69. Chapter 69
“ N o.” Ren’s voice rang like steel against stone.
Ren raised her chin. “You’ve been hurt, that much is obvious.
Whatever Vortharax did to you, it shattered your world.
You wear your thirst for revenge like armor, dress it up in lies about chaos and truth, but underneath is a broken god clawing at his wounds.
” Her grip tightened on Ashrend, the blade whispering as she slid it free.
“We won’t tear each other down, not the way you want us to.
I’ll tear the throat out of anyone who threatens those I care about, but out of love, not hunger.
That’s what you’ll never understand.” Her eyes glinted like embers.
“I know who you are. The god of madness .”
For a heartbeat, silence ruled the chamber.
Then Zakhar’s lips split, and he laughed.
The sound wasn’t human. It echoed too wide, too long, bouncing from wall to wall until the stone itself seemed to howl with him. He doubled over, shoulders shaking, laughter shredding into hoarseness, until he straightened with tears glistening at the corner of his eyes.
“Now you’re catching on. Some call me that; I’ve been called worse.
I am the itch beneath the skin, the voice in the dark when no one’s left to listen.
Families tearing at one another to survive?
I’ve watched it for centuries. Mothers stealing from babes, fathers feeding from sons.
Madness is the only truth this world has ever known. ”
Zakhar tapped his chin thoughtfully, as though sifting through the dust of old memories.
“You think you’re different? Your parents – ah, yes .
I remember them. The stench of rum and cheap wine thick on their breath.
They spent more coin drowning in their cups than feeding you or that precious sister of yours. ”
Zakhar’s gaze gleamed.
“Tell me, Flameborne. Do you remember the way your belly ached so badly you thought it might devour itself? Those nights you shivered beneath threadbare blankets, praying you’d wake the next morning and not cross the Veil in your sleep from starvation?”
His tone dropped, almost tender. “And those times you reached for the bottle just to understand why they loved it more than you, and they beat you bloody for it. You cried, didn’t you? But not for the pain. You cried because you still loved them. But they didn’t love you, and they never would.”
Zakhar clicked his tongue. “See, I’m not the monster here.
Your parents, your world – they are already tearing themselves apart without my intervention.
Fae, humans, ogres – none of that matters.
I’m just the truth that crawls out from what’s left, the voice inside everyone’s head that they ignore.
The real tragedy is that if anyone would simply embrace me – embrace chaos – it would all make sense.
The pain, the hunger, the loss. There’s freedom in surrender.
The world only burns because it fights what it was always meant to become. ”
Ren’s lip curled. “You really enjoy hearing yourself talk. But I’m done listening. To hell with your theories. You’re just a bitter god hellbent on revenge. Tell me this, Zakhar – what did Vortharax do to you that was so bad?”
There was a flicker across his face. He scratched at the back of his head like a man clawing through memories too deep to bury, muttering something under his breath.
Ren’s blood boiled. Or maybe it was the other thing inside her, the shard of Vortharax, thrumming at the presence of its old, familiar enemy. Whatever it was, the heat almost split her skin apart.
Zakhar’s gaze turned grim. “One last chance, Flamebearer. Become my champion or drown in what’s coming. Because tonight will tear your world upside down. Not just yours – the realm’s. Nothing will be the same again.”
Ren lifted a brow. “Is your memory failing? I already told you no. Why would repeating it make it any different this time?”
Zakhar clicked his tongue again, a sound of disappointment. “Very well. Then, let’s see how you fare with some company.”
Ren felt a cold draft slithering through the cavern, carrying the smell of decay. The torches sputtered, their flames shrinking as if smothered by unseen hands. The silence shattered with the groan of stone grinding against stone.
One by one, lids of sarcophagi shifted, runes cracking and flaring as though unwilling to release what lay beneath. Skeletal fingers, mottled with ancient flesh, clawed over the rims.
Silver, empty, merciless eyes blinked open in the dark.
Undead fae. Kings and queens of Vaelaran, councilors and generals long-dead, dragged from sacred rest. Their crowns of stone crumbled, their blades raised in brittle, rusted hands.
Zakhar spread his arms, shadows fanning out like wings.
His voice slithered across the cavern, a final echo before he vanished into smoke.
“Fight, Flamebearer. Let’s see how long you and your friends last when the dead come to claim you.
” He shrugged. “I say it’s never a bad time for a little,” his eyes glanced at Talen, “family reunion. Don’t you think? ”
He lingered just a moment longer and sent Ren a wink. “That’s the most beautiful thing about necromancy. The dead never stop piling up. Which means the dead are always an army at your command.”
And then he was gone.