THE AIR CARRIES A HEAVY sort of stillness, only broken by the faint sound of the wind whistling through the ruins. I stare at thetowering mountain range before me, its jagged peaks reaching toward the sky.
This is where Nana was killed.
My eyes sweep across the debris-strewn floor, a mosaic of dust and stones. The remnants of the once-grand throne room are now reduced to rubble, the walls demolished, and the rest of the fortress, though still standing, bears the scars of a brutal battle.
Whodidthis?
I flinch as I catch sight of at least two dozen lifeless bodies, all punctured by sharp shards of glass or stone. One victim hangs limp several feet from the ground, his body at an awkward angle, speared through by a wooden pole. It’s as if he was haphazardly thrown, and that’s where he was unlucky enough to land. The macabre scene is nothing if not a tableau of death and destruction.
Drawn by a flicker of movement amidst the devastation, I drift closer. Whoever it is, I thought him dead, but as I near him, it’s clear that although weary, he’s alive. I soar closer. The male covers his face with trembling hands, his body shaking. Then he tilts his face toward the sky and screams.
My heart stops. I would recognize his face anywhere. Aster. Then I notice the lifeless body he was slumping over. Nana.
I squeeze my eyes tight, wishing to silence his screams. The agony of his wails reminds me of another night. Another lifeless body, cradled in the minister’s arms. The piercing scream of a mother losing a child. I thought I’d never hear anything as heart-wrenching again in my life. I was wrong. That was nothing.
Another agonizing scream, raw and full of pain, rips through the night. Drawing down the very darkness of the surrounding night, Aster twists it into a swirling vortex of black tendrils. I see it for what it is: an embodiment of his grief—a physical manifestation of his despair, a black storm of pure anguish. It keeps growing as I stare at him, transfixed, both in horror and awe, as the tendrils writhe and twist, matching the tangled mess of his emotional despair.
His powers areimmense.
It’s as if he’s pulling down not only the night sky but whatever darkness lies beyond.
Does that strength come from consuming other souls, like mine? Stones and debris swirl around him in a maelstrom of death. Beads of sweat form on his forehead, a testament to the immense amount of power he’s wielding. Then an ear-deafening burst blasts through the ruins. Rocks and glass are slung in all directions, hitting the lifeless bodies strewn about him.
So, this is how they were killed. And you are next, I remind myself.You should hate him, not feel sympathy.Truth be told, I shouldn’t feel anything at all for such a monster. But I don’t have it in me. I may fear him, but I can’t bring myself to hate him. He’s grieving the death of his mate, killed by his brother’s hand.
Instead, having felt the intensity of their love for myself, my heart shatters at his pain. The way his body trembles uncontrollably as he covers Nana’s smaller one with his, holding her limp body tight. How his breath comes in ragged gasps, shallow and erratic, as if there’s not enough air for him to breathe now that she’s gone. His usually vibrant golden eyes are bloodshot and swollen from the endless streams of tears running from his eyes.
“You are a pathetic excuse for a god.” Casimir steps from the shadows.
Aster turns at the sound of the voice, his eyes hollow as he stares at his brother.
“Why?” Aster’s voice is so weak that it’s barely a rasp.
“What do you mean,why?” Casimir sneers.
Aster appears lost. “You loved her too. At least, you did at some point.”
“And now you know how it feels to have lost what you love. How is that for a why?”
Aster only stares at him. The pain of his loss is etched intoevery line and crease of his still-beautiful face, as if carved into his very soul. And maybe it is.
“If you felt even a fraction of my love for her...” He doesn’t have to say the rest of what he’s thinking.
This would never have happened. You don’t kill the one you love.
Aster takes a deep breath. “Can you not see how the Void is corrupting you, brother?” His voice is softer, as if he’s trying to calm a frantic animal.
“Wanting that power for yourself too,brother?” Casimir spits the word back at him. “Can’t stand to watch me being the more powerful for once?”
Confusion crosses Aster’s features. “We were always equal.”
“Equal? Is that what you call it? I couldn’t change a damn thing in this world without your fucking consent, could I?”
“There’s a good reason two gods are needed to change the fates,” Aster snaps. “What you can do through the Void...” He runs a hand through his messy midnight-blue waves, frustration written all over his face. “It is just not right. No one should hold power like that by themselves.” He doesn’t sound angry, only exasperated, as if talking to a child who refuses to listen.
“Jealous, are we?” Casimir smirks at Aster. “You are welcome to join forces with me.” He tilts his chin toward Nana’s dead body. “She refused, and look where that got her.” He plasters on a pretend sad smile, and I can see Aster’s internal fight to control himself.
Why? I expected him to rage against Casimir, but it seems as if he has no fight left. Only despair, if even that. Or has he worn himself out already? Maybe he knows challenging Casimir now will be futile.
