39. Echoes of the Forgotten #2
"Before the first primordials were slain, four pantheons existed in harmony, all descendants of the Primordials in their various aspects.
" His finger traced the golden section. "The Aesymareans.
" Then the silver. "The Esprithe." The greenish-blue.
"The Ehlistrea." Finally, the black section. "And the Vaerhuun."
I leaned over him.
"Each ruled their own mortal realms according to their nature," Xül continued.
"The Aesymar with order and hierarchy, the Esprithe through harmony and balance, the Ehlistrea through passion and transformation.
" His finger lingered on the black section.
"And the Vaerhuun through fear and domination.”
My eyes remained fixed on that shadowed quadrant. "The Vaerhuun—that seems like a party."
"Not a party I'd recommend," he said. "While all pantheons descended from multiple Primordials, the Vaerhuun shared Moros's affinity for the darker aspects of existence."
"And they all agreed to stand against the Primordials?"
"All four pantheons united, yes," Xül confirmed. "Despite their differences, their thirst for power connected them. I suppose Vaerhuun joined because Moros wasn't the intended target of this particular coup."
I stared at the map, at the four realms connected by those pathways. "But now there's only the Aesymareans," I said slowly. "What happened to the others?"
Xül cleared his throat. "When the Primordials fell, something.
.. fractured. The very foundations of reality cracked.
Then, with the final confrontation between Moros and Vivros, the pathways between realms collapsed.
" He traced one of the lines connecting the realms. "Some believe the other pantheons were destroyed in the cataclysm.
Others," he added, his voice falling low, "believe they're simply waiting to be found, adrift in the Abyss. "
“The Abyss?”
“The fabric of nothingness beyond the realms of Elaren and Voldaris. Inaccessible to all.”
When he fell silent, I found myself gripping the edge of his desk, steadying myself against the implications of what he'd revealed. The gods I'd been raised to fear had risen through treachery and opportunism, not divine right. And their greed had ripped the universe apart.
“How do you know all of this?” I asked.
“My father’s collection of texts from that period is extensive. You’ve seen the library. He never sheltered me from that knowledge—only taught me about the consequences of knowing it. ”
"Why tell me?" I finally asked, meeting his gaze directly. "I assume this information could be considered treasonous."
"Consider it a gesture of faith."
"Faith in what, exactly?"
"In your ability to understand implications beyond what most would grasp." He began methodically reorganizing the materials on his desk. "Most ascension candidates are taught only what they need to know. Enough to function within the divine realm, but not enough to question it."
Xül was testing boundaries. "The Aesymar don't exactly advertise their origins. The overthrow of the Primordials."
"The Aesymar want the Primordials forgotten." Cynicism edged his voice. "They want history rewritten to suggest they themselves have always been. Unchanging. All-powerful."
"A convenient narrative."
"Most successful mythologies are." He smiled. "The truth remains buried in places like those ruins, in texts like these—kept from mortals and divine beings alike."
I traced the edge of his desk. "Why are they so determined to keep all of this a secret?”
His eyes flashed with silent warning, reminding me that for all our sudden alignment, Xül remained the Prince of Draknavor, heir to Death itself.
"The Aesymar fear what all rulers fear—the realization that their power is neither absolute nor eternal.
That they too ascended and thus could theoretically be replaced.
" He paused, watching me. "Think of what would happen if mortals truly understood that divinity isn't an inherent state, but one that can be achieved. Or stolen."
I met his gaze, recognition burning between us. "The Trials are containment," I said simply, not bothering to phrase it as a question. "They always have been."
"Most contestants cling to the delusion of divine benevolence," he said, his voice dropping to match mine .
A bitter sigh escaped me before I could contain it.
"I've known it for a long time. That they don't elevate mortals out of generosity," I continued, the words falling from my lips like a dark secret.
"They do it because the alternative is worse. Divine power bleeds into Elaren whether they will it or not. Better to gather up those who manifest it and control them than allow potential rivals to develop unchecked.”
Especially," Xül added quietly, "when so few of the Aesymar possess true gifts themselves. Imagine their terror—immortal but essentially powerless beyond their extraordinary senses and strength, watching mortals manifest abilities they themselves lack.
“And those that cannot be controlled are eliminated before they become true threats. Every contestant who dies in the Trials is just another loose end tied off. Another potential usurper neutralized."
The brutal economy of it had always been clear to me. I had grown up in the shadow of this understanding, had breathed it in with my father's fear and exhaled it with my own cautious restraint.
What struck me now was not the revelation. It was the audacity of its scale. The systematic way the divine realm had maintained its dominance over eons.
"And mortals never see it," I said, a new thread of anger weaving through my words. "Generation after generation, we worship the very beings who cull us. They present the Trials as divine blessing while they're really just... pest control."
Xül's eyes gleamed. "The greatest triumph of the Aesymar was convincing mortals to revere the very system designed to keep them in their place."
Understanding wove itself between us. To hear such thoughts acknowledged by one of their own, to have confirmation of what had always been shadow and suspicion, kindled a dangerous fire in my blood.
He turned away first, breaking the moment. "The sun rises. The Bone Spire will soon awaken."
Indeed, the quality of light had changed, dawn's silver giving way to the scarlet hue of early morning .
"I should go," I said, already walking from his desk. "Before someone notices I picked your lock."
A look of mild amusement crossed his face. "So that's how you got out. I should have known."
"You shouldn't have locked me in," I countered.
"I was trying to ensure you rested." There was no apology in his voice.
"A wise decision." I mimicked his usual tone with a small smile.
"Thais."
“Yes?”
"What you've learned here—it cannot leave this room." His expression was deadly serious. "There are ears everywhere in Voldaris. And it seems you’ve already painted a rather large target on your back."
I nodded, understanding the warning beneath his words.