Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Thea drifted through mist and moonlight, her consciousness wrapped in something ancient and vast. Each step felt weightless, as though her feet barely touched the ground.
She could see everything—the moonlit balcony, the altar with its ominous chains, the orc warriors kneeling in submission before Lasseran—yet it all came to her through a filter of golden light.
Like watching through honey-colored glass while wrapped in the world’s most comforting blanket.
Is this what possession feels like? The thought floated through her mind, distant and academic. She should have been terrified. Instead, she felt…protected. Held. Guided by something that radiated reassurance even as it borrowed her voice and moved her limbs.
Words fell from her lips—ancient words, powerful words—but they weren’t hers. She was merely the vessel, the conduit for something far greater than herself.
I agreed to this, she reminded herself as her body glided forward. I promised I would do whatever it takes.
The presence around her seemed to acknowledge this, warming slightly, like a gentle squeeze of gratitude.
Around her, the Veilborn priests moved in a solemn procession, their white robes glowing silver in the crimson moonlight. Vorlag’s ancient face was transformed—no longer merely old but somehow timeless, his eyes reflecting the same knowing wisdom that now flowed through her veins.
She heard Khorrek moving behind her, his footfalls heavy and certain. Even without seeing him, she felt his presence—solid, protective, and radiating barely contained fury. Her anchor in this sea of divine power.
The procession slowed as they approached the altar. Through the golden haze of her vision, she saw Lasseran standing at the balcony’s edge, his back to them, arms raised to the Blood Moon. Six kneeling orcs waited before him, heads bowed in apparent submission.
Sacrifices, the knowledge came to her, but not from her own mind. As you nearly were.
Memories flickered through her—the Stone Circle, the mist, Khorrek’s desperate journey to reach her. How close they had both come to paying the ultimate price.
Lasseran must have sensed their approach. He turned, his perfect face a study in cruel amusement that quickly shifted to calculation as his gaze found her.
“Ah,” his silken voice carried easily across the space between them. “You’ve arrived just in time for the ceremony.”
His pale, empty eyes moved from face to face, lingering on Khorrek with mocking recognition.
“Loyal Khorrek. Or not so loyal after all, it seems.” His perfect mouth curved in a sneer. “I wondered where you’d gone. Taking my prize and running away with her.”
Thea felt Khorrek tense beside her, heard the low growl that rumbled from his chest.
“She was never yours to take,” he snarled.
“No?” Lasseran’s smile widened, revealing teeth too white, too perfect to be natural. “Everything in the Five Kingdoms is mine by right. By blood. By destiny.”
His gaze shifted to her, and something like genuine surprise flickered across his aristocratic features.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “Very interesting. The legends did mention a vessel, but I assumed it was metaphorical.” He tilted his head, studying her with clinical detachment. “Tell me, Dr. Monroe—how does it feel to be possessed by a dying god?”
The presence within her stirred, and words that were not her own formed on her lips.
“Better than it will feel to be destroyed by one,” she heard herself say, her voice overlaid with something deeper, older.
Lasseran laughed, the sound echoing across the water.
“Bold words. But I’ve studied these rituals for decades. I know exactly what comes next.” He gestured to the altar. “You need my blood. My power. My willing sacrifice.” His smile turned cruel. “And I’m afraid I’m not in a sacrificial mood tonight.”
He turned back to the kneeling orcs. “These fine specimens, however, are. Aren’t you, boys?”
None of the warriors responded. None even looked up.
Lasseran’s smile faltered. “I said, aren’t you ready to serve your king?”
Still nothing.
With a snarl that cracked his perfect facade, he grabbed the nearest warrior by the hair, yanking his head back. “I command you to answer!”
Through her golden haze, Thea saw the warrior’s face—scarred, proud, and absolutely unafraid.
“I serve no false king,” he said quietly.
Lasseran released him with a shove, stepping back.
“So it’s like that, is it? A little rebellion? How quaint.” His hand went to the sword at his hip. “No matter. I don’t need willing sacrifices. Dead ones work just as well.”
He drew the blade—a thin, elegant thing that gleamed with unnatural blue light.
“Perhaps I’ll start with you, Khorrek.” His voice had gone soft again. Dangerous. “My most promising student. My greatest disappointment.”
No! Thea tried to shout, to move, to do something. But her body responded to the goddess, not to her own frantic will.
Instead, she felt herself stepping forward, placing her body between Khorrek and Lasseran. The golden light around her pulsed brighter.
“No,” she heard herself say, the goddess’s tones now dominant in her voice. “This ends now, Lasseran. Your time is over.”
She felt her arms raise, and the air around her shimmered.
Lasseran’s expression flickered—uncertainty crossing his perfect features for perhaps the first time in centuries.
But it passed quickly, replaced by cold determination.
“Kill them,” he ordered, gesturing to the warriors behind him. “Kill them all.”
But the orc warriors rose as one, and moved—not toward Thea and the others, but to stand with them. A wall of massive bodies between Lasseran and those he sought to destroy.
They’re protecting us, Thea realized through her haze. Protecting me.
For the first time, something like fear appeared in Lasseran’s eyes.
“Traitors,” he hissed. “All of you. After everything I’ve done for you. Everything I’ve given you.”
“You’ve given us nothing but pain,” Khorrek said from behind her, his voice rough with emotion. “Used us. Twisted us. Made us into weapons instead of people.”
“You are weapons,” Lasseran snarled. “Nothing more. Animals I trained. Beasts I controlled.” He raised his glowing sword. “And if I must put you down myself, so be it.”
He lunged forward with inhuman speed, the blade arcing toward Khorrek.
Thea screamed inside her mind, but no sound escaped her lips. The goddess’s presence flowed around her, still soothing, still reassuring, but Thea fought against it now.
He’ll kill Khorrek! I have to help him!
The goddess didn’t release her control, but she felt a wave of understanding pass through the golden haze.
Trust him, the feeling seemed to say. And complete what you came for.
Distantly, she heard Khorrek shout: “Thea! Whatever you’re going to do—do it now!”
Her body turned away from the fight, moving with graceful purpose toward the altar. Vorlag was at her side, his ancient hand guiding her gently.
“The time has come,” he murmured. “Are you ready, Vessel?”
No, she thought desperately. Not while Khorrek is fighting for his life.
But her head nodded, and she felt her knees bend as she knelt before the altar.
Behind her, she heard the sounds of combat—Khorrek’s roar, the clash of bodies, Lasseran’s taunting voice. More sounds joined them—shouting, the clash of steel on steel. Others fighting.
Please let him be safe. Please let him survive this.
The golden haze thickened around her, focusing her attention on the altar before her.
It was a massive block of white stone, carved with runes that glowed faintly blue in the moonlight. Four tall silver pillars surrounded it, connected by chains of what looked like liquid darkness.
His corruption, the knowledge came to her. The High King’s perversion of what should be sacred.
Her hands—moving without her conscious direction—reached for the small bowl Vorlag placed before her. It contained a thick, dark liquid.
Blood, she realized. But whose?
“Freely given,” Vorlag said, as if hearing her unspoken question. “From those who would see balance restored.”
Her fingers dipped into the blood, and she felt herself begin to chant—words in no language she recognized, syllables that seemed to bend reality around them.
The Blood Moon reached its zenith, casting the entire balcony in crimson light.
It was time.
“First step,” Vorlag murmured. “Blood.”
Thea’s blood-coated fingers traced a symbol on the altar’s surface. The rune flared crimson, then gold, then settled into a steady, pulsing glow.
Behind her, the sounds of combat continued. A cry of pain—not Khorrek’s voice, she was certain—followed by Lasseran’s furious snarl.
“They cannot win this,” Vorlag said softly. “Not through combat alone. You must continue.”
Her hands moved again, reaching for a small ivory box Vorlag placed before her. Inside lay a fragment of bone—ancient, yellowed with age.
“Second step,” Vorlag intoned. “Bone.”
Her fingers placed the fragment at the center of the blood rune. Another flare of light, stronger this time.
Thea felt something shift in the air around them. A vibration, like the plucking of an enormous string that ran through the very fabric of reality.
From behind her came Lasseran’s voice, suddenly uncertain: “What… what is happening?”
“The third step,” Vorlag said, his ancient face solemn. “Breath.”
Thea felt her lungs expand, drawing in air that tasted of salt and magic and moonlight. When she exhaled, the breath emerged visible—a golden mist that settled over the bone fragment.
The light from the altar surged, a pillar of gold that shot upward to touch the Blood Moon.
And in that moment, the golden haze around her mind thinned, just enough for her to see and hear clearly what was happening behind her.
Khorrek fought Lasseran in a blur of movement almost too fast to follow.
But it wasn’t just Khorrek anymore—his form had shifted, grown larger, more bestial.
Massive tusks jutted from an elongated jaw.
Muscles bulged beneath fur-covered skin.
Claws extended from fingers that had grown thicker, stronger.
Yet despite this transformation, Lasseran held his own, his movements supernaturally fast, his strength far beyond what any human should possess.
The stolen power, she realized. Centuries of it, gathered by his ancestors and passed down to him.
“Rise,” Vorlag whispered. “Stand upon the altar. Complete what has begun.”
Her body obeyed, climbing onto the altar’s surface, standing tall as the golden light coalesced around her.
“Blood,” she heard herself intone, her voice ringing with power. “Bone. Breath.”
With each word, the pillar of light connecting her to the moon pulsed brighter.
And with each pulse, Lasseran seemed to falter.
His movements slowed. His perfect face contorted with sudden pain. The unnatural vitality that had sustained him began to drain away before her eyes.
“No,” he gasped, clutching at his chest. The sword fell from suddenly nerveless fingers, clattering to the stone. “What… what are you doing to me?”
“Taking back what was stolen,” she heard herself say, the goddess’s voice dominant now. “Restoring what was corrupted. Freeing what was bound.”
Lasseran’s perfect features sagged. His pale skin wrinkled. His silver hair dulled, thinning before her eyes.
It’s working, she thought, wonder pushing through her fear. We’re doing it.
“No,” Lasseran whispered, reaching toward her with a hand that had suddenly become thin and frail. “You can’t. That power is mine. Mine by right. By blood.”
“By theft,” the goddess replied through her lips. “By corruption. By perversion of what was meant to be sacred.”
She felt her arms raise higher, and the golden light around her intensified, becoming almost blinding.
“Return what was stolen,” she commanded. “Restore what was broken. Release what was bound.”
Lasseran screamed—a sound of pure, primal denial. Of rage. Of terror.
With the last of his strength, he staggered toward her, reaching not for her but for the bowl at her feet.
“Mine,” he rasped. “Mine!”
Khorrek! Thea tried to scream, but the goddess’s control was absolute.
She watched, helpless, as Lasseran covered half the distance to the altar. Three steps away. Two. One.
Then Khorrek was there, moving with impossible speed despite his transformed state. In his clawed hand he held Lasseran’s fallen sword, its unnatural blue glow contrasting starkly with the gold and crimson light that bathed the balcony.
In one fluid motion, he drove the blade through Lasseran’s back.
Through his heart.
The High King of the Five Kingdoms stiffened, a soft exhalation escaping him. Not quite a word. Not quite a sigh.
He turned his head, meeting Khorrek’s eyes. Something like relief flickered in those pale depths.
Thea’s relief was short-lived.
Vorlag stepped forward from beside her, a ceremonial axe in his hands that hadn’t been there a moment before.
No, she thought, suddenly understanding what was about to happen. No, this isn’t necessary. He’s already dying.
But the goddess didn’t share her compunction.
“For balance,” Vorlag intoned. “For justice. For restoration.”
The axe fell in a gleaming arc.
She tried to close her eyes, but the goddess wouldn’t allow it.
She watched, horrified, as Lasseran’s head was severed cleanly from his body. Watched it roll across the stone balcony, coming to rest at the very edge, pale eyes staring sightlessly at the Blood Moon above.