58. Mythmaking
MYTHMAKING
TALIA
History is not faithful to events. It is faithful to those in power. Even the false gods understood this. It’s why they claimed to be gods.
COLLECTED SAYINGS OF LORE TAVIS, COMPILED BY THE ACOLYTES OF STARFALL SANCTUARY
Flying on dragonback was everything Talia dreamed it would be.
Dawn’s iridescent pink scales shimmered beneath her palms. Riven’s arms wrapped around her waist. The wind tore her braid loose as Valta unfurled below them.
Forests blurred, rivers flashed silver. For one weightless afternoon, she was purely happy.
The bond thrummed with Dawn’s fierce joy as their excruciating weekslong journey wound backward in hours.
Talia’s mind raced ahead as they flew. Lore was gone, so Starfall should be leaderless.
She could claim the archives, build something real there.
She closed her eyes, felt the wind on her face, imagined what might come next.
When she opened her eyes, the horizon was black with smoke.
The haze thickened. Ash stung her throat. Riven’s hand locked tight at her hip. A city below them was burning. She recognized the thick walls, the tidy grid of streets. Haven. Dawn banked low, and they landed just outside the city.
Char crunched under their boots as they approached. The pristine order of the military outpost was gone. Whole blocks had collapsed inward, coals breathing red. The eastern districts still roared with flame, which leaped roof to roof. The air was so hot it blistered Talia’s lips.
Could Lore have done this? Movement flashed in the streets. There were people down there. They were huge and mostly naked. Some had faint sigils glimmering across their skin.
“Who are they?” she whispered.
Riven’s arms tightened around her waist. “My people.”
The words stopped her breath. Dawn’s hand lifted to the necklace of teeth she always wore. Horror flooded the bond.
“Stars and fucking moons.” Dawn’s voice was small. Stricken.
The records in the library said the fae had vanished after Ehrue’s blast. The fluxborn appeared at the same time. Then when Ehrue overloaded the channels yesterday…
“They weren’t elein,” Talia’s voice cracked. “The fluxborn were always fae.”
She caught flashes of violence through the smoke—a body dragged, a scream cut short. She looked away, but she couldn’t unsee it.
Her mind flashed to the fluxborn wolf den, Dawn killing those pups in cold blood. They had been fae too. Transformed and trapped. Now those people were slaughtering citizens in Haven. Where did justice begin? Where did it end?
Haven was ash. There were already figures peeling out of town and moving east toward Gateway. Violence marching across the continent, unstoppable as a flood. The future she’d imagined—that was gone. No archives. No joyful life beside Riven and Dawn.
She’d spent her life studying myths—heroes and monsters, good and evil—but she’d missed the point. She’d been so focused on the characters, on stories and symbolism. She should have asked who was writing those stories, and why.
The gods weren’t just real. They’d had agendas. The Divine Navigator and Elanwei and Lore were all gone, but someone would fill the void they’d left behind. Someone would write the next myth, become the new divine authority, reshape the world.
She’d turned down Lore’s offer, but she hadn’t understood what he was truly seeking. Not just power. Agency. The ability to decide whose story would be recorded as history.
She got it now. And she wanted that for herself.