Thirty-Two #3
I huff as I shake my head and wonder about the carelessness with the gods. All four of them slightly narrow their eyes at me as they watch me curl a mocking smile.
“Written fates are complex because something other than fate is trying to make a fate. Mistakes can happen. Those writing a death blow have tells, those writing any other fate can have typos. You have to be clear and precise with your words. Otherwise larger mistakes can happen. Hessenti only specified the name Godskiller. Sanivin’s twin technically killed gods, so to protect his sister he wrote that he was a Godskiller and he was made to be forgotten instead of Sanivin.
“That was when Aora and Genifer used their blue flame to create a veil between the Primordials and this plane of existence. Imprisoning the gods because they believed it was better to have nothing to pray to than to risk another war as detrimental as this.
“When they died a silence fell over Miy for the first time in a millennium and one being from each race of those who fought came together where the Twin Flames fell to ensure they entered an era of peace. That was when the Willow of Lore was created. And in her grief from the loss of her twin, Sanivin who was trapped on this plane, consumed blue belladon to ensure if the veil was ever broken there would be no war over her.”
It’s a sad story to say the least. All because the bitch was jealous.
Thorne catches my attention for no real reason other than the fact that he is peering at me in a way that reminds me of his father. Like he’s trying to make a puzzle piece fit.
“Are you Sanivin reincarnated?”
The world holds its breath for a moment and I accompany it. For a moment I let myself wonder. Contemplating.
But I shake my head. “I’m not.” And I look directly at Varian, letting him hear the truth of my words. “I’m only a descendant of Syngenia.”
They all nod and then Callahan asks, “So what do you have to do with the prophecy?”
“The prophecy is about Sanivin’s twin. About the Forgotten God of Blood Moons.
” The room goes quiet again from those two presences.
“In the famous Prophecy of Old it says turning the burning sun into bloodred gold. Everyone thought the words meant an actual sun in the sky, but it was talking about a mother’s child. A son.”
I sit up, partly because my butt is beginning to go numb, but to mainly pull my hair over my shoulder. The sapphire blue and rosy pink ends vibrant even in the low lighting around the room.
“He was the first and only god to wield blue flame.
An aura so powerful it was visible. Flickering like his blue flames, always burning.
He is the burning son. And that dead prophecy, as you called it, was about him finally being remembered.
Making him remembered and then ending his life so he may find peace with his mother and sister.
The only way to do that is to turn his blue, burning aura, to gold.
You do that by his red blood, and you kill him by his blood, as the gods can only be killed by their blood without that gods-killing flower.
“That’s why it’s the damnation of the red son instead of burning. His damnation is his death, the death of a god, and he will not be burning when he is killed.”
I flip my damp hair back over and I wonder if they’ll ask about the pink.
“That still doesn’t explain what you have to do with the prophecy.”
He wasn’t as lazily drawling like he normally is, but there’s a dryness to Thorne’s tone that I side-eye.
“Nana will say it is because I’m a reincarnation of Syngenia.
At the very least, I have a piece of her soul within, but I am not Syngenia.
And I know that because of Syngenia’s blood within me.
However, the similarities between us are.
. . stark. She had five fated to her, just as her daughter did and Sanivin after.
Nana might also say I am Sanivin, as we look identical and our fated, two devils, a god, a demon, and an angel, are also the same – though I have a demigod.
She also had a blood art and was thought to be immune to blue belladon after she became a vampire. And my second name is Sanivin.”
I wave it off and roll my eyes as I shake my head.
“But we have shared ancestry so us having similar features or fates wouldn’t be anything astronomical.
The point is I am meant to be the Forgotten God of Blood Moons damnation.
I’m meant to make him remembered and then kill him through my fractured blood art.
Blood is how the gods can be killed but only a fractured blood art can be used to do it and it’s my fate because of my ancestry.
The prophecy was told to me the day I first used my blood art when I killed that devil. ”
I hold my breath when I finish and wait for them to do something. Say something or move or say I’m lying or maybe say they already knew that. I don’t really know.
This is only the second time I’ve said all of this out loud.
It makes you sound crazy, or if anything like a pick me.
I mean, come on. Declaring this Prophecy of Old is about you making a forgotten god remembered isn’t an everyday thing and it coming out of my mouth almost gives me imposture syndrome.
It’s not like I’m anything special.
Varian slowly shifts in his seated position and his brows draw together as his gaze sharpens.
“How did you know we would say burning instead of red?”
He’s not quite suspicious, more inquisitive as he wonders. As his mind works over things.
“Because I had seen that prophecy be written on that scroll. Syngenia showed me as her spirit watched when a corrupt devil wrote what he thought an oracle said. He wrote burning instead of red. And then Syngenia laughed.”
He nods, satisfied, and then something passes over his face. “Why are you telling us this now?”
Cowardly, I look down at the floor. Part of me knowing how this will end and yet, that’s the fucking thing about hope. Stupidly, selfishly. I am such a pathetic being.
“After that devil, all I wanted for years was to sleep. I did not want to care about the future or the prophecy or the Forgotten God of Blood Moons. I just wanted to lay down, close my eyes, and never wake up. But those with a fractured blood art cannot die from blood loss, so no matter how many times I let all my blood empty from my veins, I always woke up in the morning.”
Warmth and comfort heat from within. I can feel the tension rolling through all the bonds, but none of them make to move.
“Not that I couldn’t have tried harder, but.
. . well, whatever. All that is beside the point.
I was selfish, not wanting to help this god to find his peace because I was just tired and I didn’t want to have to deal with other gods and goddesses and any and everything else.
But fate will be fate and I’m here and currently stuck here.
I doubt I’ll be able to leave until I complete the prophecy. And telling you. . . well. . .”
I shrug. Continuing to not look at any of them because I’m being childish and in the end this won’t be fair to them.
“I just didn’t want to be alone anymore,” I mutter.
And how pathetic is that. Stupid, stupid girl. I don’t deserve them. I am nothing.
Worthless.
Weak.
Selfish.
Nothing.
I can feel my aura retreating from my eyes. Such a waste.
I shake my head at myself. “Not that it matters. Prophecies like this don’t tend to care whether you live or die in the end, as long as the prophecy is completed.
And you all deserve better. That’s why I’m telling you.
I want you to understand the gravity of this situation. I don’t want you trapped with – “
“Enough.”
So much demand. So much dominance.
Red eyes like twin blood moons are decimating as I look up to my demon.
“I told you,” he whispers, and my nose needles as pressure builds behind my eyes. “I. Am. Yours. In every lifetime. You don’t get to determine who I am trapped with.”
I dig my nails into my palms and take a deep breath. “It’s not your choice.”
He goes so still. Still enough that I wonder if I hadn’t imagined it those couple of times I’d seen something past his eyes flicker.
“Then do it,” he whispers so quietly. So dangerously.
“Rip out my soul to end the fate between us and watch me still love you anyways.” He gets on his knees and begins crawling to me.
“You want to prove so badly we only feel anything because of fate, then do it.” His hand reaches out and wraps around my throat.
His grip solid but not rough as he brings my face to his.
“Use that wish you’re stuck on keeping and rip my soul out.
” His lips whisper over mine. “I’ll show you fate does not determine who is mine. ”
He bears his soul and my eyes shut as his forehead leans against mine and lightning flutters over my lips. My soul nearly ripping my ribcage to get to him. To cement our bond and fuse us together.
“Do it, Mavyn,” he quickly demands. “I am yours.”