Chapter 16
VELENTHA
Idon’t know how much longer I can stand being trapped in this room.
I once believed the true torture was the Divine Six and their endless bragging, their hollow sense of superiority, and the constant droning of their voices echoing through every hall.
I thought nothing could be worse than being forced to stand among them, listening as they praised themselves as if they were worthy gods.
But this room… this silence… this waiting…
Gods, I think I might almost prefer it. And yet, when I truly allow myself to think about it—when I picture their faces, their cruelty, the endless suffocating weight of their presence—I know the truth.
I would still rather remain locked in this godforsaken room forever, than ever return to them.
Although I was created alongside them by Dasmyrin and Elyistria, I knew almost instantly that I did not belong.
The moment the first vision came, all violence and ruin, I understood.
My power was so new then—my head had flooded with too many images at once, each one bleeding into the next until I could barely breathe.
Futures of Dasmyrin’s reign—some glorious, others ending in tragedy.
And the moment I laid eyes on her after my power emerged, grief consumed me.
I should have spoken up. I should have warned her of what I saw.
But I didn’t. I remained silent. And when she was murdered by the Six and the Cruel King, guilt rooted itself so deeply inside me it began devouring me from within.
I was disgusted by the people around me. Disgusted by myself.
But then… Saevyn found me. To this day, I still don’t know how she managed to breach the wards to get into my chambers within the Six’s realm. But I will forever be grateful that she did. She gave me purpose when I was drowning in visions and failure.
Fifty Thousand Years Earlier
“You must come with me, Time Witch,” the woman whispers, her lavender eyes glowing like orbs in the darkness of my chamber.
Before I can speak, a hand clamps over my mouth. A man with slick black hair and emerald eyes stares down at me, a warning sharp in his gaze. I nod once, and in a flash, the world shifts.
Suddenly, I’m no longer in my chamber, but in a tall stone tower lit by flickering sconces, overlooking a world unknown to me. Stars glimmer in the sky, their energy so potent it thrums through my bones. The man releases me and I stumble back, pressing my spine to the cold wall.
“Who are you?” My voice trembles as I wrap my arms around myself.
My dark silk nightgown is no defence against the chill, though the faint glow of the runes etched into my skin light the space around me.
The man hands me a cloak, heavier and warmer than the one I usually wear.
I slide it on with a murmur of thanks, before raising my eyes to the woman.
She’s beautiful. Ethereal, even. Her hair shimmers as though braided with starlight, her pale skin luminous in the moonlight.
No threat radiates from her, yet power rolls off her in waves.
“I am Saevyn, Queen of the Saerathi,” she says simply. “And this is Aran, my second, loyal to the crown.”
At her words, Aran inclines his head. I drop into a curtsey almost immediately. “I… I’m Velentha—”
“I know who you are, Time Witch,” she interrupts softly. “It is who you are to become that matters.” Her words send a shiver down my spine.
I turn my gaze once more past her, towards the windows encircling the tower chamber.
Beyond the glass stretches a realm unlike any I have ever seen.
Vast fields of silver mists roll beneath a sky that glows with shifting ribbons of light dancing between the stars.
The air itself hums with ancient power. I know every world in our universe.
Every realm. Every dominion. Every corner of creation touched by the goddesses.
Yet, this place sparks no memory within me. No recognition.
Then the vision strikes. It is not gentle.
It slams into my mind like a blade through bone—violent, blinding, unstoppable.
The world around me shatters into fragments of light.
I see her. The woman standing before me.
Her belly swollen with child, one hand braced protectively across the curve of it as she stands beside a towering figure wreathed in shadow.
The King of Hell. Korran. His presence burns through the vision like wildfire.
Then… pain. Blood. A scream that tears through the air.
The child is born. And the moment I see him, I understand.
Obsidian eyes open beneath a crown of dark hair.
Fire coils within the infant’s tiny chest, alive and furious, like a star trapped beneath fragile ribs. Power so ancient and wrong.
The vision fractures again, showing me the boy as he grows.
Small hands clenched in rage. A child left alone in cold halls of stone.
Cruel hands striking where comfort should have been.
A young prince forced to endure horrors no child should know.
Abandoned. Broken. Shaped by suffering until he becomes exactly what the world expected him to be. A weapon. A mirror of his father.
The images collapse inward like a dying star. I gasp, the breath tearing violently from my lungs as reality slams back into place around me. My hands clutch at the wall at my back to steady myself, my heart hammering wildly in my chest.
The woman still stands before me. Watching. Waiting. My voice trembles despite every effort to control it. “You… you are Korran’s wife?”
She shakes her head. “Not yet. But I will be.”
“How?” I breathe. “He destroys every woman he touches. You will not survive.”
“I am to bear the child who will end the Divine. And I need you, Velentha. You are not like them, you never were. I saw your pain, your disgust. You despise them as much as I do. And now you have a new purpose. You will remain among them, no matter how much it breaks you. You will endure centuries of silence. Because one day, the Divine Six must end. And you, Time Witch… you are the beginning.”
Her plan unfolds before me, piece by piece.
She was placed by gods unseen, the hidden rulers beyond even the Six.
Aetherhollow—the Saerathi’s world between worlds.
Few had ever heard its name, fewer still had stepped inside.
Yet now, I was bound to it. Aran and I were her tools.
He would be planted within Hell. I, the hidden eye among the Divine.
Together, we would weave the downfall of the gods.
When she returns me to my chambers, my head swims with fractured memory. Hazy fogs where truths had been stripped away, so the Six could never pry them free. But I had a purpose at last. No longer just the “Time Witch.”
No. Now, I was Velentha. Seer. Betrayer. The beginning of their end.
I smile to myself, my chest filled with hope and purpose as I whisper into the dark: “I will not fail you again, Dasmyrin. I swear it.”
Present Day
I lean against the door of the balcony, a cup of bitter herbal tea cooling between my palms. The air still reeks of smoke from the attack earlier, and it unsettles me. Traitors walk among us. Are they hunting Daisy? Hunting me? Or is this simply the first strike of many?
The last I heard, the Six had already begun building an army of horrors using stolen Saerathi magic.
I was never permitted to see the full extent of it.
My role was simple. I was their seer. My days were an endless stream of visions: glimpses of battles yet to come, futures yet to unfold.
They demanded visions of triumph, demanded proof that their conquest was inevitable.
So that is what I gave them. Or rather… what I allowed them to see.
Of course, I never told them the truth. I never showed them the futures where their empire crumbled, where the first fractures split through the foundations of their pretentious thrones.
Those visions remained mine, and mine alone.
They only saw victory. Only glory. Only the destiny I carefully placed before them.
I needed them arrogant and overconfident.
So certain of their dominance that they would never think to look over their shoulders and notice the blade already poised at their throats.
Because soon, their reign will end. And when it does, I will watch them fall.
I hear the chamber door creak open, and turn to see Aran entering. His face is a storm, so many emotions flickering across it I can’t pin down a single one. “My love?” I ask softly, setting my cup down on the table as I step towards him. “What is it?”
“They’re fucking forcing my hand, V. They’re giving me no choice.” His voice is low, seething, as he paces. Back and forth, running a hand through his dark, tousled hair.
“Who is?” I’ve seen him worried before—gods, the day the Divine nearly killed me, I thought his heart would break in two—but this… this is different. This is pure terror.
“Elyistria and Sariya,” he spits. “They’re forcing me to bring you to the war room. To face the other leaders.”
He stops abruptly and cups my face in his hands, his palms warm and shaking ever so slightly. “I can’t, Velentha. I can’t do it. They won’t understand. What if they hurt you? What if they don’t even listen—what if they see you and strike before you can speak? I can’t risk you. I won’t.”
“Aran.” I place my hands over his wrists, trying my best to ground him as I softly stroke my thumbs over his skin. “Breathe. It’s okay. Truly. I think it’s time, too. Daisy is drowning and she needs some reprieve. The leaders need to understand what we’re truly up against.”
His eyes flick wildly over mine, his pulse hammering beneath my fingertips as he shakes his head. “It’s okay,” I whisper again, trying my best to give him a smile that shows no fear.
A rush of visions crash into me without warning.
One after the other, flashing rapid and violently, too sharp to ignore.
Acceptance, fury, peace, blood. The images tear through my mind like lightning splitting a storm-dark sky.
There’s faces I cannot quite see, hands raised in rage, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air.
A war room fractured by shouting. A blade glinting in the light.
A future where everything shatters… and another where it somehow holds.
There are too many paths. Too many outcomes.
The weight of them presses against my skull until I can barely breathe.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the storm recedes.
The visions dissolve into a dull haze, slipping through my grasp like smoke.
My pulse thunders in my ears as the world slowly settles back into place around me.
And when my focus clears, I find Aran’s gaze still locked onto mine.
His green eyes have darkened into something I’ve never seen before.
The bright emerald I know so well is gone, swallowed by a storming shade so deep, it borders on black.
There is something fierce burning there.
Something protective. Dangerous, even. This is a side of my mate I do not think I have ever witnessed before.
“What did you see?” His voice comes out ragged, his eyes darting back and forth as if searching mine for the answers he so desperately seeks.
“Many things,” I admit softly. “But not all were bad.” I rise onto my tiptoes, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It can end well. It will. I promise.”
“Velentha,” he breathes, his forehead pressing to mine, his voice shaking. “If they touch you, if they even try, I’ll kill them all.”
A laugh slips from me, small and a little too fragile. I brush my nose against his. “Always one for theatrics, my darling. Come. Let me dress, and we’ll get this over with.”
He exhales slowly. It’s unsteady and sounds a little defeated, but after a moment, he offers a small nod. I turn away toward the guest wardrobe, half-smiling, half-aching, to choose an outfit fit for my potential funeral.
I choose plain black pants, a simple black tunic, and a cloak.
Nothing regal, nothing ostentatious. Just something light—something I can move in, something I can hide in if it comes to that.
If they decide to strike, I’d rather flee than fight.
Whatever happens in that room, Daisy needs them united.
The realms need them united. Taking a life to preserve my own is not on the cards today.
And gods help me, I pray it isn’t on the cards for Aran, either.
The energy radiating from him is suffocating.
He’s a storm barely contained, a ticking time bomb with every second pushing him closer to detonation.
“Ready, aeshira—my love?” I murmur, sliding my hand into his.
His grip tightens instantly, but he manages a small smile at my use of the ancient Saerathi language I’d learned, just for him.
Just for us. He lets out an exasperated sigh.
“To walk you into the den of wolves? Never. But I don’t have a choice, do I?
We’ll portal straight to the door. No one else sees you until I say so. ”
I nod once and pull up the hood of my cloak, watching as he uses his magic to summon the magical doorway.
Shimmering light swirls open, revealing the heavy door of the war room on the other side.
We step through together, hand in hand, our shoulders squared as we prepare for possible doom.
The guards stationed outside straighten instantly at the sight of us.
My hood stays pulled low over my face; the less of me they see, the safer it is.
At least, until Aran has made it clear I’m not a threat.
Or until I’m running for my life. Either way, I guess.
“Aran,” one of the guards greets, his voice gruff.
Aran doesn’t reply. Instead, he clamps his hand tighter around mine—so tight I’m sure he’s bruising the skin beneath. He pushes the door open with his free hand, keeping me tucked firmly behind him, but never letting go. My own personal shield.
Before we left, he warned me: keep the hood up, no matter what. Vor’Khar especially is prone to acting first and thinking later. The room stills as we step inside, falling into utter silence. The only sound is the click of the door closing behind us, and my thundering pulse in my ears.