35. The Ruins of the Primordial
The Ruins of the Primordial
The portal tore through reality with the sound of shattering glass, bleeding maroon light that cast our shadows in grotesque, elongated shapes across the sand.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked, watching as the tear stabilized.
Xül's golden eyes gleamed in the unnatural light. "To the ruins of the last Primordial War. Few still travel there. It is forgotten by most, and for good reason."
His voice carried a strange cadence I hadn't heard before—neither the cold command of the Warden nor the calculated charm he occasionally employed. Reverence vibrated beneath the words, and it sent a shiver down my spine.
"Why now?"
"Because of what just happened here. There are things you need to see," he replied, his expression unreadable. "Things that words alone cannot convey."
He extended his hand, not quite touching me but close enough. An invitation, not a command.
I stepped through .
We emerged onto a shoreline. The crimson sky had deepened to the color of spilled blood, edging toward black at the horizon. Even the air felt wrong—too thick, reluctant to fill my lungs.
"We'll need to travel by water from here," he said, gesturing toward a small boat tethered to a decaying dock.
I followed him to the boat—sleek and unadorned. "No grand vessel today?" I settled myself on the narrow bench.
"Some knowledge is best sought quietly." He took his position at the oars. “And I want you to understand what’s happening with your brother.”
"I know what flows through Thatcher's veins," I said, the words edged with defensiveness. "I've seen what he can do."
"You've seen a fraction." His eyes met mine, all pretense gone. "What your brother did to Drakor was barely scratching the surface of what's possible. Especially once he ascends."
"And that interests you." I studied the tension in his jaw, the intensity in his eyes.
"It fascinates me," he admitted. "And it should terrify you.”
The boat sliced through dark waters, leaving barely a ripple in its wake. As we moved farther from shore, the landscape transformed. The water beneath us changed, becoming sluggish and resistant.
I trailed my fingers along the surface, feeling its strange viscosity. "The water doesn't want us here."
"Nothing wants anyone here." Xül's gaze fixed on a point beyond me, somewhere on the distant shore.
I turned to follow his line of sight, and my breath caught in my throat.
On the horizon rose a vast crater surrounded by twisted mountains, their peaks bent and melted like candle wax left too close to flame.
Colossal fragments of what might once have been structures jutted from the earth, half-buried in black soil.
Strange crystalline formations grew from the destruction, clear shards with glimmers of violet energy pulsing faintly within .
My power responded before my mind could process what I was seeing. Stars erupted across my skin unbidden, constellations forming and dissolving in rapid succession. The light they cast was wrong—warped, the usual golden glow taking on an unsettling blue tinge.
"What is this place doing to my power?" I extinguished the stars with effort, unnerved by the alteration.
"Primordial resonance." Xül beached the boat on black sand that crunched beneath our feet like pulverized bone. "Even after millennia, the power signatures linger."
He led me deeper into the devastation, past formations that bent and twisted.
As we walked, he pointed out features that told a story too terrible to fully comprehend—areas where reality seemed permanently damaged, places where nothing had grown in thousands of years, craters that seemed bottomless.
At the center of it all, he stopped.
"What you're seeing," Xül said quietly, "isn't just destruction. It's the aftermath of salvation."
I surveyed the desolation surrounding us. "This doesn't look like salvation to me."
"That depends entirely on what was prevented, and who you ask." He knelt, placing his palm against the barren earth. "This was the final battle between the last living Primordials. Moros was killed here."
"Moros?" I repeated the name.
"His power had nothing to do with death, which has purpose in the natural order.
" Xül's voice took on the cadence of a scholar.
"While other Primordials represented aspects of reality—time, space, creation—Moros was a corruption of himself.
He could hollow beings from within. Use them as vessels for his influence. "
“Who killed him?”
“Vivros, of course.” Xül stood again. “Cataclysm incarnate.”
I followed, watching as he traced the crystal's edge with a careful finger. "Vivros was too powerful for Moros to take as a vessel, but as he destroyed the corruption, he absorbed traces of Moros's essence. Over time, it changed him."
The parallels to Thatcher were impossible to ignore. My brother, with his identical power, his gentle nature now joined with the ability to unmake matter with a thought.
"After Moros was destroyed, the Twelve united against Vivros," Xül continued, "His power had grown too great, too dangerous.
By the time they confronted him, he had already destroyed thousands of corrupted beings.
In his mind, he was saving reality. In theirs, he had become the very threat he sought to eliminate. "
I tried to find the words, but my mind was racing too fast for my lips to catch up.
"What you see in the divine realm today," Xül said, gesturing broadly, "is the aftermath of this conflict. The pantheon fractured along fault lines that never truly healed."
"What does that mean?" I finally managed.
"Some wanted to understand what had happened to Vivros—my father among them.
He believed Vivros could be saved, that the corruption could be separated from the being.
" His voice softened. "Others, like Axora and Terralith, saw only threat and demanded destruction.
Those divisions created the first political factions among the Twelve—traditionalists versus reformists.
Those who would destroy what they fear versus those who would understand it. "
I processed this new information, connecting it to what I'd observed in my limited interactions with the divine realm. "And now? What's happening in the pantheon now?"
Xül's expression darkened. "Power dynamics are shifting in concerning ways." His eyes fixed on mine. "When gods who have maintained separate domains for eons suddenly seek unity, ask yourself what threat they perceive that requires such cooperation."
"Thatcher," I whispered.
Xül didn't confirm or deny, but his silence spoke volumes.
I took in the devastation around us. "Why are you telling me any of this?"
"Primordial power is fundamentally different from the power of the Twelve.” Xül picked up a fragment of black stone, turning it in his long fingers. "Gods manipulate existing elements of reality. Primordials could reshape fundamental nature."
"That doesn't answer my question," I pressed.
He gestured to the ruins around us. "This place shaped my understanding of power. I believe understanding history is crucial to surviving the present." His voice dropped, almost gentle in its intensity. "I bring you here not just as a warning, starling, but as a gesture of trust."
"Trust?" The word felt strange on my tongue after everything we'd been through. But I couldn't deny the subtle shift between us since our moment in the garden. "If you want me to trust you, you need to tell me exactly what all of this means. Plainly."
Xül held my gaze for a long moment. Finally, he let out a slow breath.
"Your brother is the Twelve's greatest threat," he said, each word measured and deliberate. "But he's also potentially their greatest weapon."
I frowned. "I don't understand."
"The mistake they made with Vivros," he continued, gesturing to the devastation around us, "wasn't confronting him.
It was confronting him too late." He dropped the black stone fragment, watching it shatter on impact.
"By the time they united against him, he was already too far gone, too corrupted by the power he'd absorbed. "
"And Thatcher…" My voice caught on my brother's name.
"Is a second chance." Xül's eyes burned.
Understanding dawned, cold and terrible." But Thatcher would never—" I stopped, the denial bursting from me with such force that Xül actually took a half-step back. "No. You don't know my brother."
"Thais— "
"No." I met his gaze, steel in my voice. "You don't understand what we've been through together. What we've survived. Thatcher won’t be controlled by any of the Twelve."
"That might just get him killed, then, Thais. That’s what I need you to understand," he said.
For a heartbeat, I teetered on the edge of full disclosure.
The truth pressed against my lips, demanding release.
I almost told him everything—our plan to kill Olinthar, our strategy of playing along until the moment was right, the vengeance that drove our every breath.
That if this journey brought our death, at least we would go together.
But I couldn’t tell him that. This trust we’d started building would always have its limitations. Lines I would never cross.
Xül looked at me for a long moment. Words hovered on his lips, but whatever it was seemed to evaporate.
“We must resume training tomorrow, starling. I won’t allow time to get away from us again.”