I expected wrath, fury, vengeance—I did not expect a philosophical disposition. But, I should’ve known. I should’ve expected that the Guardian of the Final Gate saw his duty as a sacred, holy thing. This was the reason he cursed Zerynthia in the first place—because humans disrupted order, and chaos ensued. The Endless War was not a sacred pathway to death—it was taking Morrathys’ duty away, and positioning humans as gods over who lived and died.
Morrathys speaks true. This is the belief of Old Zerynthia—death is sacred, and must be earned, and that is why the god’s burial was born; to honor those who honor the sanctity of death.
Seren nods slowly.
Morrathys rises out of the sarcophagus with the grace of a warrior and deity both.
Despite being lithe on his feet, Death looks weary, lacking vitality.
“The Rightful King of Zerynthia,” Morrathys says by way of greeting with a subtle nod of his head.
“Bless the Stars for your reign over death and order,” I say with a bow—honoring our gods in the traditional way of Zerynthia.
He bows in return, “You and I have much to discuss.”
“We do,” I confirm. “Seren, leave us, please,” I command, trying to keep my tone soft, but brooking no room for argument. She turns swiftly on her feet and disappears through the tomb’s entrance.
“So,” Death begins, “you’ve come for me. I assume you want something.” His tone is firm, unwavering, though not unkind.
I’ve been waiting for this moment, and without apprehension, I charge into my offer. “I want your help breaking the spell on Maldrak’s Marked army,” I say, pausing for a moment to clarify my thoughts. “And I want your help in freeing my Starbound.”
He glides across the tomb, hands on hips in thought, before spinning around. “The spell is complex—forbidden magic, Maldrak’s runes, sacrifice of kin. And he didn’t do it alone; spells like that require rare skill of the old blood. To break it, we’d have to reverse the spell. It’s complicated.”
Fuck. That means Maldrak must live to perform the rune until we can reverse the entire spell. The thought of letting that blight on humanity escape every violent and brutal plan I’ve been dreaming of for the last decade has me grinding my teeth.
“Do you know how to reverse it?” I grit out.
“No,” Morrathys states simply. “Not entirely. We need the old blood who performed it, the spell itself, the chant. Until then, he’ll continue leeching my power until I’m nothing but a husk.”
I knew Death was weary, but it’ll only get worse unless we do something—fast.
So I do the only thing I can think to do: I cut a deal he can’t refuse.
“If you agree to help free my Starbound from Kryntar Castle and see through this plan to break the spell on the Marked, I’ll make sure you’re not reduced to a husk,” I say with conviction, weighing and gauging his reaction.
He scoffs, but I can see his curiosity is piqued. “And how do you propose to do that?”
I swallow thickly, knowing that once I’ve said it, I can’t take it back. But forher, I’ll do anything—give up anything, endure anything,beanything. Because without her, I am nothing, anyway.
“I’ll give you my magic,” I say with finality.
“You’d give up your magic for a woman?” Death stares at me, challenging.
“No—not forawoman. I’d do it forthiswoman,” I correct. “I told her I’d tear down the Stars with my bare fucking hands before destroying her, and I broke my word. I won’t do that again.”
Death stands still, penetrating eyes locked on mine. “I have one condition,” he finally says. He breathes slowly, never taking his eyes off me, as if weighing his words very carefully. He closessome of the distance between us, his towering frame casting a shadow over me that would intimidate lesser men. But not me.I was born in the shadows—it’s the one place I’ll always win.
“Out with it, then,” I snap.
“I may be the God of Death and Order, but vengeance is not beneath me, Kael—I don’t just want Maldrak dead. I want him bound to an echo-plane for eternity.He’s mine,” he snarls.
My molars grind together, hands curling into fists at his entitlement.
“Elyssara deserves to erase him,” I bite back.
“What she deserves is not my concern,” he spits. “He doesn’t deserve death—it would be too kind, too final. It would be an easy escape from his sins. He deserves endless misery, and I’m the only one who can dole out such a fate,” Death’s words are brutal, but his breathing is labored, ragged.
I press towards Death, and stare him in the eyes like his divinity means nothing to me.Because right now, it doesn’t.
