Chapter Sixteen
KAEL
Seren gasps, her body bowing off the floor of the temple. Breaths flood in and out of her—ragged, wild—and she stares up at the ceiling, almost vacantly. Eerily.
“Seren!” I pant, gently shaking her shoulder, and she swings her gaze to me. She looks through me, as if her body’s here but her mind is somewhere else entirely.
“He demands blood… and sacrifice,” she whispers like an incantation, voice eerie and possessed.
“I’ll give him both!” I snap without hesitation.
Seren’s body begins to thrash and shake uncontrollably. I can’t just stand here and do nothing. So, I hold her. I squeeze her body to mine, at least protecting her from hurting herself on the tomb’s hard floor.
I gently shush her, soothing her, “It’ll be okay.” I rock her and smooth her hair down, just like I used to do with Nalya when she was scared or upset.
Her body goes still in my arms. Lifeless, heavy, slack.
Fuck.
You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.
I chant the words like a prayer. Beseeching whoever will listen.
But my prayers are interrupted—
“What are you doing, Kael?” Seren’s voice cuts through my desperate pleas, staring up at me with burnished bronze eyes.
I startle.
“I was just trying to help,” I say, dropping her back to the floor too quickly. She lands with a thud, but fights a smile—clearly amused.
Her eyes are wide with excitement—the same kind I’ve seen when she’s researching or planning.
“I have to admit, Kael, I like seeing you flustered. It’s refreshing,” she giggles, dusting herself off.
I fucking hate it, but my cheeks flare hot.
I push past it, hoping to forget it ever happened. “Are you going to tell me what has you so excited after scaring me half to death with that possessed episode?”
She giggles in the way I’ve only ever heard with Ronyn. “I think I just World Walked!”
I wait for her to continue but she stops, awaiting my enthusiasm. “Give me more, Seren. What does that mean? What does it have to do with the sarcophagus? With Death?”
She pushes to stand, pacing back and forth.
“I Walked to the plane where Morrathys’ soul is being held—the runes are portals there for people like me. He called it an echo-plane. Almost like a sub-realm of this one, where he’s stuck—enchanted to stay so long as he’s in here,” she taps on the sarcophagus.
Seren just fucking World Walked.
I train my features into neutrality, “How do we get him back here?”
Seren smiles in a way that tells me she knows. “He wants my blood on the runes, and… a sacrifice from you.”
Of course he fucking does.
“Anything,” I say, unflinching.
She nods with understanding of what I really mean: anything for Elyssara.
Seren approaches the sarcophagus again and opens her palm to me in silent request. I unsheathe a small dagger from my belt, and slice her palm just enough to create a droplet of blood.
Seren clenches her fist, as a small bead of crimson pools at the cut.
The blood thickens, and a single drop lands atop the runes on the sarcophagus.
The golden runes glimmer in acknowledgment, rising off Death’s prison in particles of shimmering magic. They hang on the air like golden motes of dust, until they simply dissolve into nothingness. The runes have been lifted.
I look at Seren, her eyes wide with shock, and she doesn’t have to say it but I know what she’s thinking: I did that. Pride pulses from her. She’s fucking brilliant.
The sarcophagus groans, stone wrestling apart from stone as the top begins to fan open. The flame ripples in the smooth reflection of the polished obsidian, giving everything here an otherworldly glow.
As the sarcophagus opens, we peer inside, and lying still, facing skyward, is Death.
“The blood was to awaken him,” Seren panics. “A drop of the old blood—that’s what he said.”
She rushes around the tomb, searching for clues, hints, anything.
But I wait. I watch. And through the stillness, I see the slight rise and fall of his chest.
“Maybe I needed to give more blood?” she guesses, flustered.
“Look,” I say, and color rises in Death’s face. His mouth twitches. His chest begins to rise and fall more fervently.
“It’s working,” she breathes.
Death lets out a pained groan, beginning to toss and stir.
His eyes shoot open, meeting Seren’s, and with a voice hoarse from disuse, he says, “I am in your debt.”
Seren looks taken aback, as if he’s just told her he’d take her to the Final Gate right now. Or maybe… she’s scared.
“You are the God of Death,” she murmurs, almost to herself.
“Yes,” he confirms, still unmoving. He clears his throat. “And you are of the old blood—you World Walked. I’ve waited a decade in the echo-plane for someone of your lineage to disenchant those runes. I owe you my gratitude,” he says in a low, rich timbre.
“You are the God of Death,” Seren repeats, and Morrathys chuckles heartily.
Seeing her fear, Morrathys says, “I am not the God of Death because I relish death itself. I am Death because going through the Final Gate is sacred, and I am its holy guardian. Death is a rite you must earn, for in death, too, there will be judgement.”
A chill settles over the tomb. Death’s words are heavy and piercing.
“I am not God of Chaos—I do not deal death for sport. In truth, I am God of Order. I make choices that push the realms to be better; deaths that reorient life paths, that serve as reminders of the impermanency and potential of life. Death is not punishment, it is an honor. It is sacrifice, for I only take the best. It is humans that cut down the worst with their own blades—that is not the act of a god.”
The weight of his words hangs heavy in the room. Reverent, holy, unnerving.
I expected wrath, fury, vengeance—I did not expect a philosophical disposition.
But, I should’ve known. I should’ve expected that the Guardian of the Final Gate saw his duty as a sacred, holy thing.
This was the reason he cursed Zerynthia in the first place—because humans disrupted order, and chaos ensued.
The Endless War was not a sacred pathway to death—it was taking Morrathys’ duty away, and positioning humans as gods over who lived and died.
Morrathys speaks true. This is the belief of Old Zerynthia—death is sacred, and must be earned, and that is why the god’s burial was born; to honor those who honor the sanctity of death.
Seren nods slowly.
Morrathys rises out of the sarcophagus with the grace of a warrior and deity both.
Despite being lithe on his feet, Death looks weary, lacking vitality.
“The Rightful King of Zerynthia,” Morrathys says by way of greeting with a subtle nod of his head.
“Bless the Stars for your reign over death and order,” I say with a bow—honoring our gods in the traditional way of Zerynthia.
He bows in return, “You and I have much to discuss.”
“We do,” I confirm. “Seren, leave us, please,” I command, trying to keep my tone soft, but brooking no room for argument. She turns swiftly on her feet and disappears through the tomb’s entrance.
“So,” Death begins, “you’ve come for me. I assume you want something.” His tone is firm, unwavering, though not unkind.
I’ve been waiting for this moment, and without apprehension, I charge into my offer. “I want your help breaking the spell on Maldrak’s Marked army,” I say, pausing for a moment to clarify my thoughts. “And I want your help in freeing my Starbound.”
He glides across the tomb, hands on hips in thought, before spinning around. “The spell is complex—forbidden magic, Maldrak’s runes, sacrifice of kin. And he didn’t do it alone; spells like that require rare skill of the old blood. To break it, we’d have to reverse the spell. It’s complicated.”
Fuck. That means Maldrak must live to perform the rune until we can reverse the entire spell. The thought of letting that blight on humanity escape every violent and brutal plan I’ve been dreaming of for the last decade has me grinding my teeth.
“Do you know how to reverse it?” I grit out.
“No,” Morrathys states simply. “Not entirely. We need the old blood who performed it, the spell itself, the chant. Until then, he’ll continue leeching my power until I’m nothing but a husk.”
I knew Death was weary, but it’ll only get worse unless we do something—fast.
So I do the only thing I can think to do: I cut a deal he can’t refuse.
“If you agree to help free my Starbound from Kryntar Castle and see through this plan to break the spell on the Marked, I’ll make sure you’re not reduced to a husk,” I say with conviction, weighing and gauging his reaction.
He scoffs, but I can see his curiosity is piqued. “And how do you propose to do that?”
I swallow thickly, knowing that once I’ve said it, I can’t take it back. But for her, I’ll do anything—give up anything, endure anything, be anything. Because without her, I am nothing, anyway.
“I’ll give you my magic,” I say with finality.
“You’d give up your magic for a woman?” Death stares at me, challenging.
“No—not for a woman. I’d do it for this woman,” I correct. “I told her I’d tear down the Stars with my bare fucking hands before destroying her, and I broke my word. I won’t do that again.”
Death stands still, penetrating eyes locked on mine.
“I have one condition,” he finally says.
He breathes slowly, never taking his eyes off me, as if weighing his words very carefully.
He closes some of the distance between us, his towering frame casting a shadow over me that would intimidate lesser men.
But not me. I was born in the shadows—it’s the one place I’ll always win.
“Out with it, then,” I snap.
“I may be the God of Death and Order, but vengeance is not beneath me, Kael—I don’t just want Maldrak dead. I want him bound to an echo-plane for eternity. He’s mine,” he snarls.
My molars grind together, hands curling into fists at his entitlement.
“Elyssara deserves to erase him,” I bite back.
“What she deserves is not my concern,” he spits. “He doesn’t deserve death—it would be too kind, too final. It would be an easy escape from his sins. He deserves endless misery, and I’m the only one who can dole out such a fate,” Death’s words are brutal, but his breathing is labored, ragged.
I press towards Death, and stare him in the eyes like his divinity means nothing to me. Because right now, it doesn’t.
“He murdered my parents, imprisoned my sister, and took my fucking Starbound—I want every trace of him scorched from life itself. I want any memory of him wiped clean, and everyone who’s loyal to him to die at my hand.
There is no end to the violence I dream of inflicting.
No one has more of a stake on his fate than I do, but Elyssara deserves it more. ”
“Then, I cannot help. Maldrak is mine, or there is no deal,” he breathes, as if the conversation has drained him of valuable energy.
I fucking need him. I can’t break the spell without him. I can’t free Zerynthia. I can’t save my sister. I can’t take back my throne. Fuck.
I fold.
“Take my magic. Cull Maldrak. Help us break this spell and rescue my Starbound—the deal is off if we don’t get her back. Yes?” I say quickly before changing my mind.
Morrathys extends his wrist, the vein beating steady beneath pale skin. I press my palm over the pulse—the old Zerynthian way of sealing a bargain. A life for a life, as binding as the blood that carries it.
“Yes,” he confirms, and his pulse hammers beneath my palm, steady, unyielding.
The bargain is struck.
“Then give me what is mine to claim,” he says, and before I can draw breath, the cold takes me.
It starts in my fingertips—a tug, subtle at first, then vicious.
The Shadowweave magic snarls inside me, every thread tightening around my ribs, around my throat, until it rips loose, strand by strand.
I grit my teeth, fighting the groan clawing up my chest, but the pull is merciless.
Darkness pours out of me. My shadows—myself—coil from my veins into his waiting hand, writhing like smoke obeying its true master.
The tomb bends with it, tilting, shadows bowing low around Morrathys as if they know him.
My knees hit stone. The air tastes hollow. This isn’t pain—pain I could withstand. This is absence. Emptiness gnawing me out from the inside, leaving nothing but bone and shell. My heartbeat falters. I feel it in my palm, pressed to his wrist—not his pulse slowing. Mine.
When he finally lets go, I crumple forward, breath ragged, the echo of my own magic screaming in the hollow it leaves behind.
I’m Earthbound. Empty. Cleansed.
The absence of my magic screams louder than its presence ever did.
Another hollowing, torturous thing ripped from my veins. But for her, I’d do it a million times over.
I haul myself to my feet, chest still heaving, emptiness still gnawing at my bones, rioting in my mind.
My eyes land on Morrathys, and some color has returned to his cheeks; a subtle luster coats his hair, and the dark rings under his eyes have given way to vitality.
A deity once more. Skin the shade of moonlight, a contrast to his hair the color of a starless sky.
“You gave up a lot of power, Kael. It shows me you understand the sacredness of life. Are you sure you’re ready to take on a Marked army without your magic? How will justice be served?” Death probes, testing my mettle.
But I’m ready to be tested.
“I am justice. My blades know nothing but blood and victory, and my rage makes up for anything I’ll lack in magic,” I growl.
“Good. Now, let’s go get your Starbound,” he says simply.
I breathe deeply, preparing myself.
“Before we leave, there’s one more thing.”