59. When Fate Unravels
When Fate Unravels
I scrambled to my feet, spinning toward the door, but it had vanished. Where the entrance should have been, only seamless stone remained.
Thais! Thatcher's mental voice was threaded with panic. What happened?
I'm in the sanctum. I tried to keep my own fear from bleeding through our connection. Vance pushed me in. The door's gone.
Hold on. I'll find a way ? —
No! The last thing I needed was him getting killed trying to rescue me. Stay with the threads. Find a way to separate them. I'll figure this out.
His reluctance pulsed through our bond, but he knew I was right. Be careful.
The gray thread continued past me.
I turned to survey my prison. The sanctum was smaller than I'd expected, circular and domed. But the walls were alive with power. Symbols flowed across them, rearranging themselves as I watched, forming words in languages I couldn't read before dissolving into new patterns .
At the chamber's heart stood a giant loom, and that gray thread lead straight to it.
And above it hung a veil.
I watched, frozen between terror and awe as it began forming shapes—visions showing reality cracking. I saw the barriers between worlds fracturing, darkness pressing against the boundaries of existence with hungry impatience.
Creatures poured through tears in reality. They moved like a plague across lands I didn't recognize, devouring everything in their wake.
The vision shifted, and I saw her.
A woman stood before the endless hordes. Young, with hair the exact color of the thread that had led me here. storm-gray waves fell around a face that was beautiful in its terrible power.
She raised one hand, and the nightmare army stopped.
Then she turned and looked directly at me with blood-red eyes.
Her eyes met mine across time, and they burned. She knew I was watching.
More scenes played on, but I couldn't focus on them.
Because, suddenly, the ground was trembling.
The sanctum was dissolving.
The walls flickered between solid and transparent. The images that had flowed so beautifully now sparked and died. Even the Loom began to waver, its threads dimming one by one.
Something was terribly wrong.
Oh gods, the consequence of entering this room was catching up with me.
Thais, are you still in there? Thatcher nearly screamed down the bond. Something's happening. The whole place is ? —
Wait.
It’s happening out there too? I reached for him through our bond.
Reality hiccupped.
I stood in the antechamber where we'd begun, gasping and disoriented .
I wasn't alone. Thatcher materialized beside me, then Marx, then Vance. Gods, of course he’d fucking survived. If I wasn’t so distracted by the sudden change, I’d have killed him right then.
"What the hell just happened? I was inches from my token." Marx demanded.
I looked down at my hands. None of us had our tokens. The trial had simply... ended.
Thatcher's hand found mine. Are you okay?
I'm fine. I squeezed his fingers, needing the physical reassurance that we were both here, both alive.
The air shimmered, and the Legends began arriving. Xül appeared first, his expression cracked with confusion. Aelix followed, then Chavore, then others I didn't recognize. They all looked bewildered, exchanging glances and hushed words.
"This is unprecedented," I heard one mutter.
"Where is Vorinar?" another asked. "What happened?"
Xül's eyes found mine across the chaos, a question in them I couldn't answer. I gave the slightest shake of my head—I had no idea what had caused this.
Then Vorinar appeared.
But something was wrong. The ancient Aesymar who spoke in riddles and moved with the weight of eons now stood stiffly, mechanically. His robes still showed their constellation patterns, but they no longer moved. His eyes looked flat and empty.
"The trial has ended," he announced, his voice devoid of its earlier resonance. No riddles, no cryptic wisdom. Just bare words. "An error occurred. All who survived will proceed to tomorrow's Forging."
"An error?" Chavore stepped forward. "Vorinar, what?—"
But the Aesymar of Fate was already gone, vanished. No portal, no gradual fade—just there one moment and gone the next.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"This has never happened before," Aelix said quietly, his usual calm rattled .
Xül moved through the crowd toward us, his expression carefully neutral. But I could see the calculation in his eyes. He knew something.
“ The blood oath,” he murmured, low enough that only I could hear it. “Now, while everyone's distracted and the domains instability means no viewing portals.”
I glanced at Thatcher. It’s time.
He nodded slightly.
"Miria is handling Chavore," Xül whispered as he passed, barely moving his lips. "But we need to move quickly."
We slipped away from the main group, Xül leading us to a shadowed alcove where the fractures in reality created visual distortions. Anyone looking our way would see only broken reflections.
"Your hand," Xül said to Thatcher, producing a blade from thin air.
Thatcher hesitated. “Before I do this, I have a demand.”
Xül looked around, eyes narrowing. “We don’t exactly have a lot of time, so make it quick.”
“I agree to everything Thais told me. But I want Chavore kept out of it.”
I looked at Thatcher. What?
He’s not involved any of Olinthar’s schemes. I can tell. Just trust me.
“That’s a high price, Thatcher,” Xül murmured, his voice nearly a growl.
“I won’t negotiate that.” Thatcher stood tall, crossing his arms.
Xül dared a glance over at me, eyes still narrowed. I shrugged. “You don’t want him anyway. You want Olinthar.”
Xül’s irritation was palpable, but he conceded, reaching for Thatcher’s hand. “Fine. I’ll figure it out.”
Thatcher nodded and extended his hand, palm up.
"Speak your oath," Xül instructed. "But choose your words carefully. They will bind you."
Thatcher met his eyes. "I swear by my blood that I stand against Olinthar. I will never truly serve him. When the opportunity arises, I will act to bring about his downfall."
“You must swear loyalty to my father,” Xül added.
“I swear loyalty to the forces that move against Olinthar.”
Xül’s jaw ticked, but he nodded. “You’re a difficult one, just like your sister.”
“I know.” Thatcher shrugged.
Xül let out a sigh and drew the blade across Thatcher's palm. Blood welled.
"By blood bound, by blood sworn," Xül intoned. He made the same cut on his own hand, then pressed their palms together.
Thatcher winced but didn't pull away until Xül released him.
"It's done," Xül said quietly. "After tomorrow's Forging, you'll pledge yourself to Sundralis as planned. Play the loyal subject. Get close to Olinthar. And wait for your moment."
"I know what I’ve agreed to."
"We should all return to our domains." Chavore's voice carried across the chamber. "Until we understand what caused this instability."
The other Legends murmured agreement, already beginning to open portals to their various domains. The antechamber that had felt so oppressive when we arrived now felt fragile, somehow less real.
I saw Chavore across the expanse, his expression shifting from general concern to specific focus as he scanned for his contestant. I wondered what Chavore had done to earn Thatcher’s sympathy. Something we would definitely need to dissect later.
“Hands in pockets, Morvaren.” Xül sauntered off.
Well, that was less dramatic than I was imagining, Thatcher said through our bond. I need to get back to Chavore before he comes looking.
Thatcher squeezed my hand once, then began walking toward his mentor. The distance wasn't far—maybe thirty feet across the antechamber's polished floor.
He made it halfway before the ground split.
Not a gradual crack or warning tremor. One moment the floor was solid, the next it was tearing open beneath Thatcher's feet.
And then he was falling.
"Thatcher!" The scream tore from my throat as I lunged forward.
But I was too far away.
I threw myself into a sprint to the fissures edge. I was too late. Then?—
Skeletal hands erupted from the chasm.
They caught Thatcher with surprising gentleness, wrapping around him carefully. Then they lifted, pulling him up from the crack.
Xül stood at the edge. The hands of death were his to command, and he wielded them now, supporting Thatcher’s weight as he clawed his way back to me.
I slammed into my brother before he'd even fully registered his safety, my arms wrapping around him so tightly he grunted.
"I really hate falling," he muttered against my shoulder, his voice shaky despite the attempt at humor.
I pulled back enough to meet Xül's eyes. He simply nodded.
Chavore was there in an instant, hands on Thatcher's shoulders, checking him for injuries. His eyes flicked to Xül, suspicion and gratitude warring in his expression.
"Thank you," he said finally, the words coming out stiff and formal.
Xül inclined his head slightly.
They stared at each other for a moment—two princes. Old rivals. Chavore extended his hand.
Xül took it. The handshake was brief, but it was witnessed by every Legend present, a moment of unity in the face of unprecedented chaos.
Xül stalked over to me. "Come."
I nodded, but my eyes stayed on Thatcher as Chavore led him toward their own portal. My brother looked back once, and I saw my own thoughts reflected in his expression.
We'd survived another trial, but the gods seemed shaken. Vorinar's strange behavior, the domain’s collapse, the way reality seemed to be fraying at the edges—none of it boded well for tomorrow's Forging.
Stay safe, I told Thatcher through our bond.
You too. And Thais? He paused at the threshold of Chavore's portal. Whatever is going on between you and Xül, try to be a little less obvious about it.
I winced before following the Warden.