13. Thatcher
Thatcher
It was the blood-drenched dream again. The one where a Legend exploded.
Night still claimed the world beyond my crystal windows. Back in Saltcrest, I'd already be at the docks by now, hauling in nets with muscles burning from honest work, not lying in this too-soft bed waiting for the sun to crest the horizon.
Were the palace servants about to burst in and dress me like they had before the Choosing? The Dreamweavers had fussed over every detail, straightening collars and smoothing wrinkles.
I rolled my eyes and slid from the bed. Twenty-six years of dressing myself would have to suffice.
The wardrobe revealed clothing worth more than our entire village—embroidered tunics in jewel tones, shirts spun from fabric that could feed a family for months. I grabbed the plainest option available, the weight of wealth still unfamiliar against my skin.
Sulien's weathered face flickered through my mind—the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled, the calluses on his hands from years of teaching us to fish. What would he think of me now?
Worth dying for. The promise Thais and I made. If dismantling Olinthar's reign meant playing the eager student, I'd become the best liar in Voldaris.
Bellarium stretched beyond my window—a monstrosity of training yards and judgment halls. A bone-white arena towered in the distance.
A knock interrupted my thoughts.
"Come in," I called, arranging my features into a mask. Shoulders relaxed, eyes wide with appropriate awe.
Chavore’s broad shoulders filled the doorway.
"Morning, sunshine," he grinned, teeth flashing white against tanned skin. "Sleep well?"
I matched his smile. "Like the dead." The lie flowed smooth as honey.
His laugh ricocheted off the high ceiling. "Enjoying your stay in Bellarium? Getting settled these past few days?"
I frowned. "Days? I arrived last night."
He leaned against the doorframe, brow crinkling. "Time blurs when you’re immortal. You'll understand once you've ascended."
The casual assumption that I'd join their ranks grated my nerves. I nodded, tucking the information away—not just his memory lapse, but the certainty with which he spoke of my future.
"Follow me," he said, already turning. "Time to see what you're made of."
Blood and vengeance , I thought but figured it was best I keep that particular one to myself.
The slate gray hallways gleamed with veins of silver. Beings with elongated features, bedecked in blue military garb marched past, heads lowered. Their bodies moved in unison as if controlled by a single mind.
I watched Chavore acknowledge them—a nod here, a half-smile there. Power draped across his shoulders like an invisible cloak, evident in every unhurried step. The world waited for him, not the other way around.
"Who are they?" I asked .
"The Syrenari. Bellarium's elite. Part soldier, part judge—they cannot speak falsehood." His mouth quirked. "Terrible companions at a party."
We descended a spiral staircase that wound around warriors frozen mid-battle, their faces caught between triumph and agony.
"I have to admit," I said, letting confusion leak into my voice, "I'm still surprised you chose me."
Chavore glanced over his shoulder. "Oh? Why's that?"
"This whole situation. One moment I'm awaiting execution for lacking power. The next, I've eliminated Drakor, and instead of punishment, I gain a prince as a mentor."
His face hardened, all previous humor vanishing. "Not many from Draknavor would be missed."
My pulse quickened at the slip. Fault lines existed between the gods, cracks I might exploit later.
We passed through a gallery where battles unfolded on walls. Beauty and destruction interwoven into endless monuments to their own glory.
"What about Thais?" I asked, genuine worry coloring my words. "She's in Draknavor." The bond between us stretched thin across the distance—enough to know she lived, not enough to sense her state.
Chavore's swallowed. "Xül and I were friends once."
"What happened?"
"Reality eclipsed childhood bonds." He shrugged. "Difficult to maintain friendships when raised with opposing values."
"Opposing values?" I pushed, walking the knife's edge of curiosity and caution.
"The Lord of Death and the King of Order have clashed since the beginning of time." Chavore led me past training fields where Syrenari moved through deadly forms.
"Your sister will endure," Chavore added, perhaps noticing my tension. "Xül is smart and makes certain everyone knows it. She'll survive. "
Survive. The barest minimum. But survival meant opportunity, and Thais could handle herself better than anyone I knew.
"Here we are," Chavore announced as we reached the forest's edge.
Trees towered overhead, bark gleaming with golden highlights, leaves shimmering between yellow and green. Power vibrated through the air, raising goosebumps along my arms.
"Right," Chavore rolled his shoulders. "So you shattered bone with just a thought. That's..." He paused, eyes going distant for a moment before snapping back with laser focus. "That's fucking incredible, actually."
He started pacing, but it wasn't nervous energy—more like he needed to move while his mind worked. "Walk me through it. The exact moment. What did you experience?"
I hesitated, but his expectant stare demanded an answer. "I... I could see them. The bones. The veins. Through the skin, through everything."
"You could see them." He stopped mid-stride, pivoting to face me. "Not sense them, not feel them—you actually saw the structure?"
I nodded slowly.
"And then?"
"Then I just... wanted it to stop. And they shattered."
His grin widened. "So it's not just destruction—it's perception first, then manipulation. You need to see what you're affecting." He tapped his temple. "That's the key."
He moved closer, spreading his arms. "Which means we need to train your sight before we can train your power. See if you can do it again—look past the surface. But this time, no breaking anything. Just look."
Fear prickled along my spine. "What if I can't control it? What if?—"
"Then I'll have some interesting scars," he said with a shrug. "Start with me. Try to see what's underneath. "
I simply stared at him.
"Relax," Chavore said. "Drakor wasn’t prepared for what you did to him, but I am. And just because I can't set you on fire with my mind or blind you with celestial light doesn't mean I'm fragile."
He picked up a training sword from the weapons rack and bent it into a perfect circle with his bare hands, the metal groaning in protest.
Curiosity needled me. "What is your power?"
Chavore looked away, then down, clicking his teeth.
"Some of us are gifted with abilities that never show outwardly.
Less impressive to the eyes, maybe, but oftentimes more useful.
I am the Aesymar of strategy, after all.
I received that title for a reason." He paused, running a hand through his hair.
"But even without that, I could hear your heartbeat from across the training grounds.
Could track you through the forest by scent alone if needed.
My bones don't break easily, my wounds heal within minutes instead of weeks. "
He met my eyes again. "Truthfully, most of us don't have extraordinary offensive powers.
That is a rarity among those born in Voldaris.
Take Elysia, for instance. She can enchant and glamour, imbue such qualities within others, but that would hardly win in a direct fight.
Doesn't matter though—she could still tear someone limb from limb with her bare hands if she chose. "
"Good to know," I muttered.
His confidence both reassured and disappointed me.
Part of me—the part forged through years of hiding and hatred—wondered if I could end this now.
If I could simply choose to lose control once more and take Chavore out.
Work my way through the pantheon one dead god at a time until reaching Olinthar himself.
“Alright, enough stalling.” Chavore cracked his neck. “What do you see?”
I focused on him, searching for that connection that had flared to life during Drakor's attack. At first, nothing happened—just him standing before me, waiting expectantly.
Then the world shifted .
His skin became transparent, revealing the network of vessels beneath pulsing with each heartbeat. His organs glowed—familiar shapes I'd only seen in Lira’s anatomical texts.
"I can see you," I whispered, fascination overtaking caution.
Chavore grinned. "Good. Now try that tree."
He pointed toward a massive oak with roots that crawled across the ground like gnarled fingers. I shifted my focus, attempting to pierce bark.
Nothing. Just wood and sap and leaf. The connection that had flowed naturally with flesh refused to extend.
I scowled, pushing harder until sweat beaded across my forehead. The tree remained unchanged, unmoved by my efforts.
"I can't," I admitted, frustration burning my throat.
"Expected," Chavore said, thoughtfulness replacing bravado. "Your power awakened under threat. It manifested to destroy an attacking body. That channel flows open now, but others remain closed to you."
He crouched, fingers brushing the grass beneath our feet. "Begin smaller. Mighty rivers start as springs."
I knelt beside him, pressing my palm against the perfect grass. Each blade stood flawless, untouched by drought or disease. I closed my eyes, reaching for that same connection I'd felt with flesh and blood.
At first, nothing. Then—a spark, tiny but undeniable. A single blade of grass called to me, resonating with the force thrumming in my veins. Unlike the violent storm that had consumed Drakor, this connection whispered.
I traced the flow of nutrients through the single blade, followed water rising from root to tip. Then, with the gentlest thought, I severed it. The blade blackened instantly, curling in on itself like a dying insect.
"Well now," Chavore murmured. "Your talents extend beyond godslaying after all. "
I stared at my hands—callused from years of hauling nets and mending sails, now instruments of death.
What else might I accomplish? Where did the boundaries lie?
And how could I wield this against Olinthar?
Possibilities clawed in my mind, dark and potent. If I mastered this power—honed it, strengthened it—I could become the weapon they never expected. Their downfall instead of their pawn.
"We train daily," Chavore declared, slapping my back hard enough to rock me forward. His grin flashed sharp and challenging. "Tomorrow we advance to flowers, then bushes. Eventually trees. Perhaps animals after that. Not my Syrenari, though—I need them functional."
His excitement proved contagious. I found myself returning his smile—genuine, not the calculated mask I'd worn since arriving. For a heartbeat, I almost forgot he was the son of the god who had destroyed everything I loved.
As we walked back toward Bellarium's gleaming towers, I cataloged every detail. Every weakness. Every scrap of information that might prove useful when the time came.
I would master this power. I would learn Bellarium's secrets. I would discover Olinthar's vulnerabilities.
For Thais. For Sulien. For the family we'd lost and the vengeance we'd pledged.
Worth dying for.
Let them teach me. Let them train me. Let them believe I served their purposes.
They would discover, far too late, exactly what they had created.