Chapter 55

The world didn’t vanish as it did when I stepped. Instead it oozed, colors smearing like wet paint as space warped and dragged around us. Motion lingered where it shouldn’t, viscous and resisting, until it stopped all at once and I pitched forward.

We stood on a vast gray platform of stone, flat and unbroken, stretching a hundred feet in every direction. Beyond its edge, ribbons of light drifted lazily through open air - like an aurora almost close enough to touch, their colors bleeding softly into one another. Above us, massive fragments of rock floated like forgotten islands. The sky beyond was a deep, empty blue - no stars, no sun, no moon - yet everything was lit by an omnipresent glow, much like my demesne.

Twelve great thrones formed a wide semicircle.

Only five were occupied.

At the center sat a man carved from white marble veined with silver. He was tall and broad-shouldered, every line of him so sharply defined it looked chiseled, as though shaped by a sculptor who had never once questioned his own hand.

His hair, dark as polished obsidian, was streaked with silver at the temples, a deliberate contrast rather than a concession to age. His eyes were molten gold - no pupil, no sclera, no visible depth. Just an unbroken field of metallic brilliance that reflected nothing and yielded less.

He wore a white tunic embroidered with impossibly fine detail - patterns so intricate they seemed alive beneath the light. Over the tunic, his long red toga fell in heavy, deliberate folds across his frame.

His throne was wrought of solid gold, crusted with diamonds that caught and fractured the light into cold splinters. Its high back rose like a sunburst behind him, its arms thick and imposing - every inch carved with obsessive precision. It was not a seat so much as a monument - an altar to authority upon which he sat as its living embodiment.

To his left lounged a woman fashioned of pale light - lithe and luminous - her edges soft, as though she might unravel into mist if her attention ever slipped.

Her long hair spilled forward in a dark cascade that faded gradually from midnight black to stark white, the shifting gradient veiling her breasts in a curtain of living shadow and frost. Where eyes should have been, twin flames of golden lantern-light burned steadily - warm, watchful, and unreadable.

Layered veils of translucent smoke-gray fabric clung to her form, wrapping her in drifting folds that hinted at movement even when she was still. The gauzy layers evoked a belly dancer’s bedlah - suggestive without being immodest.

Her throne curved behind her in a crescent of polished silver, its surface gleaming like still water under starlight. Deep purple cushions softened its arc, rich and regal, so that she seemed to sit not upon furniture but upon the moon itself - composed, luminous, and eternally half in shadow.

Beyond her hunched a beast of slag and iron - massive and misshapen - as if forged in rage and never properly cooled. Its limbs were wrong for standing upright - arms too long, shoulders too broad, spine bowed in a way that suggested it preferred the certainty of all fours.

Its face was a brutal amalgamation of predator and war machine. A crushed, flattened muzzle jutted forward beneath tusks of white bone that curved upward like hooked blades. Its eyes smoldered like banked coals in a forge - dim, but never cold.

Scars layered its body in a lattice of **** - gouges, fractures, plates reforged and riveted back into place.

Even seated, it towered above the rest. It rested upon a throne fashioned from shattered armor and broken weapons - breastplates twisted into a backrest, swords fused into armrests, spearheads jutting like thorns. It did not sit as a king might. It loomed ominously.

To the right of center sat a woman of perfect balance and proportion. Her skin was translucent as polished glass, luminous from within. Beneath its surface, golden threads moved in restless currents - words and glyphs writing themselves in elegant, flowing script before dissolving into nothing, only to begin again elsewhere.

Her hair fell loose down her back, the pale hue of aged parchment - soft ivory with hints of warm cream where the light touched it. Her eyes were pools of swirling opalescence, no iris, no pupil - just shifting layers of pearlescent light without boundary or edge, impossible to focus on for long.

She wore a simple linen gown, pinned at the shoulders and belted with a slender chain of gold that caught the light each time she moved. There was no excess ornamentation, no need for it. Power clung to her like heat above a flame.

Her throne was carved from pale wood, shaped into a flock of birds caught mid-flight - wings outstretched, feathers etched in fine detail, beaks parted as if frozen in song. They curved around her in a rising arc, lifting her as though she were about to take wing with them.

Last sat a woman of imposing, amazonian stature - broad of shoulder, powerfully muscled, heavy-breasted and wide-hipped - built not merely for battle but for dominance. Her skin was the rich, deep brown of chocolate, catching and holding the eye.

Where hair should have been, white flame rose in a steady crown, climbing high and wavering without smoke. Her eyes were pure radiance - brilliant and unforgiving. To meet them for more than a heartbeat felt perilous, as though one would go blind from looking at the sun.

Gold armor encased her right arm from shoulder to wrist, articulated and gleaming, each plate fitted with precision. Across her chest lay a rigid corset of hammered metal, sculpted and severe, contrasting with the fluid strength of her form. A loose skirt of overlapping metal plates guarded her hips and thighs. Tall boots completed the ensemble. Every surface shone - polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the world in fractured brilliance.

Her throne was carved of flawless glass. It refracted the light around her into prismatic waves, scattering color across the chamber so that she seemed perpetually haloed in shifting rainbows - an embodiment of power made radiant.

Miralis stepped away from me and took her seat between the pale woman and the beast, her movements measured, deliberate, every motion economical and certain. Bronze skin gleamed beneath the chamber’s shifting light, burnished and metallic, the faint seams along her limbs glowing brighter where inner flame pressed close to the surface. Fire licked across her in restless tongues, brightening along the joints as though venting from a furnace hidden beneath hammered metal flesh.

Her armor was of the same living bronze - breastplate sculpted close, a plated skirt falling in rigid segments, greaves and small pauldrons etched with hounds and swans in intricate relief. The carvings caught the light and seemed to almost move when the flames flared. Her angular face was severe - diamond-shaped, high-cheekboned, sharp-nosed, lips thin and set in permanent judgment. Hair of darker bronze, fine as wire, was drawn back into a tight ponytail that kept her features unobstructed. She did not smile.

Her throne waited for her - a massive seat of fire-blackened wood, thick and unyielding, its grain charred to obsidian sheen. The arms were carved into sleeping hounds, their forms curled in repose, muzzles resting upon heavy paws. Faint embers glowed within the cracks of the timber, as if the wood remembered flame and had never fully cooled.

She sat with her spear laid across her knees - straight-backed and unbowed - bronze and fire against blackened oak.

The weight of their presence settled onto me - pressure, power, command - urging me to kneel.

I didn’t.

Their gazes fixed on me, curiosity and irritation mixing freely.

“You stand before the High Witan,” the marble man said. His voice was loud and filled the space. “I am Aurelion, the Oathbound King.”

Not king. The king.

“You may call me Lunythera,” said the luminous woman, her voice husky, amused.

“Elyndra,” said the woman of glass and opal. “The Open Book.”

“I am Miralis, She Who Protects,” the bronze woman said.

“Solenna,” said the burning amazon, “the Burning Crown.”

The beast opened its maw. Its voice came like grinding stone. “Urzan-Brak. Beast of Battle.”

I stepped forward. “Seth Grimm,” I said, bowing briefly. “No fancy title.”

Aurelion’s mouth tightened. Lunythera covered a smile with her dainty hand.

“We forged you into divinity,” he said coolly, “to act as our instrument against the god slayer. The grace period we allowed for your acclimation is over. From this moment forward, you will serve the High Witan.”

Anger, disbelief, and shock collided in my chest. “I’m gonna stop you right there,” I said. “Are you saying you kidnapped me?”

“Indeed,” he replied, irritated by the interruption. “You were invested with power to-”

“Why me?” I snapped. My mouth was moving faster than my brain.

“You possessed a spark,” Aurelion said, as if explaining gravity to a child. “A suitable foundation. The others did not.”

“The others?” I barked. “How many people did you kidnap?”

His eyes flared. “Mind your tone,” said, his voice hard. “You stand before the High Witan. You will show respect.”

The platform trembled.

“I’ll show respect when you earn it,” I shot back. “You kidnap me, drop me in front of some ravenous half-god, and then you give me a ‘grace period’? How about a fucking explanation? How about a little pamphlet called ‘intro to godhood’? How about a ‘please’? It’s been three months and not a word from any of you. Were you all in on this? Or was it just the Dickhead King here?” I glared at the others.

Aurelion rose. Lightning crawled along a golden blade that manifested in his hand.

“Enough,” Elyndra said sharply. “Be seated, my king.”

“You exist because we allowed it,” he said, his voice low and deadly. “Do not test us again.”

His blade shattered into drifting light. Aurelion sat - but his glare remained.

“I apologize,” Elyndra said as she turned to me. “You are right. We failed you. We should have offered you truth and guidance. There were events that prevented that, but the blame still rests with us. As a sign of trust, we will answer your questions before we address the details of our request.”

“How many others?” I asked.

“Twenty-seven. Not all were from your world. You were the only one to ascend.”

“What happened to them?”

“Their bodies could not endure Faith.”

I swallowed, unsure what to do with that knowledge. “What makes you think I can defeat Brand? Each of you is far more powerful than me.”

“Brand was built as a god slayer. We are gods. You are… different,” she said.

“What do you mean Brand was built as a god slayer?” I shot back. “What is Brand?”

“He is a mistake,” said Solenna.

“An abomination,” added Urzan-Brak.

“He is a mortal from your world with the ability to control Faith,” answered Lunythera.

“My world,” I echoed. “So you brought him here,” I said. “You made him, just like you made me.”

“He was a weapon to prevent a war among the gods,” Aurelion declared.

“And you lost control,” I said quietly. “You built a weapon to end all war and lost control of it. So you built a better weapon.”

“Yes,” Elyndra said solemnly.

“Are you fucking insane?” I shouted. “That has never, ever worked in the entire history of mankind! Did you not look at the worlds you stole people from? Have you never read a history book? They built the fucking atom bomb to stop war and you know what? Now we have nukes! You know what else we fucking have? WAR!”

I paced, knuckles white on Adhaneth. “What makes you think you can control me? Huh? What makes you think that after I kill Brand I won’t turn on you? Did you even consider that?”

“We have contingencies,” Solenna said.

“Contingencies, huh? Do I have a kill switch in my head? Or are you just going to build an even better weapon?” I snapped.

Silence.

“I’m done,” I said.

She remained silent as she glared at me.

“I need time to think. I can’t process this right now. I’m leaving.” I stepped.

Reality tore.

Light slammed into me like gale **** winds. Cold ripped through my bones. I fell, twisting and spinning uncontrolled. My fingers began to dissolve.

I closed my eyes, found my girls, and pulled myself as hard as I could.

I hit the ground hard. The world spun.

Mirri was there, arms around me, holding me together until everything stopped shaking.