If even a single God fell, so would we? The entire world?
I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaustion gnawing the corners of my mind. “So, some thought one fell...” I exhaled, air spilling between my teeth. “But wouldn’t that mean we’ve already begun to perish? Unless they fell...but didn’t die?”
The question had always burned quiet in me. Why they left us. Why they vanished after the war. Deimos was chained, imprisoned in the pit he forged for himself. And he wasn’t a true God, but damn near close enough to end us. Close enough to earn the title.
And still, he had never risen because he couldn’t. Not unless the others had fallen too.
“Can a God even be killed?”
Elva shut the tome with care, the sound a hush instead of a thud. “Anything can die.” She rose, smoothing the pale-yellow folds of her gown into obedience. “Even a God.”
Even a curse?
I dragged the book from her hands, my thumb following the carved grooves scorched into its cover. Black etchings spearing outward, flames leaping from the corners, reaching for the single broken line that was seared into its heart where a half circle waited.
Not embellishment. A seal.
“And what does that have to do with my curse?” I frowned. This wasn’t one we’d pulled from the shelves, wasn’t one I remembered choosing at all. My eyes drifted over the library where the high window poured light down through the dust and hush. And for an instant, long enough to notice, the light caught on something—a glimmer, gone as soon as I blinked.
She twirled a strand of golden hair tight around her finger, knuckle blanching. “ThatI don’t know.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “But maybe the darkness connects to the last one who bore the mark.” She hovered her hand over the triangle, careful not to touch.
The faint light in her expression faltered, dimming with the thought: two friends, mourning the fates we’d never asked to carry.
“If a God had truly fallen,” I asked, “wouldn’t Selvarra already be dust in the wind?”
The question lingered—Reve’s delayed ship. The tremor in the air that night at the tavern.
Maybe when a God falls, the world doesn’t break in an instant. Maybe the ruin begins somewhere unseen, and the ripple is already on its way.
A pale orb was conjured from her palm as she lifted it, fragile as breath. The stained glass shattered its glow into wisps of color that cut across her skin, stars flickering, here for a heartbeat, gone the next.
“There’s no record of how long it takes,” she whispered. The light wavered, then shrank back into her hand. Her hiss broke the silence, followed by the catch of a sniffle.
I pushed to my feet. Darkness stirred, restless, flexing inside my bones, then curled deep again. It never bared its fangs at Elva. “But can it be stopped?”
Her shoulders sagged, a weight she couldn’t hide. “I don’t know, V.” She tipped her chin to the guards. They closed in, cloaks brushing as they folded around her and she drifted toward the doors, her voice trailing. “Selvarra still stands. Thousands of years later. So, I hope so.”
The kaleidoscope above dimmed to nothing as a cloud passed, hope dimming with it. And I stood alone, knowing the end wasn’t waiting.
It was already in me.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ronan
RONAN KEPT TO THE MURK, SPINE PRESSED FLAT against the corner stone, every breath quiet.
Shadows moved restlessly at his boots, mirroring the pulse in his throat.
The Viper shed her cloak and slipped through the door without a trace of awareness, as though her home wasn’t steeped in silent peril.
As though he wasn’t already there, watching.
She undressed as she crossed the room, shirt dropped, pants kicked aside.
There was no sign of dark veins, no claws. Not one sign that damnation lived beneath her skin.
Ronan lowered his eyes, forcing his stare down to whatever was left as she disappeared behind a door, a dull thud shaking the window.
