Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
With Jesenia distraught at his actions, Val-Theris thought it best to give her space to breathe. For all the lengths he would go to keep her safe, he never wanted to upset her by doing so.
He found himself once again in the Hall of Radiance before the carving of Val-Or. It had been months since he had last spoken to his father, or at least tried to.
Val-Theris took a deep, exhausted breath. “I need you,” he begged to the carving. When there was no answer, his mouth twitched into a scowl, and his fist met the stone with a resonating crack.
The moment his fist collided with the wall, a blinding flash of light broke free from the fractures. When his vision focused once more, he was surrounded by…nothing.
There was no pain like his prophetic visions, and his mind felt clear.
He stood barefoot in a himation. Upon his exposed chest, a marking in the shape of a sun blazed from under his skin.
He was in a plane of pale light that stretched endlessly in all directions, neither warm nor cold, neither solid nor void.
Above him, the heavens unfolded in layered expanse—veils of luminosity drifting like slow-moving clouds, threaded with faint constellations that did not belong to any sky he knew.
Val-Theris did not move.
“You have come,” a voice said. It existed everywhere at once, folded into the light itself. Val-Theris searched for the speaker, but he saw nothing at first.
Then, the light ahead of him gathered, condensing into form—not flesh, not quite, but the suggestion of it. Wings took shape first: one of gilded feathers, one of brilliant flame. Then the suggestion of a body, tall and indistinct, robed in brilliance that shifted as though refusing to settle.
Val-Theris kneeled with unwavering respect for the man before him.
“Father.”
“You honor me still,” Val-Or said. “Even after all this time.” If he smiled, it was only a soft alteration in the light. “You have not changed, my son.”
Val-Theris felt the enormity of the place press against his wings, against the years of questions he had carried without answers.
“Why did you bring me here?” he finally asked. It was quiet for a moment, and then Val-Or spoke once more.
“Will you not look at me?”
Val-Theris lifted his head, and the light dimmed slightly, allowing him to look upon his father in…he didn’t even know how long. Maybe the first time ever, for he had no clear memories of him. When his gaze settled, he noticed a thick tie of cloth across Val-Or’s eyes.
Val-Theris furrowed his brow in confusion. “Father—”
“It is why I gave my sons the gift of prophecy,” he answered without needing to hear the question. “For I ruled blindly. I tried to be a benevolent god, but I could not see where my choices would lead. When the world began to resist my Light, I gave it my sons, to see where I had been blind.”
Val-Theris folded his wings closer to his back and finally stood. “You gave the burden to us.”
“I gave you sight,” Val-Or replied. “Sight is not a burden, Val-Theris. It is a tool. One I hoped would allow you to succeed where I could not.”
“And Val-Oros?” Val-Theris asked.
“He was given a narrower gift,” his father said. “He sees what touches fate. You see what follows it.”
Val-Theris exhaled slowly. “And which of us did you intend to rule better? If Val-Oros is your answer, then he is your greatest failure.”
Val-Or did not answer immediately. “When I created you,” he said at last, “I did not intend either of you to rule above one another, but together. You were meant to balance,” Val-Or continued.
“Two opposing truths. Flame and mercy. Consequence and restraint. I believed the world could survive my absence if the two of you held it together.”
Val-Theris’s jaw tightened. “Instead, he rules with terror.”
“Yes.”
“And I rule with hesitation.”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
“You see what he has become, yet you do nothing to stop it,” Val-Theris said.
“I have seen what he is,” Val-Or replied. “And what you will be forced to do. Tis not my place to interfere. I no longer have such power.” Val-Theris’s wings shuddered faintly. Val-Or’s light dimmed further. “You will kill him, and he will return to me to face his judgement.”
Val-Theris closed his eyes. “I have already seen that,” he said quietly.
“Not as clearly as you think.”
Val-Theris opened his eyes again. “Then tell me, please,” he begged. “For once, help me understand what I see.”
Val-Or’s form shifted, and suddenly the heavens around them changed.
Val-Theris saw Seraveth—not as it was, but as it would be. Walls fractured. Gold blackened by smoke. Banners torn and trampled beneath fleeing bodies. He saw wings folded in grief at the center of it all.
And he saw Jesenia kneeling amid ruin with a full womb, crying. His breath caught.
“You know what she carries,” Val-Theris said gently.
“I do. She carries life shaped from both of you,” Val-Or continued. “God and mortal, a union I never saw.”
“But I don’t understand. Val-Oros—”
“Has not the capacity to love as a father should love. The Light can see what is in your hearts, and it has blessed you as it will never bless him.”
Val-Theris stepped forward instinctively. “Then tell me how to protect them after I’m gone.”
Val-Or did not move. “After you’re gone,” he repeated quietly. Then, he simply said: “I cannot.”
Anger flickered in Val-Theris’s eyes. “Do not tell me you brought me here simply to explain my suffering instead of easing it. After all these years of me begging for your guidance, that is what you give me?”
“Yes.”
Val-Theris straightened, wings flaring just enough to catch the light. “Then tell me this: does she truly undo my kingdom as Val-Oros saw?”
Val-Or regarded him for a long moment.
“She does not undo it,” he said at last.
Val-Theris closed his eyes again with relief. “Then what of my death? Is there nothing I can do? Must her and I truly suffer through this knowing our child will one day be fatherless?”
“Death will come for your family,” Val-Or confirmed. “It is known. It is final.”
“Can I know how long I have left? Will I get to hold my child?”
Val-Or thought for a while, as if debating if that knowledge would throw off the balance of the universe.
“I will only answer one of those questions. You must determine which is more important to you.”
Val-Theris took a deep breath. “Please, tell me I get to hold my child at least once.”
Val-Or went quiet again, before he solemnly said: “No.”
A shudder wrecked through Val-Theris’s body, and tears escaped his eyes. “Is the Light really so cruel?” he asked through a sob.
The heavens began to dissolve.
“Wait! Father,” Val-Theris said quickly. “I have more questions. Please.”
But the light vanished.
Val-Theris woke on the floor of the Hall of Radiance with hot tears on his face and an unfathomable pain in his heart, shaped by the crushing certainty that the future had finally stopped hiding from him.