Chapter 6 #2
“The threads tangle,” she murmurs, voice distant. “Too many paths… too many endings. You tempt the storm, Child of Ruin.”
I bristle at the name, but I say nothing. I impatiently await the next one to speak because it’s always the same. They speak their riddles, their warnings, each thinking their voice should shatter the sky. All it actually does is raise my bastard blood pressure.
Calrix leans forward—because of course the militant asshole wants in. The Spear of Order. Divine Warfare’s golden boy, who claims to be the protector of the realms. He’s flame wrapped in armour, his wings ablaze, and his eyes burn with the fury of a sun held back by chainmail.
“You should not be here,” he growls. “You stain the light.”
I snort. “First of all, I was invited. Secondly, if I’d known I was walking into a celestial poetry slam, I would’ve brought wine.”
Calrix’s sword ignites in his grip, the fury in his eyes sparking even brighter as he stares me down.
I swear, he lives for the drama. Seraphiel lifts a hand, and he instantly lowers the weapon like the obedient bitch he is.
Across the crescent, Elaron smiles. His voice, when he speaks, is so gentle it almost slides past you unnoticed.
Despite his soft voice, he is just another manipulator, his abilities allowing him to mess with your thoughts, memories, and dreams.
“The realm quivers. Strange dreams ripple through the mortal veil. Something stirs.”
His hair is starlight, and his eyes are gentle, yet unblinking. He smiles like a friend, but the whispers within the realm are that he was the one who erased the old queen’s soul. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me.
“Do you feel it, Korithax?” He asks me. “The little sparks waking in the dark?”
I stare back at him, my expression deadpan, and say nothing.
I won’t give them the satisfaction of asking them what the fuck they’re talking about.
My eyes track over to Mal’Thariel. He doesn’t speak, never does.
His body is a monolith of marble and glass, ancient beyond comprehension.
The original creator of everything. And he just…
watches. Like a god who sees every flaw in your soul and decides you’re boring anyway.
The laws of the universe get quiet around him.
I roll my eyes. “Gods, don’t all speak at once for a change, will you?”
“You mock us,” Seraphiel says, her voice cutting through the atmosphere like a blade. “You forget who we are.”
“No,” I mutter, straightening. “I remember exactly who you are.”
Show time. I raise a finger to point, a cocky grin plastered on my face. “One: Judgement in the form of a silver bitch.” Seraphiel glares.
“Two: Manipulator of perception.” Amarithe’s eyes narrow in amusement.
“Three: A weeping time witch.” Velentha doesn’t react.
She never does. “Four: A flame with a stick up his ass.” Calrix flares hotter.
“Five: A walking celestial gaslighter.” Elaron smiles wider.
“And six,” I say, landing on Mal’Thariel, “a mute slab of cosmic furniture.”
Amarithe hums a low, silken sound. “Your arrogance continues to amuse.”
“And your obsession with control continues to bore me.”
“You speak as if you matter,” Calrix growls as his wings flare wide, flame licking the edge of his shoulders. “You’re nothing but an heir still unproven. Without a throne. Without a queen.”
There it is, the blade they always swing. And it lands. Not deep, but enough to care. I keep my expression flat, not deigning to give these assholes the reaction they so desperately crave.
Velentha’s runes flicker. “Time bleeds faster than you realise. The cycle closes.”
Elaron leans forward, “Tick, tick, Child of Ruin. The crown slips from fingers too long unclaimed.”
“You all love your riddles, don’t you?” I say, smiling without warmth. “Just say it. Just say I need a bride. Say I’m running out of time. Say you’re all terrified of what happens if I ascend the throne without one.”
“You will not ascend,” Seraphiel says, final and smug. “Not without balance. That is the law.”
“Your law,” I growl.
“The only law that matters.” She counters.
Amarithe tilts her head, lashes fluttering. “Unless… you’ve found someone?”
Every eye turns to me. Six points of celestial pressure, suffocating and bright. I lift my chin. “You’d be the first to know if I had.”
Velentha tilts her head, ever so slightly. “Would we?”
That’s an insane question from the bitch who sees literally fucking everything. But I’ve had enough, so I let smoke begin to coil around my shoulders in warning. “We’re done here.”
“You leave,” Seraphiel says, “with no answers to our questions.”
“I never get any in return,” I shoot back with a smirk. “Seems fair.”
The portal hums open behind me; this bullshit realm rarely lets me just teleport in and out.
It’s like a power play from them—or fear.
Making sure I’m a little weaker magic-wise because portals require more power than teleportation.
I turn to the portal to my world. But before I step through, I glance back once.
“When I do choose,” I say, voice low, “You’ll feel it. Or your little all-seeing eye over there will tell you.”
And then I’m gone.