Chapter 71
Alora
Alora passed through fire and ice.
Through memory. Through every nightmare that had ever dared to call itself real. Until, at last, she stood before a hall carved of white stone, suspended in the void.
This was not the Heavens.
But the center of all things.
Alora found herself at the foot of wide steps that looked like glass, though they bore the weight of eternity. They led to an open courtyard held aloft by marble columns worn with age yet still impossibly beautiful, veined with light instead of dust.
A warm radiance spilled from above, though there was no sun. Only a vast aperture in the ceiling, a perfect circle opening into the void of the universe. Beyond stretched an endless cosmos, galaxies like jeweled wheels, stars scattering across a velvet sky.
It was a bewildering sight.
Yet her soul felt no fear here. Only peace.
Weightless, her body radiant with white light, though her crown still rested on her brow and her gown flowed black and red about her like smoke. She drifted up each step, floating toward inevitability.
She approached a glowing well at the courtyard’s heart. It held no water, but an ever-shifting vision of worlds. Urn was among them, and others beyond, too many to count. Each realm shimmered, resting on an unseen thread.
Something pulled her onward. She ascended another stairway, this one of glass and light, to a platform hovered upon a nebula itself. There she saw them: the Seven Gates, suspended in the cosmos like titanic monuments.
Each was unique, a reflection of its realm and ruler.
The Netherworld Gate was built of bone and black smoke, its arch hollow as a maw, glyphs burning faintly red along its surface.
The Death Gate gleamed like frozen marble, carved of smooth stone and ice, its surface glinting like frost under moonlight.
The Time Gate was white marble veined in black, an hourglass suspended at the center of its arch, sands trickling but never emptying.
The Mortal Gate was wood and flowers, blooming eternally, its frame twined with ivy and roots that shone faintly with life.
The Spatial Gate was a crown of stars and night, its interior swirling with constellations that shifted as though alive.
The Life Gate shimmered with multicolored clouds, mist cascading in prismatic light.
And last, Heaven’s Gate radiated brighter than all the rest. Gold wrought into spires of divine flame, impossible to look at for long.
Further still, was a stream of starlight. The River of Souls pouring into the Mortal Realm. It was breathtaking, ordered and endless, a reminder that all life began and ended in the same current.
“Welcome,” a voice called behind her.
Alora turned, her gaze climbing to a dais set high above. Seven thrones crowned it, gleaming beneath the eternal starlight.
She knew the gods by sight alone, for her spirit calling their names.
Hiram, God of Time, sat tall and proud. His skin gleamed dark as polished bronze, his eyes liquid gold, and upon his hair rested a crown shaped like the sun itself. At his side stood a woman with eyes the same warm gold, her hair braided intricately, her mortal flesh remade into something divine.
Beside him sat Eitan, God of Mortals. His beauty was delicate, almost androgynous, with pale skin and green eyes that shone like spring.
Purple flowers crowned his blond hair, the same hue as the iridescent wings folded at his back.
Silver branches formed his circlet, butterflies flitting around him and the red-haired man at his side.
Zohar, God of Space and Dimension, met her gaze next.
His features were sharp, his dark eyes fathomless, his midnight hair crowned with burning starlight.
At his left stood a goddess with hair like a river of black, coiled into jeweled combs of jade.
Her gown shimmered with stars, as though she wore the universe itself.
Both watched her with calculating intensity.
Then her eyes found Sunneva, radiant in silver and frost-kissed silk, standing beside a throne veiled in bone and bloom.
And in it, Jokull, God of Death. His skin was chilling blue, his face half-shrouded by a mask of bone, his body sculpted like steel cast in ice.
A jagged circlet of frost rested on his brow, as sharp as icicles.
Behind him spread translucent feathered wings like snow.
“Alora has come to plea to the Heavens,” Sunneva announced, her voice ringing across the dais. “She requests an audience with Elyōn.”
Murmurs stirred the platform.
“What right does she have to speak to our father?” demanded Hiram, his golden eyes flashing. “Rumiel has fallen beyond disgrace. He has no throne here, not her. No place. No right.”
Alora lifted her chin, her shadows flaring like wings. “I am Alora, the Goddess of Shadows. The Netherworld bows to me. I sit upon no other throne but the one my mate bestowed upon me.”
A soft female voice stilled the murmurs. “He will hear her plea.”
Alora’s gaze fell on the center throne, the only one left empty.
Unlike the others, it was not grand. It bore no jewels, no starlight, no embellishment. It was a simple seat of white stone, unadorned, and yet its plainness made the others seem less by comparison.
Exalted in its simplicity.
Beside it stood Gavriel, Goddess of the Heavens. Her presence was soft, radiant. Her eyes, warm silver, shimmered with infinite patience. Her pale hair tumbled in waves, crowned only with a circlet of light. She smiled at Alora with a mother’s gentleness, and Alora’s chest tightened.
And then He was there.
A blinding, overwhelming presence with the force of a sun.
It filled the air, pressed against her skin, and descended into her bones. The Primordial who was the source of all life. His existence was too much, and yet it was all she longed for in that moment.
Alora dropped to her knees, bowing her head, her shadows trembling.
When Elyōn spoke, it carried the weight of creation itself that had formed worlds.
“I know why you have come. Yet what you desire cannot be restored as it was.”
Her heart shook.
She fought the sting in her eyes, refusing to accept this verdict.
“There is no power beyond yours, no limit you could reach but the vow of your word.” Alora lifted her gaze to the stars but could not bring herself to look at the brightest sun.
“We agreed. Spare the Realms from the wrath of Vorak, and in turn, Rune would be spared.” She stood and stepped forward, her shadows flaring behind her like wings.
“That is the promise that belongs to me. I demand for him to be returned, unflawed.”
Stunned silence weighed heavy on the platform. Thunder rolled in the sky.
Hiram’s eyes widened with fury. “You dare—”
At Gavriel’s glance, he fell quiet.
Jokull smirked and exchanged a look with Sunneva. A faint smile curved her lips.
All waited for Elyōn’s answer, but there came only silence.
Alora lowered her head, clenching her shaking fists. “Did you … ever care for him?”
The cosmos vibrated and that ancient voice replied. “A father cannot help but love his son. Even in all his wrongs. Nevertheless, a soul cannot be recalled once its purpose is fulfilled. Rumiel’s sacrifice was his destiny.”
The declaration shook the foundation of her own soul.
“I am his destiny,” Alora said faintly, and her tears fell freely. “After all he endured, can you spare him no mercy?”
Gavriel’s face creased with sympathy, and she looked up at the bright light, the only one who could. “The gods exist because it is their fate. Each is given a place and a purpose.” The Goddess of the Heavens held her gaze with a gentle smile. “None is complete on their own.”
Alora stilled, catching something in her words. “Even I, who was born from a flower?”
“Yes. Even you.”
She straightened, at last looking into that exalted light.
“Balance is the law of the universe, and no force can be removed without one to replace it. When I devoured Vorak’s power, I became the new Primordial to take his place.
Therefore, I am the sovereign of the Netherworld.
Thus, I am owed a mate. And should further purpose be required, the Covenant demands two souls to bind it. ”
Elyōn paused and Gavriel’s smile widened.
That bright enduring presence softened, warming the stones beneath her feet.
“Indeed.”
Above them, from the veil of the cosmos fell a star.
A star so bright it made Alora’s breath catch. It fell into the River of Souls, and she leaped off the platform, following it. She watched in wonder, following the bright little light.
It swept through the current but instead of entering the Mortal Realm, the speck of light veered off the path as Netherworld Gate pulsated red, the portal reopening.
And Alora followed the light home.
The moment she stepped through the Netherworld Gate, the world went silent.
The air was thick and heavy, tasting of iron and smoke. Ash fell like snow from the blackened sky, and above her hung a moon as bright as blood. It bathed the barren terrain in its crimson light, casting shadows too sharp to be natural.
She stood upon black sand.
It spread far across an endless, barren land.
Ahead, jagged peaks rose like teeth, clawing toward a crimson sky. Rivers of lava cut through the land like bleeding veins. Souls cried in the distance, some echoing with grief, others madness. Here, darkness reigned.
This was his kingdom.
And hers.
The shadows moved with her, cloaking her body like a living veil. The spider lilies bloomed in her wake, even here, even now. The red moon glowed in the sky, lighting the way.
Alora had lost sight of Rune’s soul, but she called to it with her voice. Her song was a wordless melody. Demons emerged from the rocks and flame as they woke. Twisted. Massive. Nightmarish.
One by one, they knelt as she passed.
Her power crackled against the air like a storm waiting to be unleashed, calling to Rune.
And then she heard a soft purr.