Chapter Thirty-Three
I was not born a Seer. I became one through blood magic, dark and binding.
And through the visions, I have glimpsed what awaits us. The future laid bare. The truth behind all things.
The truth of who I truly am.
And what I did.
Tabitha Wysteria
Ash screamed as the blade carved through his flesh, the cry raw and unbidden.
A vicious slap cracked across his cheek, a cruel reminder to silence his pain, to wear no expression but obedience.
His trembling fingers clutched at his thigh where the cut bled freely, crimson soaking through the fabric as he fought to steady himself.
His golden eyes, wide and glistening, stared down at the open book before him, the words swimming on the page.
‘Read!’ his father thundered.
Ash swallowed thickly, battling to collect his breath.
He tried to summon the memory of Alina’s voice, soft as a lullaby, whispering encouragement in the glow of candlelight.
Those nights in her chambers, practising with gentle corrections, warm smiles.
With her, the words had come easily. With her, love had made the stammer shrink.
Another slap. Harsher. This one sent him sprawling. The stone floor bit at his skin as he fell, vision spinning, ears ringing. He looked up, breath hitching, and saw the fury burning in his father’s eyes—cold, bright, and seething.
‘Useless boy!’ King Egan shrieked, the sound grating like metal on glass. He drove his boot into Ash’s wounded leg, eliciting a gasp of agony. ‘For all your worth, I should’ve had another daughter!’
Ash curled in on himself, shielding what he could with trembling arms. The beating only ceased when the chamber doors creaked open and a timid servant stepped in, bowing low as he announced the king was needed elsewhere. The room fell into sudden, eerie silence.
Ash lay where he’d fallen, chest heaving, blood dripping in slow rhythm to the pulse in his ears. The servant's gaze flicked to him just for a breath before, as always, sliding away.
King Egan exhaled sharply, smoothing back his pale hair with an air of irritation, not remorse. ‘See to those wounds. We wouldn’t want them getting infected,’ he said with a sneer, then swept from the room without a backward glance.
Ash pushed himself upright with a hiss, the metallic taste of blood still sharp on his tongue.
The balcony doors hung ajar; voile curtains billowed in the salt dusk, carrying with them whispers of a gentler world.
He observed the floating isle of the Kingdom of Air, suspended like a pale moon above the darkened sea.
Did the valkyrians there speak with tenderness rather than derision?
Was love given freely rather than a trophy earned through pain?
He limped along marble corridors, the echo of each footfall accompanied by a throb in his gashed thigh until he reached one of the castle’s training courts.
Stripping off his torn shirt, he selected a practice sword from the rack and wrapped his fingers round the well-worn hilt.
Twenty summers old and already the finest blade in his land.
Yet what use was that brilliance when a single page of prose still tangled his tongue?
Ash let the steel describe fluent arcs through the twilight, each stroke exact, disciplined, merciless. Pain blossomed through bruised flesh, but he willed it into silence. Old contusions were fading only to be painted anew, purple blooms upon his canvas.
A faint shift in the air warned him. He pivoted just as Hagan sprang from the shadow of a column, sword raised. Stealthy, yes. Yet never quite enough. Two crisp parries, a deft riposte: in a heartbeat Ash had his friend sprawling on the gravel.
Flat on his back, Hagan laughed, wiping grit from his cheek. ‘One day,’ he panted, good-natured malice glinting in his eyes, ‘I’ll catch you unawares. You’ll not even feel the wind of the strike before it lands.’
Ash allowed himself a rare, crooked smile. ‘Y-you’re welcome t-to try,’ he replied, stammer softened by the quiet triumph in his chest.
Hagan gave him a shove, rough but affectionate, as they returned their blades to the rack.
By then, the pain in Ash’s leg had sharpened, streaking like lightning down to his ankle with every step.
He faltered, wincing subtly, but not enough to fool Hagan, who reached out, gripping Ash’s arm to halt him.
‘Let me see,’ Hagan said, his voice low but firm.
‘It’s n-nothing,’ Ash replied, trying to shrug him off.
‘No, it’s not.’ Hagan steered him to the edge of the courtyard, guiding him down to a stone bench with quiet insistence.
He crouched, tugging at the hem of Ash’s trousers until the fabric gave way, revealing the deep, angry gash across his thigh.
Hagan’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he raked a hand over his face.
‘Don’t,’ Ash muttered, weariness weighing on every syllable. ‘He’s your k-king.’
Hagan spat onto the stones. ‘I don’t care if he’s the king of the fucking stars. He has no right to do this to you.’ He carefully pulled the fabric back up. ‘You need to get the physician to treat that. If not, you’ll be dragging that leg around for a week.’
Ash gave a small nod, running a hand through his tangled blond hair.
‘I mean it, Ash,’ Hagan pressed, his brow furrowed with genuine concern. ‘You need to have it seen to.’
Another nod, more deliberate this time. ‘Don’t tell Alina.’
Hagan exhaled hard through his nose. ‘You should. She ought to know how far he’s gone.’
‘No.’
‘Someone needs to.’
‘No one, Ha–Hagan. P–promise me.’ His voice trembled, but there was iron behind it.
Hagan looked away, shaking his head as frustration warred with affection. They had danced this dance too many times, fought the same fight, exchanged the same words and always, in the end, Hagan yielded.
‘Fine,’ he muttered. ‘But if he ends up killing you, I’m not coming after you in the afterlife.’
Ash gave a soft, tired smile.
They sat together in companionable silence, watching as a handful of soldiers filtered into the courtyard to begin their training.
Words were not always necessary between them.
The quiet stretched easily, filled with the comfort of shared presence.
Ash often wondered what the world might feel like without Hagan beside him, without that steady, grounding force at his side, guiding him through the darkness.
Hagan gave his arm a gentle pat, offering a familiar smile, softened by understanding that shimmered in the warm depths of his brown eyes.
‘Ash.’
His name came like a distant echo, pulling him back.
Ash’s eyes opened slowly, his chest tightening with the weight of memory.
He blinked, disoriented, as the past bled away, and the present returned with sharp clarity.
He was no longer in the courtyard, but back at the witch temple, seated once again before the ancient stone table.
Adriana stood before him, leaning over with her hands braced on the surface, her expression carved from worry.
Her obsidian eyes had hardened now, that familiar glint of frustration flickering behind them.
He knew she was growing weary of his silence, of his detachment.
He had offered them no answers, no plans, only sat still, adrift in the ruins of memory.
Memories that clung to his chest like a weight, sometimes dragging tears from his eyes when no one was looking.
But there was a balm to that pain, too. In the fleeting glimpses of what was to come, he saw her. His daughter. And in those flashes of the future, the ache ebbed, just enough to keep him breathing.
‘Everyone is growing restless,’ Adriana said as she pulled out the stone chair to his right and sank into it.
She leaned forward, resting her forearms against the weathered table, her eyes drifting over the dust and fallen leaves that cloaked its surface like a forgotten shroud.
‘I think it's time we began searching for a way out of this place.’
‘You c-cannot,’ Ash replied softly.
‘You keep saying that,’ she countered, glancing at him. ‘But tell me, why should I trust you?’
‘Magic can only be b-broken with ma-magic.’
‘That may be true, but…’ She hesitated, the word lingering like a held breath.
‘But?’ Ash watched her intently, wondering whether she would finally tread the path he feared, one that led only towards danger.
‘I’m a goddess,’ she said at last. ‘Stronger than witch magic.’
Ash leaned back in his chair, the ghost of a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. ‘You are.’
Adriana narrowed her eyes. ‘Aren’t you going to stop me?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
Ash inhaled slowly, casting his gaze upwards to the crumbling temple around them. Sunlight filtered through a yawning gap in the shattered roof, gilding the stone floor with golden light. It was a breathtaking ruin. Sacred, silent, and slowly decaying in a world long since touched by rot.
‘It seems fitting,’ he replied. ‘To let the b-broken choose their ruin.’
Adriana’s eyes widened.
‘If you use your p-powers, those who hunt you will find you,’ Ash added gently, his voice barely more than a whisper. ‘And it’s too soon yet for that.’ He leaned forward, his golden eyes locking with hers, luminous and solemn. ‘Eris and Enyo want you d-dead.’
Adriana stiffened, her fingers curling into tight fists against the stone table.
‘For now, within these walls, you are sa-safe,’ Ash added softly.
‘But the day will come when I am not,’ she said, her voice shadowed with foreboding. ‘And I cannot remain in hiding forever.’
Ash gave a slow, thoughtful nod. ‘That much is true.’
‘Do you know where they are?’ Adriana asked, her voice quiet, tinged with sorrow.
Ash nodded again, eyes distant as if reaching through memories and fragments of prophecy.
‘Enyo has taken po-possession of a mortal v-vessel in the south. She goes by the n-name Saren.’ He paused, letting the knowledge settle like ash.
‘And Eris is marching n-north, cloaked in a witch’s b-body. Vera.’
‘Then we should head north,’ Adriana said sharply, urgency flaring in her voice. ‘Stop Vera before she enacts whatever darkness she’s plotting.’
‘No. We c-cannot. It is too soon.’
‘Too soon for what?’ she snapped, her dark eyes igniting with fire, fury trembling beneath the surface.
Ash flinched, then met her stare with quiet gravity. He let her fury wash over him like a wave he knew he deserved. ‘Mal must learn first,’ he said. ‘Mal must b-become the God-Killer. And f-for that… she needs time.’
Adriana shook her head, her voice cracking with disbelief.
‘She cannot become the God-Killer, Ash! Have you never heard the tales? Her mind will rot from within! She will tear the world apart!’ She rose abruptly, the stone chair scraping across the floor in protest. ‘She’ll go after all the gods. Every last one of them!’
Ash nodded, calm as still water beneath a stormy sky.
‘And by that time Vera, or as you ri-rightly call her, Eris, will have arrived,’ he said quietly. ‘Just in time to f-face Mal.’
Adriana’s eyes widened in horror. ‘You mean for Mal to kill Eris?’
Again, he gave a single, solemn nod.
‘But Mal…’ Her voice faltered, trembling on the cusp of despair. ‘She will no longer be the wyverian you once knew. Can you not see that?’
‘I can.’
She opened her mouth to protest, but fell silent as surprise flickered through her expression. ‘And still… you’re willing to let it happen?’
‘It is the only way,’ Ash said, his voice soft yet immovable.
‘No!’ Adriana shouted, slamming her fist upon the stone table with such force the dust upon it scattered into the light. ‘There must be another way. Keir, Cronan and I, our entire lives were spent protecting her, guiding her, ensuring this very fate would never come to pass. I won’t allow it.’
Ash’s attention dropped to her clenched fist, his head tilting with measured slowness. Then, lifting his golden eyes, he met the woman’s stare. Not as a king, nor a prophet, but as someone who saw through the veil.
‘Yet this,’ he said, voice steady as a blade’s edge, ‘this was Mal’s plan from the b-beginning, wasn’t it, Themis?’ He spoke her true name, the one buried beneath centuries, the one only gods dared whisper. ‘Hades and Mal conspired for this. For her to b-become the God-Killer.’
Adriana stepped back, her expression contorting with sorrow as ancient grief flashed through her features.
‘You tried to stop them,’ Ash continued, ‘all those years ago. You joined Hecate. You helped her s-stand against them.’
A heavy silence fell. Then Adriana’s voice, low and edged with warning, ‘How much do you truly know, Ash Acheron?’
A faint smile ghosted across his lips. He turned his eyes towards the doors of the temple, the light beyond them gilding his features in quiet defiance.
‘All of it,’ he whispered. ‘I know all of it.’