Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
What the hell is this…person? Some sort of guardian of the cosmos? A protector for the portal? The sheer energy twisting around him beckons me. Calls to my magic.
As if my power recognizes this being.
The armor he wears is fluid, like starlight captured in mercury. It flows across his form with tidal precision. The weapons appear to be extensions of the man himself, pulsing with the same galactic heartbeat.
An otherworldly chill seeps into my gut. “We’re only here to find answers. Not to disturb anything or anyone.”
Stalking forward, I position myself between Lark and whoever the fuck this is.
Not that I doubt her abilities for a second.
She’s just too damn precious to risk.
The armored figure regards us through void-like eyes that reflect vortices of cosmic light. “Who are you to demand answers of the gods?”
His voice carries harmonics that vibrate my teeth in my skull.
Behind me, I sense Lark’s tension. The slight shift in her stance tells me she’s ready to fight. Agnar is a solid presence on my other side, his breathing controlled but audible in the cavern’s strange acoustics.
I hold the figure’s gaze, bristling at his condescending tone. “Not to demand, but to petition.”
He glides closer, oozing power. The charged air bows around him, reality itself bending in deference to his presence.
The hairs on my arms rise, responding to the creature’s energy as if I’m standing too close to a lightning storm.
Pebbles on the ground roll and slide toward him.
“He’s not lying. We only seek answers from the gods.” Lark’s hand rests on my back, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes fixed ahead. “And…who exactly are you?”
Suddenly, he buries his blade in the soil and leans over to use the pommel as an armrest. “I am the Guardian of the Gods. I am their weapon. And you are trespassing.”
That last word feels like a wall ready to tumble over and crush our very existence.
Irritation prickles my skin.
We may not know the depth of who we’re facing, but I refuse to cower.
“We tried other ways to contact the deities. They only replied with vague and confusing messages.” Shrugging, I gesture to our surroundings, determined to ignore his intimidation tactics. “Which is why we risked our lives to come here. We need to know what they want.”
The Guardian tilts his head, a gesture almost human save for the unnatural smoothness of the motion. “And when the gods didn’t respond, why did you not consider that your answer?”
I don’t need to glance at Lark to sense the fury rolling off her.
To be honest, I’m shocked she hasn’t already snapped at the arrogant prick. “Because there are bizarre god-related disturbances in our realm. And we need to understand what’s happening.”
The Guardian’s chilling laugh reminds me of ice cracking across a frozen lake. “Your realm? How charmingly territorial.”
With each word, the temperature drops.
This being doesn’t just control the environment. He is the environment.
My water magic responds, preparing for defense.
“People are dying.” I glance over my shoulder to find Lark’s chin raised in a familiar, stubborn tilt. “Sacred places are corrupted. Land is shifting. That is our territory. According to the God of Lost Things, one must obtain the permission of the landowner before fundamental changes can be made.”
She’s right. We needed to trick Xenon into giving us permission before we could cleanse the soil of Narc’s corruption.
The tension in the chamber rises.
“Ah yes, the Tirenese queen.” The Guardian’s armor flickers like fire as he shifts his attention to Lark. “Your recent victory over Narc has given you an inflated sense of importance. That law is for humans, not gods. You know nothing about what is unfolding.”
“No shit. That’s why we’re here.” Agnar sweeps his arm out, gesturing to whatever the hells it is we’re standing in. “To learn about what’s ‘unfolding.’”
Though part of me wants to shut Agnar up for taunting a powerful being that could blast us into next week if he wanted to, another wants to congratulate him for giving the Guardian shit.
Arrogant fuck.
The Guardian considers Agnar for a heartbeat, and then dismisses him with a flick of his fingers.
I hurry to reclaim the conversation. “Enlighten us. What exactly is transpiring?”
The entity inches closer, his armor shimmering in patterns that hurt my eyes when I stare directly. The magic surrounding him brushes my senses like hoarfrost freezing through my skin.
“You mortals. So eager to insert yourselves into matters beyond your comprehension.” His gaze settles on me, holding my attention for a second too long.
A spark of recognition flares in his eyes that I don’t understand.
“If you’re so fed up with the gods, stop giving them so much power, and they won’t have so much power. ”
“Please answer our questions.” The strain in Lark’s voice indicates she’s clinging to politeness by a thread. “You have our word that our intentions are honorable.”
A beat passes. “Very well. You have three questions. I suggest you use them wisely.”
“And we get three answers?”
Lark reaches over me and slaps a hand over Agnar’s mouth as soon as the query tumbles from his lips.
The Guardian’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, but otherwise, he ignores Agnar, dismissing him as though he’s spoken to the air itself.
I glare at my impulsive friend. So help me, if that counted as a question—
Another boom rocks the cavern, vibrating through my boots and rattling my spine. The noise has gotten closer, more forceful.
Something’s happening on the other side of that portal. Something important.
I flex my fingers and widen my stance. Here goes nothing. “What is that sound?”
The Guardian’s expression remains bland, as though he has little interest in this conversation. “Echoes. Negotiations.”
“Now see, that’s not an answer.” Agnar crosses his arms over his chest as I turn to toss another glare at him. Lark’s hand shoots out, ready to cover his mouth again if necessary.
“You want to know? You only think you want to know.” This time, the Guardian smiles. The act is beautiful in a terrible way, like watching an avalanche begin its descent. “It is war.”
The ensuing silence brims with trepidation.
In my mind, the pieces click into place, connecting disparate facts like a battle map coming into focus.
A divine war.
Of course.
The corrupted temples, the garbled messages, the strange attacks. All of it makes sense now. Not messages…a war.
Lark edges around me until she’s standing by my side. “A war between the gods.” Her eyes dart around the cave, as if she believes deities lurk in the shadows.
The Guardian’s gaze slides to her. “The kind that corrupts temples, shifts lands, and draws sailors to harpy-infested shores.”
So he does realize what’s been happening. Even though he’s standing at the door to the gods’ realm. What else does he know about our struggles, our plans?
“The kind that garbles messages from other gods?” Lark presses.
“Is that your second question?”
“Shit. No, sorry.” Lark’s hand tightens on her sword as she bites her lower lip.
The Guardian detects the motion, and his own lips curve in mild amusement. “That puny weapon will be of no use in the godly realm, mortal. Certainly not in a divine war.”
Tension rolls through my body. Now the bastard’s toying with us.
Lark’s eyes meet mine in silent communication. I incline my chin in the slightest nod, acknowledging her restraint. We both glance at Agnar. He gives the tiniest shake of his head, though I swear he mumbles something under his breath.
“I meant no offense or threat. I was simply shaken by the thought of a civil war among the gods.” Lark’s careful not to ask a question. “That they’re fighting at all seems odd. Fighting among themselves is unheard of.”
The Guardian tilts his head, neither confirming nor denying.
“You should be glad they fight among themselves here. If they did so in your realm, you’d be razed to the ground before you even realized what was happening.
” His voice holds no malice, only cold certainty.
“Some mortals understand that. Your Devoted have chosen sides early. Wise of them.”
“Not my Devoted.” Lark’s diplomacy slips from her grasp.
“They are mortal. That means they are yours. You are all the same.” He taps a finger on the hilt of one of his weapons, the casual gesture an unmistakable threat.
I debate our remaining questions cautiously. We need specifics. What’s happening, who’s involved, and most importantly, how this affects our realm.
I inhale a measured breath. “Who is fighting in this war?”
“Second question.” He taps two fingers on his hilt. “The fight is between those who understand the rightful hierarchy and those who are too afraid to seize that truth.”
Rightful hierarchy.
I store the phrase away to unpack later. An ideological war about the proper order of things. About power. About who reigns over who.
The oldest conflict in the world, divine or mortal.
The God of the Heavens himself is being challenged. By whom? And what does that have to do with the Devoted? They’re clearly on Zeru’s side. But do they realize their allegiance pits them against other gods?
Lark remains rigid beside me, some of the same questions no doubt racing through her mind. But neither of us can voice our thoughts for fear of letting a question slip.
I snap my gaze to Agnar to forestall whatever action he might be considering. For all his steadfastness, the man possesses a tongue sharper than any damn blade I’ve ever wielded.
He holds his palms up and shrugs, as if to say, “What did I do?” But the tightness around his mouth confirms he’s biting back some retort.
The Guardian watches our silent exchange with detached curiosity, like a scientist-priest trying to divine the hidden meaning of spiderwebs.
Then his star-infused gaze slides from Agnar to me. “Why do you hang around with those of lesser station?”
Surprise catches me off-balance. He aimed the question at me specifically, as though the others aren’t worth addressing. His phrasing strikes me as familiar, formal yet also casual in a way that doesn’t fit a celestial power.
Before I can formulate a response, Agnar bristles. “Because some of us understand loyalty isn’t just a word to throw around.”
The Guardian’s attention whips to Agnar. The temperature plummets so suddenly that frost forms on my eyelashes. “Careful, earth wielder. Some remember when mortals knew their place.”
I fling my arm in front of Agnar’s chest, physically restraining him even as Lark clamps a hand over his mouth.
The three of us share a look. The weight of our situation presses down on us like a physical force.
One question left.
My brow wrinkles
When mortals knew…
Does that mean he’s not a god, but also not a mortal? What else exists?
I study the Guardian more carefully. The armor that flows like water but shines like stars. The weapons that seem more extension than tool. The eyes that harbor cosmic depths yet flash with recognizable emotions.
“Are you mortal?”
The best question? Maybe not. But I need to learn who we’re dealing with.
For the first time, the Guardian seems affected. The starlight armor darkens like storm clouds passing over a celestial body. His beautiful, precisely sculpted features harden, crystallizing into something less divine and more…human. His hand tightens on his weapon.
“No. As I said, I am the Guardian.” An element enters his voice that wasn’t there before. Regret, maybe?
I continue to prod him. “Yes, so you’ve said. But what does that mean?”
His face closes like a fortress gate. “You’ve asked your three questions. Get out. Never return through the portal again. To return here is to tempt death.”
“That isn’t—”
Cyclone winds strike from nowhere, ripping the words from my throat and shoving us backward. We tumble down the passageway, scrambling for purchase on slippery walls.
My hand finds Lark’s arm and clutches tight as winds propel us through space that shouldn’t exist.
Down, down, down the long climb.
Back into blackness.
When we drop in a tangled heap somewhere in the middle of the passageway, the winds cease. Lark presses against me, her familiar warmth a comfort in the absolute darkness that follows the starlight.
Behind us, Agnar grunts. “What the fuck?”
I can’t see his face, but I can imagine the expression. Somewhere between outrage and bewilderment. The image matches the storm in my own mind as I try to process what in the three hells just happened.
“What the fuck?” is exactly right.
The three Gods of Time hover within the ancient stone chamber. Their ethereal forms glide above the dim light that envelops them.
Silence pulses with a rhythm both familiar and foreign, as if the chamber itself resonates through reality. The air is heavy with ancient magic.
Chronir stares into water. His gleaming robes flow like liquid silver, echoing the infinite knowledge of the ages. “Mortals at the portal. That hasn’t happened in—”
“Three thousand four hundred and twelve years.” Chronoth leans over the pool.
Chronir edges closer, drawn in by the shimmering reflection of possibilities. “But they failed.”
“They always do.” Chronoth’s gaze sharpens as he regards the mortal realm through the darkened veil and notes the fervent desperation that seems to fuel their attempts.
Chronira watches in silence as she shakes her head. The possibilities waver, thin, and fade as their time of emergence passes.
“Hurry,” she utters in a whisper too soft even for her siblings to hear.
The gentle waves ripple across the dimmed light, foreshadowing a looming conflict that’s outcome is slowly being etched in stone.