34. Thatcher
Thatcher
I'd been to Sundralis before, but never escorted by Olinthar himself. I’d never even been in the same room with him.
The portal deposited us at the grand entrance to the Palace of Light, its crystal spires reaching impossibly high into a sky so perfectly blue it hurt to look at. Sundralis existed in perpetual golden daylight, every surface reflecting the never-setting sun. Not a single shadow existed here.
My jaw ached from forcing a smile, from burying the raw hatred that threatened to swallow me whole. This mask was the hardest I'd ever had to wear.
Olinthar walked ahead of Chavore and me, golden light cascading from his shoulders like a cloak. From behind, he looked almost normal—if you ignored the subtle glow that emanated from beneath his skin.
My heart still pounded. He’d intervened. Negotiated with Sylphia and Thalor after what I did in the archives.
Why? What game was he playing? Mercy didn't seem like the right answer.
"Thatcher Morvaren," he said, turning suddenly. His voice carried across the breeze. "Would you join me for a turn about the gardens? I find the spring blossoms particularly restorative."
Chavore stepped forward automatically.
"Not this time, my son." Olinthar placed a hand on Chavore's shoulder. "I'd like to speak with your mentee privately. There are matters I wish to discuss."
Matters. The word was acid in my gut. Did he know who I really was?
Who we were? The King of Gods certainly wouldn't want that secret getting out—the great and perfect Olinthar, father to half-blood abominations born of a mortal woman he'd violated and abandoned.
It would undermine everything he'd built, the perfect order he so valued.
Was that why he wanted me alone? To confirm his suspicions? To eliminate the evidence of his crime?
Chavore's expression shifted, eagerness transforming into restraint. "Of course, Father. I'll wait at the pavilion."
And just like that, I was alone with the architect of my nightmares.
What was I supposed to do? Refuse the King of Gods? Tell him I'd rather swallow a blade than walk beside him through his perfect gardens?
Instead, I bowed. "I'd be honored, my lord."
We walked in silence at first, following a path of white stone that wound between flowering trees. Everything in Sundralis was controlled, ordered, immaculate.
The sun pressed down from directly overhead, a weight rather than a warmth. I was no stranger to sunlight, I'd spent entire days on fishing boats under its glare. But this was different. Oppressive.
"You've performed impressively during the Trials," Olinthar said finally, his voice carrying that strange musical quality that made my skin crawl. "Chavore speaks highly of your progress."
I molded my features into grateful humility. "Thank you, my lord. I'm fortunate to have been chosen by him. "
"Fortunate indeed." He gestured toward a giant fountain where water gleamed. "What do you think of Sundralis, Thatcher?"
"It's beautiful," I said, the lie sliding easily from my lips. In truth, I found it sterile, cold in its perfection. Nothing here felt real or earned—just conjured into existence by divine whim. "Unlike anything I've ever seen."
Olinthar nodded, seeming pleased. "I've been considering what comes after the Trials. After your ascension." He said it with such certainty. "Have you given thought to where you might belong?"
After we kill you?
Another lie, then. "Honestly, it’s difficult to see past the Trials."
"I imagine that must be difficult, yes." Olinthar stopped beside a perfect rose bush, its blooms so red they appeared to bleed. "Although I did wonder if you might find your place here, in Sundralis."
My stomach twisted at the thought.
"Here, my lord?" I kept my voice level, interested but not overeager. "I'm... surprised."
His eyes fixed on mine. "I don't wish to pressure you. It's merely a thought, an option to consider. In the end, the choice is yours alone."
"I appreciate that, my lord." The words tasted like ash in my mouth.
Olinthar grew thoughtful, his gaze drifting beyond me toward the distant crystal spires. "Thatcher, I'm going to confide in you. I wouldn't normally do this—I'm usually more tight-lipped about the inner workings of the pantheon and the things that came before."
My skin prickled at those words. The things that came before.
"But I feel this situation deserves clarity," he continued. "You deserve to know what exactly you are."
Gods. He knew.
"You might have heard whispers about the Primordials," Olinthar said, his voice dropping. "Our creators."
I nodded carefully. "Only a little. Just fragments of information that circulate in Elaren. That they were the precursors, but not much more."
A smile ghosted across his perfect features. "Sharp. Yes, those from whom we all descended. Beings of unimaginable power who shaped reality itself." He began walking again, slower now. "We assumed their power died with them."
"My lord?" I infused my voice with respectful confusion. "I'm not sure I understand your meaning."
Olinthar turned abruptly to face me fully. The sun behind him created a halo effect.
"I believe the heavens have blessed you with a drop of Primordial power, Thatcher Morvaren. Your abilities—they mirror those of Vivros." His eyes glittered as he spoke. "But with that kind of power comes great responsibility."
Responsibility to fucking end you , I thought, the hatred I'd been suppressing flaring white-hot beneath my facade.
Outwardly, I widened my eyes in surprise. "Really? Is that even possible?"
"I would never have believed it could happen," Olinthar admitted. "But now that it has, we can only move forward and make the best of it."
We passed beneath an archway of intertwined silver and gold, its metallic leaves chiming softly in a breeze that seemed to exist only for that purpose.
"It's a blessing of the greatest magnitude," he continued. “A gift that makes you truly exceptional."
We had circled back toward the palace, the massive structure gleaming in the eternal daylight.
"I tell you this, Thatcher, because power like that is also a vulnerability." His hand settled on my shoulder, and I fought not to flinch away. "You must be careful not to be influenced by the wrong people. "
Like you?
I nodded.
"Just food for thought," Olinthar said, his tone lightening as he removed his hand. "I'm afraid I have matters to attend to. But I did so enjoy our conversation, and I hope to have another soon. Do not be a stranger—you are always welcome in Sundralis."
I bowed deeply, partly to hide the hatred that might have shown on my face. "Thank you for your wisdom, my lord. I'm honored by your trust."
As he walked away, golden light trailing in his wake, I straightened and let out a heavy breath. My hands trembled with rage or fear, I couldn't tell.
I found a stone bench nestled among flowering bushes and sank onto it, needing a moment to process what had happened. My heart still pounded against my ribs, adrenaline coursing through my system.
I reached for Thais through our bond. The connection felt stretched thin across the distance between domains, but I could sense her. I'm alright , I sent, not knowing if the words would reach her, but hoping the sentiment might.