“And yet, he who destroys,” Rune murmured, his gaze falling on her with curiosity and wonder, “made you.”
Bitterness welled hot in Alora’s throat. “There is nothing magnificent in that. I still do not understand how a thing like him could have created me.”
Rune’s jaw flexed as he studied the wall. His gaze lingered on a dragon carved in eternal defiance, wings spread wide. “All gods have the power to create, Alora. What they shape bears no reflection on what kind of god they are.” His crimson eyes slidback to her, heavy and fierce all at once. “Even the purest of them can create something as maleficent as I.”
Before Alora could reply, her gaze caught on another carving, veiled by a nest of dry roots that clung to the farthest corner of the chamber.
As if hidden. Forgotten.
With a flick of her hand, shadows severed the desiccated vines.
Her breath stilled.
This one was not as monstrous—it was worse.
A beautiful being falling through the clouds, mouth open in a soundless scream. Two wings spread wide from his arched back, feathers fractured into jagged stone. Four other torn wings fell with him, consumed with fire. Fissures marked in his chest and face, like starlight trapped in a dying husk. His expression was agony and pride both, carved so exquisitely he was almost alive.
“And him?” she whispered.
Rune didn’t look.
His jaw tightened, shadows rippling restlessly at his feet. When he spoke, his voice was low, dragged from some deep grave.
“Rumiel. The Fallen Star.”
There was something in his tone that made her heart stutter. She turned to him, seeing the shadow of indignity etched across his face.
Alora’s eyes widened. “It’s you… Rumiel is your real name?”
“It was the name chosen by my father. It meansHis Mercy.” His crimson eyes burned with something colder than wrath, something more broken. “Yet he had none for me.”
Her heart squeezed when she realized the monument depicted the moment he was cast out of the Heavens. She cupped his cheek.
Sighing, Rune pressed her palm to his lips. “Do not pity me, Alora. I had to fall to find you. And I will not let anything take you again, not while I draw breath.”
“I know.”
He searched her eyes. “But I sense your worry.”
She worried about many things.
Worried now that he would once again retreat and hide beneath his armor.
Rune lifted her chin, thumb caressing her lip. “Whatever armor I had you have stripped it away. All that I am is yours.”
Alora shut her eyes, resting her head on his chest. “Your heart is heavy,” she murmured. “I can feel your distress. Let me in. Where did you go?”
His heavy sigh curled over her damp hair.
“I searched,” he said quietly. “For anything. Any relic. Any scrap of hope I might have missed. I searched the deepest pit of Karag Dûr for my chains, the only thing divine enough to hold him.”
Her chest tightened with a sharp intake of breath.
“But they are gone…perhaps now absorbed into the earth.”
Her shoulders sank a moment, then she gasped. “What of the shards? The ones Eldrik used to bind me and Zinnia.”
“Hellstone,” Rune said flatly. “The same ore used in Vorak’s prison. But it would take more than a few shards to hold him.”
