The Bloodletter of Korvath stopped beside one of the Lunarethian elders, his hand harshly gripping the man’s shoulder. The elder flinched. At the touch, Val-Oros’s eyes turned white, burning with that cursed flicker of foresight.
He huffed out a scoff, turning his gaze toward Val-Theris. “I wouldn’t waste the grain, this one will die soon enough.”
Gasps rippled through the hall as the elder stumbled back, horror-struck. Val-Theris stepped toward his brother, puttingspace between him and the elders. His wings unfolded like blades of light in defense. “Enough.”
They stood eye to eye, golden light against raging fire.
“You sit here among mortals and call it grace, but your compassion will break you sooner or later.”
“Brother,” Val-Theris said strongly, “you shame yourself in these halls. You drove these people here with your reckless fire, then possess the audacity to insult them for seeking refuge with me.”
For a heartbeat, the entire chamber stood silent.
Val-Oros finally laughed. “You will learn, in time,” he said to his brother before turning, his burning wings flaring once before he vanished through the arched doors.
When he was gone, Val-Theris lowered himself back onto his seat on the steps, the elders still trembling before him.
“Go,” he said softly. “You are safe here.”
They obeyed wordlessly, bowing deep at the waist as they left. The throne room emptied, leaving only Val-Theris with Rohannes at his side.
“I await the day you give the order to cut out that warmonger’s tongue.”
Val-Theris huffed out a humorless laugh as his gaze lingered on the doors. “He cannot help what he is,” he murmured. “Our father made us twin vessels of the same curse. I chose light, he chose darkness. That is the only difference, Rohannes.”
Val-Theris stoodin the Hall of Radiance, where murals of all history stretched from marble floor to gilded ceiling. At the verycenter, carved into the wall itself, was the First Light, Val-Or, the mythical God who tore himself apart to bring two sons into the world.
The Angel-King raised his hand to the mural, his fingers tracing the faint cracks that had begun to web across the god’s face. But Val-Theris had never seen him as a god. He called him something simpler:father.
In the beginning, there had only been one kingdom that worshipped Val-Or and served his divine throne. When the god’s light and influence began to dull with time, he divided himself to give the people something real to follow. Half of him went to mercy and half of him went to might, shaping His perfect sons from each.
What the stories have forgotten through time, though, is that Val-Oros was the favored son. Their father was so careful in forming the herald of flame, and Val-Theris was meant to rule at his side, tempering the fire. Both brothers were given the gift of prophecy. Val-Theris could see the future in faceless fragments, and Val-Oros saw destiny only when it led to destruction.
They came to the world as young men, young gods, radiant and fierce. But jealousy grew quickly; Val-Oros was meant to be the new ruler of this world, but his mighty flame scorched the earth where his brother’s light sowed reverence among the people. Many of them quickly learned to follow Val-Theris’s radiance, and Val-Oros grew angry and scorned with time.
Eventually, the brothers grew apart, plagued by infighting between them. They parted ways, and Val-Theris raised the Kingdom of Seraveth, a luscious city of gold, law, and mercy. Val-Oros carved Korvath into the earth, the realm of flame and fear where obedience was sanctified by bloodshed. He dropped his father’s name, and became known as Oros the Bloodletter, Oros the Warmonger.
In between their two kingdoms came Lunareth, city of the night, built slowly by those who did not believe in wars or kings or gods.
The two brothers had not spoken face to face in years before today, and still, Val-Theris could feel the shadow of Korvath lingering long after its king left.
Val-Theris sank to one knee before the mural. “Why, father?” he whispered, his voice trembling with exhaustion more than sadness. “You made me a god, but gave me the heart of a man. You gave me sight enough to see suffering, but never enough strength to change it. You do not answer my prayers. Do you even watch over me?”
The mural said nothing back.
It never did.
FOUR
The rain had been fallingsince dawn, cold and harsh. The streets were nearly empty, at least in the upper districts where Solmiris’s people had homes to hide in while the rain soaked the makeshift tents of the Lunarethian refugees.
Jesenia moved quickly and quietly, her foreign-dark hair hidden beneath her shawl as if her clothes did not immediately scream that she did not belong. The weight of that truth pressed heavy on her shoulders with every step through the clean stone streets and every step past the intricate glasswork windows.
She knew she shouldn’t wander far from the quarter where her people now lived, but she had given her thin rations to a sick child, and the consequence of a painful belly forced her to look for scraps dumped in the back alleys before the rats got to them.
There were rumors that their rations would be cut off entirely. It had been only days, and the people of Solmiris already wanted the Lunarethians off their streets. So Jesenia walked, hoping to find something of sustenance for herself and her people.
The only thing she found was a man drinking outside a tavern, promising her a bed tonight if only she’d share itwithhim. When she turned away from him, he threw the remainderof his pint against her backside, drenching her already soaked-through dress with his yeasty drink.
