Which had to attest how powerful Elyon was to overthrowsixPrimordials on his own.
“The final battle nearly unmade him,” Rune murmured, sensing her thoughts. “Only one of the Primordials truly rivaledhim in power, but even Elyon could not destroy them. Gods cannot unmake gods. Balance forbids it. Thus, he imprisoned them … deep within the bowels of the Netherworld, known to us as the Abyss. Bound in slumber. Left to starve in the dark.”
Alora tried to breathe. “But if they were imprisoned…”
“The Realms and their Gates needed sovereigns to govern them,” Rune said. “So Elyon forged new gods from the stars. Not as powerful as Primordials, but divine beings who understood balance, humanity, and what it meant tofeelas they do. They are the Seven that your kind pray to. Jökull, the God of Death. Eitan, the God of Mortals. Gavriel, Goddess of the Heavens. Zohar, the God of Spatial Dimension. And Hiram, the God of Time.”
Names her people had never known, unfolding like constellations in the air.
But one star was missing.
“And you…” Alora murmured. “The God of Shadows.”
She glanced back.
For a moment, she glimpsed the eons in Rune eyes. They were heavy and despondent, weighed down by all he had seen.
His gaze drifted to the mark on his wrist. A spiral that looped into an incomplete circle, both ends curling inward.
“What is that?”
“A god’s mark,” he said quietly, “but in truth, it’s a shackle. A divine promise not to unmake the world.” He let his hand drop, his sleeve hiding the mark out of sight. “When Elyon created new gods to replace the old, they were marked with this seal that bound their power. So nothing could threaten the balance of the Realms again.”
He looked to the east, his voice lowering. “But places like Khar Avalen are still tied to the ones they once served.”
A tremor slid through her as she finally understood that Salvia had not made a bargain with a new god, but with the old.
“I was born on the day of the Blood Moon,” Alora murmured, rubbing her thumb over the scar on her fingertip. “At first, I thought it was good fortune, but now I realize ithadto be that day. It’s not merely a lunar eclipse when magic is restored, is it?”
“The Blood Moon was born when the Primordials were imprisoned,” Rune said. “Too much of the Abyss’s erosion had been used to hold them, and it left the Realms somewhat unstable. So, once every five years, the Blood Moon rises as a release. The sky bleeds so the world does not.” He looked back at her, eyes dark with old truth. “It is also the one day the veils thin enough for the Abyss to reach through. There is no telling which Primordial contacted your mother. My hope, is that she bargained with the weakest of them.”
“Why…?” Alora whispered.
Rune smirked harshly. “Because if she did… then perhaps I have a chance of defeating him.”
Just achance.
Her throat tightened. Rune, the god who had once brought kingdoms to their knees, feltuncertain?The tension in his jaw, the grip at her waist… it was fear.
And not merely for her.
Because she had heard the whispers and seen the massive throne of stone.
Rune was not the first King of the Netherworld.
His shield on the bond wavered a fraction, enough to feel how much he would rather go anywhere but east.
“Why did you insist on coming with me?” she asked quietly.
“Because it means we will also learn about you.” Rune observed her with a half-smile as he reached for a lock of her hair. They passed through a stream of sunlight coming through the canopy, turning it to gold in his fingers. “Though I must confess, I am vastly intrigued by you. I must knowwhatyou are.” His gaze fixed on hers. “And what magic made you.”
Alora’s heart shook, his words sinking in her bones.
What magic made her…
That’s what she had been trying not to think about, but it was no use hiding. She wasn’t human, clearly with the way the tendrils of black smoke continued to flicker around her. She had taken Rune’s power, yet the sun had no effect on her and the question begged why?
That morning, she had caught her reflection in the surface of the pond, and it didn’t look quite like her anymore. Her eyes were now red instead of the hazel she remembered. Her hair, always golden brown, now veiled in streaks of shadow as if the night itself had woven through each strand. Her skin took on a delicate, translucent sheen, like carved marble. And she had not forgotten the claws that emerged when she was angry.
