Chapter 61
Chapter Sixty-One
The fabric of reality shifts as the gods materialize once more, their forms condensing from nothing into something.
First comes Zeru. He’s different. Calmer, with his starlight dimmed enough to identify his features. The constellation across his chest is a faded map rather than a burning declaration of power. His eyes, once swirling galaxies, now hold the dull gleam of distant stars viewed through cloud cover.
More gods take form beside him, each one manifesting with less flourish than before. Valk, whose presence once made the ground tremble with anticipated bloodshed, stands with her shoulders slightly bowed. The others—Ziva, Hallr, Mar, Nyc, and the rest—all appear less…intense.
They’ve given up their human facades and reverted back to their original, more elemental forms.
A shiver ghosts through me as I stare in disbelief, unable to process what I’m witnessing.
My body still thrums with battle-readiness, fire coiled just beneath my skin and ready to burst forth at the slightest provocation. Something about the return of the phoenixes has revitalized me. At this distance, I know I can incinerate at least two of these gods before anyone can stop me.
Zeru will be my first target.
Then Valk.
The two strongest. The two who are clearly not on our side.
Whether it’ll be effective or not remains to be seen. But I won’t go down without continuing to fight.
Sterling stands beside me, teetering on the edge of exhaustion.
When Zeru moves, every muscle in my body tenses.
But the god doesn’t attack.
He doesn’t summon star-fire or command more creatures from the rifts. Instead, his gaze sweeps over our ragged band of fighters before landing on Sterling and me. And then, impossibly, inconceivably, he inclines his golden head.
A bow.
Not the cursory nod one might give a lesser being, but the deliberate acknowledgment of equals, perhaps even superiors.
The other gods follow suit, bending in gestures of respect that feel utterly alien coming from beings who, not so long ago, were trying to eradicate us.
Beside me, Bastian inhales sharply. Agnar mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a string of expletives. Leesa’s hand finds mine and squeezes with trembling fingers.
My jaw hurts, and I realize it’s because it’s hanging open.
This isn’t just us winning. This is…surrender.
The gods are surrendering.
To us.
And that’s infinitely more terrifying, because I don’t understand why.
The space between Sterling and Agnar distorts, water condensing from the air itself to form a familiar figure. Rivlan materializes in his translucent, watery form.
Agnar leaps back a pace, reaching for a weapon he no longer holds. “You could warn a man…”
Sterling’s expression remains neutral, but his tension is palpable. His magic is a living, breathing entity, edging toward me in case we need to merge. “What’s happened?”
Rivlan tilts his head thoughtfully, his watery form catching the light in ways that create prisms across his features. “Nothing that concerns you directly. But the gods, all of us, have been reminded of certain truths.”
The cryptic response does nothing to ease the knot of suspicion in my chest. “Truths about what?”
“Time.” Rivlan’s form ripples, the motion reminiscent of a shrug, though far more fluid. “Beginnings. And endings.”
At these words, the other gods shift uneasily, their perfect forms glimmering as if they’re struggling to maintain coherence. Even Zeru’s starlight flickers.
“The Gods of Time.” Bastian leans close to my ear, his voice tinged with academic fascination despite our dire circumstances. “I’m betting they met with the Chronimūrti.”
I have no idea who he’s talking about.
So I just nod as if that makes sense.
Rivlan gives him a strained smile, an expression that somehow manages to be both approving and wary.
Then he pivots to face the stands, where thousands of spectators remain frozen in various states of shock, confusion, and dawning hope.
“The war is over. The harvesting of mortal devotion ends. Mortals and gods are both essential parts of the tapestry. We do not hunt each other.”
Ziva steps away from the line of deities. She closes her obsidian eyes and bows her head.
I find myself inclining my own head, my body responding before my mind can catch up. Between us is everything left unsaid. Her choice to ally with Zeru, my rebellion against divine authority, the moment she turned against her own kind to fight beside us.
Head still down, she whispers up to me. “I never would have harmed you. Or the dragons.”
I nod again, throat too dry for words, heart too full of contradictory emotions.
Somehow, I believe her.
Strange, after everything, but I do.
The goddess who chose me as her faction’s champion, who gifted me with fire magic stronger than any other in generations, would not have destroyed me even at Zeru’s command. “Allegiances shift. I know something about that.”
All too much.
How many times had I fought Sterling, only to fall in love with him? How fiercely did I hate the royalty of Tirene, only to become their queen?
Loyalties change.
Circumstances demand it.
“Yes. They do.” A complex mixture of regret and respect laces her tone. She is an ancient, powerful being, yet in this moment, she looks almost vulnerable. A goddess who chose a side and must live with the consequences, just as I have.
“Be well, Lark Axton.” Her form is already beginning to unravel at the edges. “Fire Queen.”
Before I can respond to the new title, she dissolves into pure flame, the heat of her passing washing over me like a desert wind. A single ember lingers for a moment, suspended in air, before drifting upward to join the phoenixes in their aerial dance.
My skin tingles with the aftereffects of divine presence.
I’ve barely taken a breath when darkness pools at my feet, rising in sinuous tendrils to form another figure. Nyc, Goddess of Night, is so dark I can only discern the edges of her matronly form and the motion of her arms as they cross over her ample chest.
“You’ve grown.” There’s maternal pride in her voice. The words feel heavy, significant in ways I can’t fully grasp. Her unseen eyes assess me, not as a queen or a champion, but as something more fundamental.
“We all have.” I think of Sterling, Bastian, Agnar, Leesa. All of us forced to become more than we were by circumstances beyond our control.
She lifts her head, displaying a pointed chin and full cheeks. Her black eyes are hidden, yet I feel the weight of them searching my own. “I am…sorry.”
“So am I.” The words surprise me as they leave my lips, but I realize they’re true.
I’m sorry for many things. I’m sorry that I will never again trust the gods with the innocent faith I once had.
Sorry that I now see their flaws, their petty rivalries, their willingness to sacrifice mortals for their own gain.
Sorry for the loss of something I never knew I valued until it was gone. What is seen can never be unseen.
The comfort of believing in benevolent beings watching over us.
Nyc is silent for a long while. Then she inclines her head, a movement so subtle it might be imagined. “The darkness watches over those who walk in light as well.” With those cryptic words, she melts back into the shadows at my feet.
I stand alone again, surrounded by the aftermath of battle but somehow isolated in a bubble of strange calm.
Though I’m not truly alone.
I sense Sterling before I see him, standing a few paces off, arms crossed over his chest. He hasn’t interfered with these divine audiences, but he’s been watching, ready to step in if needed.
His wings are folded against his back, his posture alert despite the exhaustion evident in every line of his body.
Beyond him, Elijah Durand weaves through the crowd of brave mortals who joined our fight. He’s taking names, promising help, triaging wounded. His natural authority is apparent even as he limps from an injury to his calf.
Sterling crosses the space between us with fluid grace. He pulls me close, his arms encircling me with careful strength, and rests his chin on the top of my head.
I exhale into the rhythm of our hearts beating against each other’s chests and breathe in the familiar scent of him. Sweat and battlefield grime, yes, but beneath that, there’s something uniquely Sterling. Leather and soap and a hint of spice.
Home.
My arms tighten around his waist, holding on as if he might dissolve like Ziva if I let go.
“So,” Sterling tips his head down, hands sliding to my lower back, fingers interlacing just above my hips, “were you scared?”
I scoff, though my heart has barely slowed from the bone-deep terror of facing godly wrath. “Oh, please.”
“Yeah.” His lips quirk into that half-smile I love so much. “Me neither.”
We gently touch our foreheads together and keep ourselves there, sharing breath, sharing space. Somehow, the gesture is more intimate than a kiss. A reconnection that reaches beyond the physical.
“Want to crown me king and start our honeymoon?” He’s so casual, he might be suggesting we get something to eat.
I pull back a few inches, fighting a smile. “Oh, I don’t know. I need to wash my hair, and—”
“Read a history book?” His eyes dance with humor despite the fatigue shadowing them.
I meet his gaze directly, and our playfulness fades into something more serious. “I think maybe I can be a good queen without doing all the things I hate.”
He lifts a brow. “You think?”
“Maybe there’s need for a warrior queen.” The words feel right as I say them. Not a reluctant ruler bound by duty, but a fighter who defends her people with sword and fire alike.
“There’s always need for warrior women.” Sterling bends toward my lips. “Especially for me.”
My heart swells with emotions too complex to name. “I’m sorry about the guardian thing,” I whisper against his mouth. “We’re together, even if it’s just for one lifetime.”