The Ascended — Chapter no 42

Chapter 42

Desire Consumes

"INTRODUCING, THAIS MORVAREN."

My name danced through the chamber, lingering in the air long after the syllables had been spoken. I stood at the precipice of the grand staircase, the world below me a dizzying jumble of excess and beauty. My fingers traced the gilded railing.

The ballroom sprawled beneath me. Crystal chandeliers hung from nothing. The ceiling arched impossibly high, painted with constellations I'd never seen in any mortal sky—stars that shifted and rearranged themselves.

Surrounding the ballroom were massive gilded windows and terraces that opened up to the star-speckled sky.

All through the space, fire pits burned. They flickered between bright yellow and molten red, reaching high, flames licking the mist that permeated the room. They almost looked out of place, intense hues amongst all of the pastels.

The warmth that had been steadily blooming in me since I'd taken that sip intensified with each heartbeat. It prowled through my bloodstream, softening the edges of reality and heightening every sensation until even breathing sent shivers across my skin. Then I remembered—Lyralei's urgent warning. The bitter tang that had lingered on my tongue. Had it been poison? No, this feeling wasn't death. And if it was, it was pleasantly masked by pleasure.

As I descended the staircase, I felt the weight of countless immortal gazes—assessing, calculating, perhaps even admiring. The wisps of my

gown whispered against my skin with each step, the sheer fabric somehow making me feel more exposed than if I wore nothing at all.

I scanned the crowd below, searching for a mismatched pair of eyes that remained frustratingly absent. Instead, my gaze found Marx standing near the base of the stairs, and the sight of her nearly stopped my descent.

She was transformed, a vision in a gown that seemed woven from the very essence of midnight. Deep maroon that bordered on black twisted up her form, revealing glimpses of skin through artful tears that suggested both violence and sensuality.

Even the servants glided through the crowd in attire that would bankrupt lesser kingdoms, their garments molded to their forms with each graceful movement. Syrena had spared no detail in creating this night of revelry.

I prepared myself for Marx's usual sardonic commentary about the stifling nature of such events, but when she spoke, her words carried a subtle slur that caught me off guard.

"You look unreal," she breathed, her eyes wide. "Have you ever seen such a beautiful place?" she asked.

The warmth pulsed through my veins again, and I found myself unable to stop from mirroring her wonder as I took in our surroundings. The ballroom truly was a marvel—a testament to the extravagance that eternity afforded. I had to actively remind myself to remain vigilant, to not surrender completely to the grandeur that surrounded us. Somewhere beneath the euphoria blooming in my chest, a kernel of wariness remained —a whisper of caution I couldn't quite silence.

"Introducing, Thatcher Morvaren."

I turned so quickly the world blurred at its edges before refocusing on the figure of my twin as he descended the same stairs I had just navigated.

He moved with the easy confidence that had always been natural to him, a subtle smile playing at the corners of his mouth. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes I hadn't seen since our youthful exploits in Saltcrest, when we'd raced stolen skiffs through the harbor while merchants shouted curses from the docks. What had awakened that particular devil in him tonight?

"Fuck. Me." Marx whispered beside me, the crude words at odds with the reverent tone in which she delivered them. A servant materialized beside us, bearing a tray of crystalline flutes. Marx reached out without hesitation, claiming two.

"No, Marx!" I whispered as my memory came flooding back. My fingers closed around her wrist. "Don't drink."

I struggled to articulate why—only that Lyralei wouldn't have warned me without cause. The memory of her urgency felt distant now.

"You're right, I already had a few before you arrived," she replied, though her tone suggested annoyance at the thought of relinquishing the drink.

I knew I should have been worried for Marx, but she looked so beautiful, so vividly alive. I would keep a close watch on her, I promised myself.

Where worry should have clawed at my chest, I instead felt a flutter of anticipation. My thoughts scattered whenever I tried to focus on them, leaving only sensations in their wake—the brush of silk against my skin, the press of air in my lungs, the rhythm of blood in my veins.

"Sister dear," Thatcher drawled as he approached. “I gotta say, we clean up well, don't we?"

"Thatcher Morvaren," Marx purred, tracing a finger along the lapel of Thatcher’s coat. "You’re looking particularly delicious this evening."

Thatcher's eyes gleamed with mischief. "I could say the same about you, Marx."

“Gods. Please stop.” I managed to croak out.

There was something important we should have been discussing, wasn't there? Some danger or strategy? The thought slipped away like water through cupped hands, impossible to hold.

What I did know was that it was a welcome sight to see my brother looking so relaxed, so much like himself again after everything we'd endured. The weight that had settled on his shoulders since we'd begun this deadly game seemed temporarily lifted, allowing glimpses of the carefree boy he'd once been.

"Are you drinking that?" Thatcher inclined his head toward one of the flutes in Marx's hand. She offered it to him, her eyes fluttering up.

"No, don’t," I said again, the words fumbling from my lips as though

my tongue had forgotten their shape.

“Why?” Thatcher eyed the liquid.

I struggled to remember the reason. In fact, I was having trouble remembering much of anything beyond the exquisite pleasure of existing in this moment.

He gave me an odd look before taking a sip anyway, his throat working as he swallowed. I watched, waiting for… something. What was I expecting to happen?

I looked around at the beings in attendance—servants from across the domains, other Aesymar, and Legends socializing in clusters. If the banquet had been stiff and formal, this ball was its wild counterpoint. Guests moved with languid grace—hands drifting where they shouldn’t.

"Is this normal?" I asked, gesturing subtly toward the various displays of affection around the room. "Everyone seems less… restrained than I expected."

Thatcher chuckled, his eyes scanning the room with practiced ease. "I suppose divinity comes with certain liberties, sister. When you've lived for centuries, societal constraints begin to feel rather tedious."

"Besides," Marx added, "why pretend to be proper when everyone knows what happens after these events? The domains are rife with stories of divine liaisons. Half the pantheon has slept with the other half at some point."

"You seem well-informed on divine gossip," Thatcher remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Marx shrugged, her eyes glittering with mischief. "Yes, well, I torture

such things out of Aelix."

A voice boomed through the space.

We turned toward the staircase just as Chavore and Elysia were announced. They descended hand in hand. Elysia's gown seemed woven from flame, shifting between shades of gold and sienna with each step, while Chavore wore golden armor so finely crafted it moved like second skin.

"They're disgustingly pretty together," Marx muttered, her eyes narrowed in appreciation.

As they reached the ground floor, Chavore's hand dropped far too low on Elysia's back to be considered proper. Marx raised an eyebrow, but Thatcher merely chuckled.

"This is tame for them," he commented knowingly.

"And finally, presenting Xül, Warden of the Damned, and Nyvora, Aesymar of Fauna. The Divine Court extends its congratulations on your recent engagement."

The words sliced through our conversation. My glass nearly slipped from my fingers as every muscle in my body tensed at once. The room tilted beneath my feet, forcing me to steady myself against a nearby

column.

My heart stilled in my chest.

I looked up to see Xül, arm in arm with Nyvora as they made their way down the stairs. He was breathtaking in a suit of the deepest black, fitted so perfectly the fabric seemed to worship his form. A cloak draped from his broad shoulder. His angular features were somehow even more devastating in the ethereal light, his presence commanding every ounce of air in the room.

Beside him, Nyvora was beaming—a ridiculous smirk slashed across her face. Her gown shifted between shades of emerald and forest green.

Leaves and vines appeared to grow and move across the fabric, revealing glimpses of tanned skin beneath. Her wild blonde hair was partially tamed, adorned with flowers that bloomed and closed. She was undeniably beautiful, elemental in a way that made my mortality feel like a weight around my neck.

And then only hurt. Oppressive. So intense I felt I might drown in it.

The reaction confused me—I had known they were engaged. But hearing it announced to divine society made it feel so much more real, so much more final.

Marx glanced at me. "You look like you need this," she said, pressing a flute into my hand.

I accepted it wearily, taking a small sip and noting that it lacked the strange bitterness of the drink at the Cascades. Before I could reconsider, I tilted my head back and drained the glass, welcoming the rush of warmth that followed.

The voice came over the room again, inviting Xül and Nyvora to share the first dance.

I watched as his arms wrapped around her waist, and my body nearly felt the phantom sensation of his touch—the way he had held me during our dance lessons, his fingers pressing into the small of my back, guiding me. It was a memory that lived in my muscles, an imprint I couldn't explain away.

The sight was too much to bear. I turned and walked a few paces away, my eyes fixing on a message written on the wall in flowing silver letters: Desire Consumes.

I agreed silently with the ominous sentiment, feeling its truth in the hollow ache beneath my ribs. Yes, I thought. It truly fucking does.

Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself before returning to Thatcher and Marx, who seemed completely entranced by their surroundings. Several couples had joined Xül and Nyvora on the dance floor in a whirl of divine beauty. For an instant, Xül’s eyes landed on mine, and his jaw tensed as his gaze raked over me. He looked absolutely livid.

Thatcher glanced at Marx, then at me. "Should I ask her to dance?" he asked me, though his eyes never left her.

Marx laughed, the sound more like a cackle. "You know, I'm standing right here." She gave me a knowing smile before pulling him onto the dance floor by his coat. He followed eagerly. It seemed my brother had his fair share of dance lessons as well. Marx, on the other hand, was trying to lead him—a battle of wills set to music that had them both laughing.

Something brushed against my arm, and shivers raced up my spine at the contact. I turned to see a man with silver hair and eyes of molten gold— not a man, an Aesymar. A Legend. One that must not have been part of the

Trials because I didn’t recognize him.

He smiled at me.

I couldn't help but smile back. I didn't know what had gotten into me, but I felt like I might combust at the interaction, my skin buzzing with awareness.

"The infamous Thais Morvaren," he said, his voice curling around my name. "I’m Axel. I've watched your progress through the Trials with great interest."

The warmth in my veins made colors more vibrant, sensations more acute. His pupils contracted to thin slits.

"Should I be flattered or concerned by your attention?" I asked, the words flowing easier than they should have.

His smile revealed teeth too white, too perfect. "Both, perhaps. We don't often see mortals with your… resilience." His fingers brushed against my wrist, lingering over my pulse. "Most break long before they reach this stage."

"I'm not most mortals," I countered, aware of how his body had subtly moved closer to mine.

"Clearly." His gaze traveled over my face. "One might wonder what makes you different."

"Perhaps I'm just stubborn," I said.

Axel laughed. "Elaren is filled with the stubborn. Their bones litter the paths to ascension." His hand moved to toy with a loose strand of my hair.

"No, there's something else that burns in you—something that refuses to be extinguished."

"You speak as though you've seen many Trials," I observed, trying to reclaim some control of the conversation.

"I've watched countless mortals reach for divinity," he replied, his voice dropping lower. "Some sought power, others immortality." His fingers traced the edge of my jaw, feather-light. "What do you seek, Thais Morvaren?"

The question hung between us. I wasn't sure I remembered the answer

myself.

"Survival," I finally managed.

"An honest answer. Most lie, even to themselves." He stepped closer, until I could feel the chill emanating from his skin. "Survival is the most primal instinct—the one that outlasts all others. It's a worthy foundation."

The music shifted around us, its rhythm becoming more insistent, more commanding. The other guests moved with increasing abandon, as though the notes themselves were pulling away their inhibitions.

"They're all watching you," he murmured, his breath cool against my ear. "The Legends, the other contestants. They wonder how far you'll go, what limits you'll test." His fingers traced patterns on my bare shoulder, leaving trails of ice rather than heat. "I wonder too."

"And what about you?" I challenged, emboldened by whatever substance flowed through my veins. "What do Legends seek when they've already achieved immortality?"

Something hungry flashed in his eyes. "Diversion," he said simply.

"When you've lived centuries, novelty becomes the most precious commodity of all."

He extended his hand, palm up—an invitation. "Would you honor me with a dance, Thais Morvaren?"

I hesitated for a moment, but finally agreed. And then he was pulling me toward the center of the floor, his hands sliding right into place—the same places that Xül had touched only days ago. The comparison was involuntary, immediate. Where Xül's touch had burned, Axel's chilled.

Dancing was exhilarating. I felt weightless, untethered. Axel spun me wildly, and I leaned my head back, feeling my hair cascade around me. Joy bubbled up inside me, threatening to overflow into laughter I could barely contain. When he pulled me back against his chest, the contact was electric —a current of sensation that rippled through my entire being.

His hands gripped me tighter as we moved through the steps.

"You’re so beautiful." he murmured, his lips close to my ear. "It would be such a waste if you don't make it to ascension."

I felt like this should worry me—speaking about my mortality so openly —but in this moment, I couldn't seem to care. Death seemed like a distant concern, a problem for another version of myself. I merely nodded, agreeing with his assessment.

From the corner of my eye, a dark mass pushed through the crowd.

Before I could turn my head, I was being pulled into someone else's arms.

The scent of cedar and citrus overwhelmed my senses, so familiar it made my heart stutter. I nearly pressed myself against him without thinking, my body recognizing his presence before my mind could catch up.

"Dance with my fiancée for a moment, will you? I need to speak with my contestant." Xül's voice was cold, but his touch branded my skin.

I blinked several times, trying to clear the pleasant haze from my mind as I looked back toward Axel, who was now spinning Nyvora around. Both glared at us with confusion, perhaps irritation. In a few strides, they disappeared behind other dancers.

"What do you think you're doing, starling?" he asked, no humor in his tone.

I looked up at him, confused by his anger. "What are you doing, Warden?" I struck back. "Why aren't you dancing with your fiancée?"

I couldn't fight the petulance in my voice, nor did I try.

His eyes darkened. "I'm going to have to speak to those stylists of yours.

You're practically naked," he said, pointedly not looking at me now.

"That's rich coming from you," I retorted. "Your betrothed's gown leaves even less to the imagination. At least my vital organs are covered."

"That's different," he growled.

"How so?" I challenged. "Divine privilege?"

His grip tightened on my waist. "You know nothing of divine privilege, starling"

"I know enough to recognize hypocrisy when I see it," I said. "What's the matter, Warden?"

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I don’t appreciate how he was looking at

you.”

"And how was he looking at me?"

"Like you were something to be devoured," he hissed, finally meeting my gaze. "Like you were his for the taking."

"Perhaps I am," I said, the words slipping out. "Perhaps that's what I want."

Xül went silent, studying me with an intensity that made me feel utterly exposed despite the fabric covering me. "You're not yourself tonight," he finally said, his voice softer. "What did you drink?"

I laughed, the sound brittle. "Why do you care?"

"Thais." My name on his lips was a warning, a plea.

"Go find your fiancé, Warden," I said. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to return to my partner."

His hand caught mine, refusing to let go. "He's not your partner."

I glared at him. "Neither are you."

Frustration flashed across his eyes before his mask slipped back into place. His fingers loosened their grip on mine, and I seized the opportunity to pull away from him, my skin singing from where he'd touched me.

I needed distance. Space to breathe. The press of bodies, the heat of the room, the weight of his gaze—it was all too much. The sensations that had seemed so delicious moments ago now threatened to drown me.

I pushed through the crowd, threading my way between bodies. Some part of me registered their beauty—the luminous skin, the too-perfect features, the golden eyes that trailed after me—but I couldn't bear to look at any of them. I needed solitude to clear my mind, to douse the fire that still burned in my veins despite my best efforts to suppress it.

A servant glided past, bearing a tray of empty glasses. I reached out, my fingers catching the sleeve of their silvery attire.

"Is there a powder room?" I asked, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. "Somewhere quiet?"

The servant inclined their head, gesturing toward a doorway nearly hidden behind a statue draped in cascading wisteria.

"Through there, my lady," they murmured.

I nodded my thanks and hurried away, slipping behind the statue and through the doorway. The moment the door closed behind me, blessed silence enveloped me like a balm. The room was small but exquisite—walls of pale crystal that fractured light into prismatic rainbows, a basin that appeared to be carved from a single massive diamond, mirrors that reflected my image with unsettling clarity.

I moved toward them, my reflection wavering and uncertain, as though it might dissolve if I looked too closely. My skin gleamed with an inner light that hadn't been there before the ball, my eyes too bright, pupils too wide.

Breathe, I commanded silently. Just breathe.

I dipped my hands into the cool water, the sensation shocking against my overheated skin. Without hesitation, I brought the water to my face, letting it cascade over my flushed cheeks and closed eyes. The cold clarity of it cut through the haze that had enveloped me since I'd taken that first sip from that damned flute.

Again and again I splashed the water against my skin, each icy shock pulling me further from the dreamy euphoria that had clouded my judgment.

As my mind cleared, anxiety unfurled in my chest, a single claw latching onto my thoughts. There was something I should have been worried about, something beyond Xül and his betrothed.

Think, Thais.

Nothing is what it seems. Lyralei's warning echoed in my memory, crisp and urgent now.

What had she meant? The drink wasn't poison, It was something designed to lower inhibitions, to make us vulnerable. But why warn me about that specifically? What wasn't I seeing?

I touched my reflection in the mirror, feeling the warm skin beneath my palm. My hands fell to grip the edges of the basin, knuckles whitening with the force of my grasp. I shook my head, trying to steady myself further.

Just sober up. Keep your head on straight. Survive this night.

Otherwise, I'd only humiliate myself. My mind flickered to the exchange with Xül and I winced. I'd come across as childish, jealous, ridiculous.

But what had been his problem? Why pull me away from Axel with such obvious displeasure? If I didn't know better, I'd say he looked…

jealous.

No.

I needed to stop being a bloody idiot.

I took several deep breaths, centering myself in my body, in this moment. The room around me swam into focus, the colors less overwhelming, the sensations more manageable. Whatever had been in that drink hadn't fully dissipated, but I could think clearly now, could navigate the remainder of this evening without making a complete fool of myself.

Gods, I’d only taken one sip. What would I be doing if I’d downed the entire thing?

As I turned to leave, a message caught my eye, etched into the back of the door in letters that pulsed: Give In And Burn.

I stared at it for a long moment. Another warning? Or an invitation to surrender to whatever this night held? I couldn't be sure, but the sight of it sent a chill down my spine.

When I opened the door, the sounds of revelry crashed back over me— laughter, music, a racket of conversations blending together. I stepped back into the corridor.

As I passed an open doorway, movement caught my eye, forcing me to pause. Through the entrance, I saw two Legends—a pale-skinned man and a woman with hair that cascaded down her back in waves of midnight blue.

They moved together on a chaise of dark velvet, their bodies slick with sweat, golden eyes half-lidded in pleasure.

His hands gripped her hips with bruising force as she arched against him, her nails raking crimson paths down his chest. There was nothing divine or ethereal about their coupling—it was raw, primal, animalistic in its intensity. Her head fell back, exposing the column of her throat, which he claimed with teeth and tongue. The sounds they made were wild, deep growls and breathless moans that seemed to vibrate in the air.

I stood there a beat too long before awareness crashed back into me. My face went hot in an instant—body responding to the scene before I could stop it. I tore my gaze away, moving quickly down the corridor.

I nearly stumbled in my haste, passing other entwined bodies in alcoves and open chambers. Divine society had abandoned all pretense of restraint, it seemed. Suddenly, I felt a pulse down the bond and my eyes shot left.

Thatcher grinned lazily as he was led down another hallway by a woman with silver-white tresses that seemed to float around her shoulders.

I rolled my eyes.

I needed to find Marx, to make sure she was alright. The effects of whatever we'd consumed seemed to have hit her harder than me, and I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to her while I was busy licking my wounds over Xül.

When I burst back into the main ballroom, my eyes scanned the crowd.

I found Kyren lounging against a pillar, deep in conversation with another contestant. We made eye contact, and I waved, relieved to see a friendly face. He smiled and returned the gesture, beckoning me over.

As I made my way toward him, I hesitantly looked around for Xül, but didn't find him in the crowd. Nyvora was similarly absent. The implications of that sent a fresh spike of pain through my chest, and I pushed the thought away. I knew he didn’t feel that way about her—that perhaps he even hated her, but the evening had devolved into a hedonistic whirlwind, and I wasn’t sure if that would stop them. Hate sex, after all, was quite thrilling, or so I’d heard. Gods. I didn't need to torture myself with imagining what they might have been doing in some private corner of this palace.

"Have you seen Marx?" I asked Kyren when I reached him, not bothering with pleasantries.

He looked around, dark eyes scanning the crowd. "Last I saw, she was standing over there, gawking at Chavore and Elysia—they were… well, putting on quite a performance." He pointed toward a far corner of the ballroom.

We both looked, but there was no sign of Marx, Chavore, or Elysia.

Only more dancers, more drinkers, more immortals losing themselves in the moment.

"Do you need help finding her?" he asked, concern creasing his brow.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "You should enjoy yourself. I'll keep

looking."

He smiled and nodded.

I reached out to Thatcher through our bond—which was hazy now.

Where did Marx go?

His response came immediately, tinged with irritation. She started dancing with someone else. Now would you politely leave me alone? I'm in the middle of something.

He slammed the bond closed with more force than necessary. Of course my brother would be enjoying divine favors while I worried about our

friend. Typical.

I continued pushing through the crowd, growing more anxious with each passing moment, until finally—finally—I spotted Marx. She was dancing with two other contestants, a man and a woman I vaguely recognized from the earlier Trials. Her movements were fluid, uninhibited, her laughter bright enough to cut through the general din. She looked perfectly fine, lost in the moment but in no apparent danger.

As though sensing my gaze, she turned, catching my eye. She shot me a devilish look, one that clearly said she was exactly where she wanted to be.

I nodded, relieved that she was alright and didn't need my intervention.

I sighed, suddenly exhausted. Making my way to the fringes of the party, I leaned against a cool crystal wall and tried to steady myself. I felt more in control than before, but that electric sensation still lingered under my skin, humming in sequence with the music.

"There you are."

Xül's voice came from beside me, smooth as shadow and just as inescapable. I turned to find him leaning against the wall too. When had he gotten there? The silver accents in his attire shimmered in the light, momentarily dazzling me.

"I've been looking for you," he continued. There was no anger in his voice now, no concern—just a velvety darkness.

"Well, you found me," I said, looking away from him, afraid of what he might read in my eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice dropping lower.

I shot him a look before remembering myself.

"Nothing," I lied. "Just needed a moment away from the chaos."

His eyes traveled over me slowly, deliberately. "You look ethereal tonight," he said, the words falling between us. "Like you've already ascended."

I sighed, unable to help myself. "I thought you found it too revealing?"

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispered.

"Just because I don't want the eyes of the entire pantheon devouring what's before me doesn't mean I don't enjoy seeing it."

His words sent liquid heat coursing through me, a rush of desire so potent it nearly made my knees buckle. But with it came a jagged ache, the knowledge that this—whatever this was—could never be more than a fleeting moment.

"Don't," I hissed. "Don't play this game with me tonight."

"I must play games, yes," he acknowledged, his fingers finding a lock of my hair, twining it absently. "But not tonight. Not with you."

I took a deep breath, searching his face for deception.

He extended his hand, palm up. "Why don't we find somewhere more private to talk?"

Against every dictate of reason, against my own better judgment, I placed my hand in his.

And then he was dragging me into the unknown.