategically throughout the hall. One hung directly above our table, I realized with a jolt.

"The others may not attend in person," Xül said quietly, "but they're watching. Everyone is watching."

"Delightful," Marx muttered. "Nothing like having your meal observed by immortal voyeurs."

As dinner progressed, I became increasingly aware of the complex web of interactions around us. Every movement seemed choreographed, every conversation layered with hidden meanings. Across the hall, I noticed a contestant speaking animatedly to a Legend. The Legend smiled, but predation lurked in the corners of his eyes. Nearby, a viewing portal shifted position, angling to better capture the exchange.

"Darian from the Teranta Mountains," Aelix murmured, following my gaze. "Kavik's chosen. He's been trying to curry favor with other Legends.

Dangerous game."

"Why?" I asked, keeping my voice low. "Isn't rapport part of this… spectacle?"

"Rapport, yes. Appearing desperate and disloyal, no." Xül's fingers brushed my wrist beneath the table. "Watch."

The Legend leaned closer to Darian, asking something that made the young man's face light up with enthusiasm. With each word, the Legend's

smile grew.

"He's quite the talker," I murmured.

"And everyone is listening," Xül agreed.

Sure enough, across the hall, Kavik had noticed the exchange. His expression remained pleasant, but a cold fury radiated from him. When Darian returned to his table, Kavik leaned close, whispering something that made all color drain from the young man's face.

"What will happen to him?" I asked.

"Best case? Kavik merely withdraws support, leaving him to navigate the next trial alone." Aelix shrugged. "Worst case… well, accidents happen during training."

The cruelty of it twisted my stomach. Music began to filter through the hall—a strange, haunting melody played on elaborate harps. The first

couple moved to the center of the floor—Chavore and Elysia.

"They're definitely fucking," Marx observed bluntly. "Rather enthusiastically, from the looks of it."

Aelix choked on his drink. "Your tact is, as always, remarkable."

"Am I wrong?" she challenged.

"Not at all," Xül replied, amusement coloring his tone.

More couples joined the dance floor, each moving with that grace that followed all the Legends.

"Xül." A feminine voice broke into our conversation. Nyvora had returned, her expression set in determined charm. "Surely you won't deny me a dance now that the formalities of dinner have concluded?"

I felt rather than saw Xül's hesitation. But he rose, perfect courtesy masking whatever reluctance he might have felt. "How could I refuse such a gracious invitation?"

Nyvora's smile was triumph itself as she took his hand and led him toward the dance floor. I watched them go, telling myself the tightness in my chest was simply concern.

They moved together with sultry cadence, her body pressed against his like she knew every piece of him. And he was leading her with confidence.

His expression remained carefully neutral as she spoke into his ear.

"Well, that's nauseating," Marx remarked, following my gaze.

I forced myself to look away, focusing on my now-empty glass. "Seems like some kind of political maneuvering."

"Mmm." She studied me with unnerving intensity. "Is that what we're calling it?"

I narrowed my eyes at her, a silent warning she completely ignored.

"Careful, Thais," she continued, her voice pitched low enough that only our table could hear. "Your face gives away more than you think."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I replied coolly.

She kicked me under the table, hard enough to make me jerk in surprise.

"Liar."

"Ladies," Aelix interrupted, looking between us with growing suspicion.

"Is there something I should know?"

"Absolutely not," we replied in unison, which only deepened his frown.

"Marx is delusional," I added for good measure.

Aelix sighed, reaching for his drink. "I believe I'll tune out of this particular conversation before it becomes any more perilous."

"Wise choice," Marx remarked, raising her glass in mock salute.

Across the hall, I spotted Kyren seated at a table with his mentor. He caught my eye and offered a subtle nod of recognition.

I glanced toward the dance floor again, where Xül and Nyvora were concluding their waltz. His expression remained carefully neutral, but his posture suggested relief as he escorted her off the floor. His eyes found mine across the hall, a silent question in them.

I'm fine, I tried to convey without words. And then he was headed back towards our table, narrowly avoiding interception from another beautiful Legend.

"Nyvora sends her regards," he said dryly, reclaiming his seat.

"I'm sure she does," Marx muttered, earning a sharp look from Aelix.

The rest of the evening passed in careful conversation and watchful observation. I learned to read the subtle dynamics of divine politics in the tilt of a head, the placement of a hand, the careful distance maintained or deliberately breached. Each interaction was a lesson—in what to say, what to avoid, how to deflect uncomfortable questions without giving offense.

By the time the banquet began to wind down, exhaustion pulled at my limbs, the constant vigilance taking its toll. Across the hall, other contestants showed similar signs of fatigue, while the Legends remained as fresh and alert as when the evening began.

"Another advantage of divinity," Xül noted, seeing my observation.

"Endless endurance for tedious social obligations."

"Something to look forward to," I replied dryly.

He rose, offering his hand. "It's time we took our leave. We've made the required appearances, formed the necessary impressions."

I accepted his hand, allowing him to help me to my feet. "And what impression have we made, exactly?"

"As I said earlier, that you are worth watching," he whispered, his eyes holding mine.

The weight of his words settled over me like a cloak—part protection, part burden. To be exceptional in the divine realms meant to be noticed. To be noticed meant to be targeted.

We bid farewell to Marx and Aelix, then turned toward the entrance.

The atmosphere had softened around us, the night winding to its inevitable conclusion. Divine servants glided between tables, collecting abandoned glasses.

Near the center of the hall, I noticed Darian again. He'd been drinking steadily since Kavik's rebuke. A cluster of Legends had gathered nearby, deep in animated discussion.

"—the integration is proceeding smoothly across all territories," one was saying. "Having priests stationed permanently within encampments has already yielded results."

"Three new blessed discovered among the soldiers just in time for the Trials," another added.

Then Darian moved closer, swaying slightly, taking a step into their circle. “One wonders why the King of Gods thinks the divinely blessed are more likely to be found among those who kill for a living."

The Legends turned to him with expressions of mild surprise.

"You question Olinthar's methods?" one asked carefully.

A flicker of awareness crossed Darian's flushed face. "Not questioning. I simply wonder—”

"You're suggesting the King of Gods prepares for war?" Kavik's voice cut through the room. He'd approached silently.

"My lord, I simply meant—"

"You believe yourself qualified to assume the King's intentions?" Kavik moved closer, each step measured.

"I think I’ve had too much to drink—" Darian started.

"The wine revealed what sobriety hid." Kavik hissed. "Tell me, what other insights about the Twelve does your evolved wisdom offer?"

The hall had gone silent, all eyes on the unfolding drama. Viewing portals shifted position, drinking in every moment.

"None, my lord. I misspoke. I only wanted—"

"To impress. To seem clever. To distinguish yourself." Kavik's fingers grazed Darian's cheek. "Congratulations. You've succeeded."

The space between them vanished. Kavik’s hand rose as if to offer a lover’s touch. His fingers grazed Darian’s cheek, and flesh sizzled beneath them.

The boy convulsed. A shuddering breath caught in his throat, then broke into a soundless scream. Smoke curled from his skin in fine, whispering threads. The scent of burning filled the air.

Darian’s eyes locked on Kavik’s, wide and wet, blistering at the edges.

His body arched, muscles seizing as fire consumed him from the inside out.

Then stillness. Darian’s blackened fingers curled uselessly toward the ceiling. His body collapsed, more ash than man, sagging to the floor.

The silence that followed was absolute. No one moved. No one spoke.

Even the viewing portals seemed to hold their breath, drinking in this unexpected execution.

Then Kavik turned, his gaze sweeping the gathered contestants.

"Respect is valued above all else in Voldaris," he said, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "Remember this."

With that, he stepped over Darian's body and rejoined the other Legends, accepting a fresh glass of wine as if nothing of consequence had occurred. Divine servants materialized to remove the remains of his former contestant.

The spell broke. Conversation resumed, though more subdued than before. Legends and contestants alike continued their preparations for departure as if a life hadn't just been extinguished for a moment of drunken idiocy.

"Come," Xül murmured, his fingers closing around my wrist with gentle insistence. "We need to go."

I moved in a daze, my mind replaying the image of Darian's final expression—that moment of horrified comprehension.

Outside, the night air was cool against my skin, but inside, I was still on fire.

"That was—" I started, unable to find words adequate to the horror I'd witnessed.

"That was divine justice," Xül finished for me, his expression unreadable. "Swift and absolute."

"He was trying to impress them," I said, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. "He just wanted to belong."

"And that desperation killed him," Xül replied, his eyes holding mine with uncomfortable intensity. "In Voldaris, the obvious need for approval is a weakness that will be exploited. Remember that, starling."

A tremor ran through me at the implications—at how close Thatcher and I danced to similar destruction with every breath we took.

"This is the world you're fighting to join." Xül's hand found my shoulder, forcing me to meet his gaze. "This is what awaits at the end of your path."

"No," I whispered, the denial automatic. "I wouldn't—"

"You would," he said, his voice gentle but unyielding. "Or you would die. Those are the only options divinity allows."

Before I could respond, he raised his hand, tearing open the fabric between domains. The portal yawned before us, darkness beckoning like an old friend.

"Is that what happened to you?" I asked, unable to stop myself.

Irritation flashed across his eyes.

“I didn’t sacrifice all of my empathy, starling,” he said finally, extending his hand. "But enough that I survive."

I placed my palm in his, the contact sending an unwelcome spark through my veins. Together, we stepped into the portal, leaving behind the glittering facade of divine society and all its terrible games.

Darian's empty eyes following me into the darkness. As we emerged on the other side, the obsidian halls of the Bone Spire welcomed us with their cold embrace. But even here, in the heart of Xül's domain, I couldn't escape the chill that had settled in my bones.

"We leave for the Eternal City at dawn," Xül said quietly, his voice breaking through my thoughts. "There are matters I must attend to, and you…" He paused, studying my face. "You need to see more than just the glittering surfaces."

"Haven't I seen enough?" The words escaped before I could stop them.

His eyes softened. "What you witnessed tonight was merely the performance. Tomorrow, we glimpse behind the curtain."