The Ascended — Chapter no 50

Chapter 50

Reflections

I STUMBLED THROUGH THE PORTAL AFTER XÜL, HERON'S WORDS STILL burning in my mind. Your brother's line is cut short. The moment the silvery light of the portal gave way, the world transformed around me.

The desert heat vanished, replaced by cool, gentle air that carried the scent of water and greenery. I blinked, momentarily forgetting my panic.

Mist hung low over canals that stretched in every direction, their surfaces reflecting the golden afternoon light. As the haze thinned, it revealed buildings that seemed to float upon the water—cottages with steep thatched roofs, their walls painted in vivid colors that stood out against the brilliant green. Footbridges arched over narrow waterways, connecting homes that would otherwise be isolated islands.

The world painted itself before my eyes: a child running along a narrow path, trailing a colorful kite; birds with over-stuffed plumage soaring between trees; flowers climbing trellises and spilling over window sills in cascades of purple and white.

"Where are we?" I whispered, afraid to break the spell of this place.

"Somewhere I should visit more often," Xül replied. “The Village of Mireen.”

A narrow boat glided past, steered by a woman with dark skin and long black curls. She called out in a language I didn't recognize. Xül responded in the same tongue, raising his hand in greeting.

"You speak their language," I said, stating the obvious as I tried to gather my scattered thoughts.

"It would be strange if I didn't." He began walking along a narrow path that bordered one of the wider canals. "This is where my family lives.

Osythe's descendants."

I hurried to catch up with him, pushing thoughts of Thatcher aside for the moment. "You didn't mention we'd be meeting more family."

His eyes scanned the village, taking in details with quiet appreciation. "I didn't want to miss the opportunity."

"How long has it been?" I asked, ducking beneath a low-hanging branch covered in small white flowers.

"Two years," he said, his voice carrying a hint of regret. "Maybe three."

We turned down a narrower waterway lined with flowering bushes that trailed their branches into the canal. The water was so clear I could see tiny fish darting between water plants with trailing roots. I glanced up as we approached a large cottage set slightly back from the water on a small rise of land. Unlike the others, this home was surrounded by a garden—tall stalks with broad leaves, bushy herbs with tiny white flowers, vines climbing into crevices in the cottage’s exterior.

Before we reached the door, it swung open. A woman stepped out—tall and regal with walnut skin and black hair woven into elaborate braids. She wore a dress of deep indigo embroidered with patterns in gold thread. Her eyes fixed on Xül, and she smirked, crossing her arms.

"So, the wanderer returns," she said, her voice carrying an accent I couldn't place.

Xül inclined his head slightly. "Amara."

The woman studied him for a long moment, then broke into a wide smile. "It’s been a while, Prince."

To my shock, she stepped forward and pulled Xül into an embrace, which he returned without hesitation. When they separated, her gaze shifted to me.

"And who is this you've brought to our doorstep?"

Xül said. "She's—"

"He’s my mentor," I interjected, not entirely sure why I felt the need to define our relationship so quickly. “I’m Thais Morvaren.”

Amara's eyebrows rose as her gaze moved between us. "Thais." She smiled again. "Well, any guest of Xül's is welcome in our home. Come in, both of you."

As we followed her inside, I whispered to Xül, "Who is she to you?"

"A distant relative," he replied.

His arm brushed against mine as we entered the house, and fire licked its way up my spine. It had been like this since that night—every accidental touch charged with the memory of his hands in my hair and his eyes drinking me in.

The interior of the home opened into a large central room filled with light from windows that faced the canal. At least a dozen people of varying ages moved about, preparing what appeared to be some kind of feast.

Unfamiliar spices filled the air.

Conversations in that same language flowed around us, punctuated by laughter. Everyone had similar deep brown skin in various shades, many with features that reminded me of Xül and his mother—the particular shape of their eyes, the angle of their cheekbones, the way they gestured when they spoke.

"Xül!" A deep voice boomed across the room. A man with broad shoulders and gray-streaked hair twisted into thick locs pushed through the crowd. "About time you showed your face around here!"

"Teller," Xül greeted him, clasping forearms. "Still making trouble for Amara?"

"Every chance I get," the man replied with a hearty laugh, clapping Xül on the shoulder. His eyes found me. "And who's this?"

"Thais," I said before anyone could answer for me.

“I’m her mentor,” Xül added, glancing quickly over at me.

"Interesting." Teller's eyebrows rose as he glanced between us. He extended his hand to me. "Teller, Amara's long-suffering husband."

"He means I've suffered long because of him," Amara said dryly as she moved past us toward the kitchen.

Children raced over, calling out to Xül in their language. An elderly woman rose slowly from a cushioned chair by the window, her face creasing into a maze of wrinkles as she smiled. Two young men abandoned a game they'd been playing to join the growing circle around us.

"Children, give our guests room to breathe," Amara commanded, though her tone was gentle. "Nuri, come meet Thais."

The elderly woman approached, leaning on a carved wooden cane. Her white hair was braided and piled atop her head, adorned with small wooden beads.

"So," she said, her voice surprisingly strong despite her age, "this is the one you've chosen to train." Her eyes studied me. "She has fire in her."

"She’s certainly something.” The side of Xül’s mouth twitched.

"Much like you, then," she replied with a wry smile before turning her gaze back to me. “Are you as big a troublemaker as this one, here?"

I laughed. “I wouldn’t even try to compete.”

“Wise girl.” She nodded, elbowing Xül in the ribs.

A younger woman approached, balancing an infant on her hip.

"Grandmother, let them at least come in properly before you start interrogating them." She turned to me with a warm smile. "I'm Layla.

Welcome to our home."

"Thank you," I said, suddenly aware of how out of place I felt in this close-knit family gathering. "It's beautiful here."

"We think so," Layla agreed, bouncing the baby who had begun to fuss.

"We're preparing for the summer solstice feast tomorrow. You've arrived

just in time."

“Oh, we’re not staying,” Xül said.

“Nonsense.” Nuri swatted at him with her cane. “You can stay for a night. We probably won’t see you for a few more years, after all.”

Xül simply sighed and plopped down on the sofa, crossing his legs.

"Solstice?" I asked, attempting to steer the conversation. “We had smaller celebrations in Saltcrest.”

Layla's eyes widened with interest. "The coastal town?"

I nodded, surprised. "You know of it?"

"My granddaughter traveled a lot when she was younger," Nuri interjected. "She said the food was to die for."

"Come," Amara cut through the conversation. "I promise I won’t continue this interrogation in the kitchen."

I laughed, following her to a large wooden table where colorful vegetables were piled high. Several women were already at work, cutting, grinding spices, or kneading dough. A girl of perhaps twelve sat cross- legged on a stool, sorting through a basket of beans.

"Dara, make room for our guest," Amara instructed.

"Are you really Death's chosen?" she asked immediately, her voice hushed but eager.

"Dara!" Amara scolded. "Mind your manners."

"It's alright," I assured her, taking the offered seat beside Dara. "Yes, I am. Though he's not really—"

"He's not really Death," Dara finished for me, nodding sagely. "He's the Prince of Death. Grandmother explained it all. His father is the real Death,

but Xül works for him."

I blinked. "That's… basically right."

Amara handed me a knife and a pile of root vegetables. "These need to be sliced thinly for the stew," she instructed. "Like this." She demonstrated, her movements quick and precise.

I followed her example, settling into the familiar rhythm of kitchen work. Across the room, I noticed Xül had been cornered by Teller and two other men and was deep in conversation.

"So," Layla said, taking a seat across from me while continuing to balance her baby, "how is Voldaris treating you?"

"Some days are better than others," I replied, focusing on my cutting.

"But not nearly as terrible as I’d imagined."

"Xül hasn’t driven you mad yet," she said with a laugh. "So I’d have to imagine you’re pretty resilient."

"That's one word for it," I agreed, unable to suppress a small smile.

"He's different with you," Nuri observed, settling into a chair at the head of the table. "More at ease."

I glanced up, surprised by the comment. "I wouldn't say that."

"I would," the old woman countered. "I've known that boy his entire life."

I felt suddenly exposed, as if she could see right through me to the confused tangle of emotions I'd been trying to ignore—desire and fear and something far too illicit to acknowledge.

Layla cut through my thoughts. “You dice those very well for someone who's never prepared kalara before."

"I'm used to prepping food," I explained. "In Saltcrest, I worked with my father harvesting oysters."

"Oysters!" Dara exclaimed. "I've never had those. Are they good?"

"The best," I assured her. "Especially fresh from the sea."

Xül was seated on a low stool surrounded by several of the older family members. Nuri had left our table and now stood behind him, her fingers working deftly through his braids.

"She’s re-braiding his hair," Amara said, noticing my lingering eye. "It is tradition when family returns home."

I watched, fascinated, as the woman combed through Xül's long black curls, sectioning it. Her mouth moved constantly, saying something that had Xül and the others alternating between smiles and solemn nods.

"What is she saying?" I asked.

"Old stories," Amara replied. "She reminds Xül of who he is when he has been away too long."

Across the room, he laughed. I rarely heard him laugh like that.

"He doesn't visit often, does he?" I asked.

"Time moves differently for him than for us," Amara replied, her tone measured. "It will only get worse as the years pass." She gestured toward a toddler playing with wooden blocks in the corner. "Eliza there was just a babe the last time he came home. Now she walks and talks."

"Can you tell us about the Trials?" said a quiet voice beside me. I turned to find Dara staring up at me with solemn eyes.

A hush fell over the kitchen. The women's hands stilled, their expressions guarded.

"Dara," Amara chided. "We do not speak of such things."

"But Grandmother said—"

"Your grandmother says many things," Amara interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. "Go help your brother with the bread."

The girl slunk away, casting a curious glance back at me. The women resumed their work, but the easy atmosphere had shifted.

Across the room, I noticed Xül had gone rigid, his expression closed.

"I apologize," Amara said softly. "Those are… not subjects we discuss freely here."

"It's alright," I assured her, though I was curious about their reaction. "I understand."

DINNER WAS A JOYOUS AFFAIR, with delicious dishes I'd never tasted—the stew we'd prepared, rich with unfamiliar spices; flat bread still warm from the oven; roasted vegetables glazed with honey and pepper.

We sat on cushions around low tables arranged in a loose circle. I found myself between Layla and one of the twins—Davi, I learned, Dara's brother.

"What’s your gift?" he asked as soon as I'd settled.

I nearly choked on my first bite. I looked around, expecting to see the same hesitation from earlier when Dara had asked about the Trials, but found no such thing. Everyone’s eyes were on me now, curious.

“Gifts aren’t a taboo subject here,” Nuri cut in, clearly reading my confusion. “Only the fate that befalls the people who manifest them”

Xül cleared his throat, adjusting his collar.

"It's… complicated," I told Davi.

"Can you show us?" he pressed.

"Davi," Layla scolded gently. "Our guest is trying to eat."

"It's alright," I said, though I wasn't entirely sure it was. I looked to Xül, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

He considered for a moment, then nodded almost imperceptibly.

I set down my spoon and concentrated, cupping my hands together.

Drawing on the well of power within me—easier now after months of training—I coaxed a tiny point of light into existence above my palms. No larger than a firefly, it hovered and pulsed silver-blue.

Gasps and murmurs rippled around the tables. Davi's eyes were wide as saucers.

"It's beautiful," Layla breathed, her baby reaching toward the light with tiny fingers.

"Starfire," Nuri said, her voice carrying across the room.

I closed my hands, extinguishing the light before it could grow. "Just a parlor trick," I said, uncomfortable with the attention.

"Hardly that," Teller commented, raising his cup in a toast. "To talents both old and new!"

After dinner, when the youngest children had been put to bed, the adults gathered in a smaller room adjoining the main living area. Teller produced a set of carved wooden dice and a board marked with intricate patterns.

"Tashara," he announced. "The oldest game in our village. Do you play anything similar in Saltcrest, Thais?"

"We have dice games, and cards," I said, watching as he arranged small carved tokens on specific points of the board. "But nothing that looks quite like this."

"It's simple enough," Layla explained. "The dice determine how many spaces you can move. The goal is to capture your opponent's tokens while protecting your own."

"Strategy and luck," Amara added, settling beside her husband. "Much like life."

Xül took a seat to my left. "Careful," he murmured. "Teller cheats."

"I heard that!" Teller protested. "Just because you lose every time doesn't mean I cheat, Prince."

"Every time?" I raised an eyebrow at Xül. "The mighty Prince of Death, bested by a simple dice game?"

"Strategy was never his strong suit," Nuri cackled, lowering herself onto a cushion with Layla's help. "Too impulsive, this one."

"I am not impulsive," Xül objected, though he was laughing.

"Oh?" Amara's eyes danced with mischief. "Shall we remind everyone

of the incident with the fishing boat?"

Xül raised an eyebrow. "Must you?"

"I’m afraid so,” Amara countered with a grin. "Thais deserves to know what kind of man she's attached herself to."

"Now this I have to hear," I said, leaning forward with interest.

Teller laughed. "It was many summers ago. What were you, twelve? Xül was determined to prove he could catch more fish than anyone in the village."

"A reasonable ambition," Xül interjected.

"So, he 'borrowed' old Tomar's boat," Amara continued, making air

quotes with her fingers.

"Without permission," Layla added.

"A minor detail," Xül said with a dismissive wave.

"He sailed it out to the deep channel," Teller continued, taking over the story, his hands gesturing expansively, "where the big river fish run. But he'd never actually sailed those waters before."

"I had observed it many times," Xül protested.

"Observing and doing are very different things," Nuri said wisely, wagging a finger at him. "As he discovered when the current caught the boat and carried him straight into the weeping willows on the far bank."

"The boat capsized," Amara said, barely containing her laughter, "and our future Prince of Death was found hanging upside down from a willow

branch, tangled in fishing line, with not a single fish to show for his trouble."

The room erupted in laughter, including Xül, who shook his head in mock resignation. "The fish were clearly conspiring against me."

"Of course they were, dear." Nuri patted his knee consolingly. "Nothing to do with your complete lack of skill."

Watching him like this—laughing, teasing, fully at ease—he was a completely different person from the cold, calculating immortal I knew in Voldaris. Here, surrounded by family, he was simply Xül.

The game began, with Teller explaining the rules as we played. I picked it up quickly, much to his chagrin when I captured three of his tokens in succession.

"She's a natural!" Layla exclaimed, clapping her hands.

"Beginner's luck," Teller grumbled good-naturedly.

"Or perhaps your cheating techniques are too obvious," Xül suggested, earning himself a playful swat from Teller.

As the hour grew late, family members gradually excused themselves— Layla to check on her baby, Amara to prepare for an early morning journey to a neighboring village, the twins finally succumbing to their mother's insistence that they'd stayed up far past their bedtime.

“We’re going to bed. You should show Thais to her room,” Nuri suggested, stifling a yawn.

With that, they bid us goodnight and disappeared into their respective rooms, leaving Xül and me alone in the dimly lit space.

"Sleep well, starling," he said as he guided me down the corridor.

"You too," I replied, lingering in the doorway. There seemed to be more to say, but neither of us found the words. Part of me wanted to reach for him, to pull him into my room and continue to live in the dream this village so effortlessly weaved around us, where we could forget consequences and responsibilities. The other part knew that would only complicate things further, blur lines that were already dangerously indistinct.

With a final nod, he turned and entered his room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

The guest room was small but comfortable, with a narrow bed covered in colorful woven blankets, a small table with a basin of water, and a window that looked out over one of the smaller canals. I washed my face,

changed into the simple sleeping shift that had been left folded on the bed, and extinguished the lamp.

But sleep eluded me. I paced the small room, my mind churning with the events of the day—Heron's ominous warning about Thatcher, this unexpected glimpse into Xül's other life, the memory of his touch that I couldn't seem to shake no matter how hard I tried.

I moved to the window, pushing it open to let in the night air. The village was quiet now, most windows dark, the only sound the gentle lapping of water against the canal walls.

From this place of peace, the Trials seemed like a distant nightmare— Voldaris, the Bone Spire, the constant danger all felt like another life. Here, I could almost imagine a different path, a different future.

But that future wasn't mine to claim. I had responsibilities, oaths, a brother whose fate hung in the balance. And Xül… Xül had duties I couldn't begin to comprehend. Things he wouldn’t tell me.

I traced my fingers along the windowsill, feeling the worn wood smooth beneath my touch. It was one thing to want his body—that I had already admitted to myself when I'd practically begged for his touch. But this… this was different. Dangerous. This felt like wanting parts of him I had no right to claim.

I turned away from tempting dreams that could never be mine, and forced myself to lie down. As I drifted toward sleep, I found myself hoping that Xül would bring me here again someday—to this place where, for a brief moment, we could both pretend we were something other than what fate had made us.