49. The Blind Seer #2
His skin—the color of parchment—was deeply streaked with wrinkles. His hair was a pure, luminous white that curled up at his shoulders. He wore simple robes of shifting gray, but unlike the other priests, an aura of golden light surrounded him.
As I stepped inside, the old man opened his eyes, and I had to stifle a gasp. They were milky white. He turned his face directly toward us.
"Prince Xül," he said, his voice deep and melodious.
Xül inclined his head—something I'd never seen him offer anyone, not even his own father. "Heron."
The man's attention shifted to me. "And you've brought a guest. One with a most interesting lineage."
I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. I shot Xül a panicked glance.
"Indeed," Xül confirmed, closing the door behind us with a soft click.
Heron merely smiled, the expression transforming his weathered face into something almost boyish. "I won’t pry. Some secrets aren't mine to tell." He gestured to the cushions across from him. "Please, sit."
I sank down, my mind reeling. "You... you can tell I'm—? Just by looking at me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Child," Heron said, his voice gentle, "I can see the threads of fate that bind you to the heavens and the earth." He reached for a teapot on the low table before him, pouring the steaming liquid into a cup. "Your divine nature shines to me as clearly as sunlight—a bright, golden thread."
"Heron is the son of Vorinar," Xül explained, settling beside me. "Mortal."
The revelation crawled across my skin. Another half-divine child. Like me. Like Thatcher. But older—far older.
"That's—" I struggled to find words. "But then why aren't you?—"
"In Voldaris?" Heron finished for me, a sad smile playing at his lips. "Well, that was my father’s decision. As I’m sure you’re all too familiar with, the only way to live in Voldaris is to ascend, and there is only one way to do so.
I was born blind, my dear. These eyes have never seen the physical world.
" He waved a hand vaguely toward his milky eyes.
"And while blindness is no impediment to seeing the paths of fate—indeed, it perhaps sharpened that particular gift—it would have been a death sentence considering the physicality of the Trials.”
I processed this, the implications sinking in. "So your father hid you."
“Yes,” was all he said.
A new, terrible thought struck me. "But your mother... did she...?" I couldn't finish the question, the memory of my own mother's fate choking the words in my throat.
Heron's expression softened. "My mother survived my birth," he said gently. "With my father's help. She lived a long and full life—nearly eighty years."
I couldn't stop the small, strangled sound that escaped me.
"How?" I managed, my voice raw.
"Vorinar wove her fate differently," Heron explained.
"He bound her life thread to mine in a way that sustained her through the birth.
It required considerable power and... sacrifice on his part.
" He paused, seeming to consider his next words carefully.
"Not all Aesymar are equally callous with mortal lives, Thais Morvaren. "
I looked down, nodding.
“My mother was a temple scribe during the Autumn Solstice," he continued.
"Recording the prophecies that came when the veil thinned.
My father noticed her because she was the only one who didn't cower when he manifested.
She looked him in the eye and corrected his pronunciation of an ancient word.
" A sad smile crossed his face. "He returned the next solstice just to debate linguistics with her. "
Xül shifted beside me. "Heron's existence has been one of the most carefully guarded secrets in the divine realm for centuries. Vorinar hid him here, under his protection, knowing what would happen if the wrong Aesymar discovered his existence."
Heron nodded, handing me a steaming cup of tea. "My father concealed me in this remote corner of Elaren, where I've lived in relative peace, serving as his eyes and ears."
He took a contemplative sip from his own cup. "I have lived here for nearly three hundred years, watching the threads of fate unfold from a distance."
The cup nearly slipped from my suddenly numb fingers. "Three hundred..."
"Divine blood grants longevity," Heron explained, his voice gentle. "Though not true immortality."
I stared at him, truly seeing him now—not as an old man, but as a being who had watched empires rise and fall, who had lived through centuries. Who had existed in hiding all this time, a living rebuke to the cruelty of the system.
"You've outlived everyone you ever knew from your early life," I whispered, the personal horror of such an existence washing over me.
"Except my father," Heron acknowledged with a small nod.
"And those few divine beings who know of my existence.
" He reached across the table, his hand finding mine with unerring accuracy.
His skin felt impossibly warm. "It is both a blessing and a burden, Thais.
One you may come to know yourself, if you survive what lies ahead. "
His words sent a shiver down my spine—not just for the reminder of the deadly trial still to come, but for the lonely centuries that might stretch beyond anyone who succeeded. They would watch everyone they’d ever known grow old and die while remaining unchanged.
"You've come about the trial," Heron said, turning to Xül. "Vorinar and Aella's creation. A particularly... unpredictable combination."
"Any advice you can offer would be greatly appreciated," Xül said. “This doesn’t exactly fall under my domain of expertise. ”
Heron sipped his tea thoughtfully. "You know I cannot speak directly of what awaits.
For that knowledge is hidden even to me.
" His face turned toward me. "But I can speak in principles.
The first one, and perhaps the most important, is to remember that chaos and fate are opposing forces by nature.
Where one creates pattern, the other disrupts it. "
"That's hardly helpful," I said, unable to keep the disappointment from my voice.
A small smile touched Heron's lips. "The useful is rarely obvious, young one." He set his cup down. "Consider this: what is uniquely yours that cannot be taken or corrupted? What connects you to your past and your future simultaneously?"
I frowned, uncertain what he meant. "My power?"
"Power can be stripped away," Heron said, shaking his head. "Think deeper."
Xül leaned forward. "Identity," he suggested.
Heron tilted his head, neither confirming nor denying. "In a realm where nothing is as it seems, the self remains constant—though even that can become... entangled."
The cryptic nature of his advice was beginning to frustrate me. "I appreciate the philosophy lesson, but I was hoping for something more concrete. Like how not to die."
"Death is merely one possible thread among many," Heron replied, unmoved by my frustration.
I resisted the urge to sigh. Apparently, direct answers weren't part of fate's domain.
"Another word of advice, if you will," Heron added, his voice dropping lower. "Never trust what seems to be a clear path. The most obvious route often leads to the greatest danger."
"So, I should deliberately choose difficult paths?" I asked, trying to make sense of his riddles.
"I'm saying that in a trial designed by the mistress of chaos, nothing is accidental. Not even what appears to be luck or chance." He turned back toward Xül. "You understand what I mean, Prince of Death."
Xül nodded slowly. "Aella doesn't create true randomness. She creates the illusion of it. There's always a pattern if you know how to look."
"Precisely," Heron said with approval. "Find the pattern within the chaos."
I filed this advice away, unsure how it would help but grateful for anything that might give me an edge. "Is there anything else I should know?"
Heron took a deep breath. "Some rooms in the house of fate are not meant to be entered. Heed the warnings you encounter, or you may learn truths you're not prepared to bear."
"That sounds ominous," I said.
“Truths direct our paths of fate. Discovering the wrong one can be detrimental. So, if that sounds ominous, my dear, that’s because it is.”
As if summoned, Xül turned away from the two of us, rising to his feet. “There’s something I must take care of. Please excuse me.” And he was out the door before I could protest.
Silence fell between Heron and me. The old man seemed content with it, sipping his tea with a serene expression. But questions burned in my mind.
"You've been here for three centuries," I finally said. "Watching the world change while you remain hidden away."
Heron nodded. "It has been lonely at times. But I have had my purpose."
"And what's that?"
"To witness. To record. To occasionally nudge a thread or two when the tapestry allows it." His sightless eyes turned toward the window. "I have lived a life of observation rather than participation. It has its compensations."
"But you never had a choice," I said, unable to keep the spite from my voice. "The Trials, the Twelve—they stole any other possibility from you."
"Yes," he agreed simply. "As they have from many others."
I looked down at my hands, remembering the simple life I'd once had in Saltcrest. The feel of the ocean breeze, the weight of oysters in my palms, Marel's smile in the firelight. All gone now.
"You have a brother," Heron said suddenly, his voice dropping.
I glanced toward the door. Xül was still nowhere to be found. "Yes."
Heron leaned forward, his face grave. "I can see your line of fate, how it twists and turns through the coming centuries." He paused, seeming to weigh his words. "But his... his is cut short."
The blood froze in my veins. "What?"
“The end of the Trials…" He trailed off. “I can’t see his line beyond it.”
Panic seized me, my heart hammering against my ribs. This couldn't be right.
"That's not possible," I said, my voice shaking. If we kill Olinthar, we'll both die. That's the plan. That's always been the plan. We'd accepted that cost together. I had never once considered a future where I lived, and he didn't.
"Plans and fate are seldom aligned," Heron said gently. "But take heart—fate can always be changed if one alters their path."
I shook my head, unable to form words through the terror gripping my throat. The idea of continuing without Thatcher, of ascending to godhood while he died, was unbearable. We were twins—two halves of a whole. I had never imagined existence without him.
Before I could press Heron for more information, his expression smoothed into that same serene mask he'd worn when we arrived. A moment later, Xül returned.
"We should be going," he said, apparently not noticing my distress. "I think we’ve taken up enough of your time."
Heron rose to his feet with surprising grace for one so old. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Thais Morvaren." He took my trembling hand in his. "Remember what I said about fate. Nothing is truly fixed until it happens."
I nodded mutely, my mind still reeling from his revelation.
As we walked back through the village, Xül glanced at me with narrowed eyes. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."
I forced myself to breathe normally, to keep my expression neutral. "Just processing everything."
He studied me a moment longer, clearly not entirely convinced, but he didn't press the issue.
We reached the edge of the village just as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the desert sands. Xül raised his hand to open a portal but hesitated.
“Would you mind terribly if we stopped somewhere before returning to Draknavor?” He eyed me, lifting a brow.
I was so lost in my own thoughts, I barely registered his words. I forced myself to shake my head.
As the portal swirled open before us, I made a silent vow. I would find a way to speak with Thatcher, to warn him about what I'd learned. Together, we would change our approach—find a longer game, perhaps, or a different path entirely.
Because I had not fought my way through the Trials, had not endured Xül's training and the horrors of Voldaris, only to live for eternity without the one person who mattered most to me. If fate decreed Thatcher's death, then I would tear fate apart and reweave it to my liking.
Xül's hand touched my shoulder, pulling me from my dark thoughts. "Ready?"
I nodded and followed him through the portal.