Chapter 125

“What’s up, buttercup?” I asked as I stepped into the containment chamber.

Nyssira sat on the floor among the splintered remains of her bed. The wood had been sorted into careful piles by size, the sheets torn into long, even strips. No metal - there never was. I’d made sure of that from the start.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she set the piece of wood in her hands aside and rose slowly to her feet. Her gaze followed me as I crossed the room. The constellations that formed her face drifted in slow, deliberate patterns, and the script etched across her skin moved with the same measured precision - sharp, controlled, but not angry.

She watched. Waited.

I took my seat at the small desk, opened my journal, and began to write. She remained where she was, eyes fixed on me, as if expecting something.

I let the silence stretch - past awkward, past uncomfortable - until it reached distracting.

“Do I have something on my face?” I asked without looking up.

“No,” she said simply.

“Then what’s on your mind?” I set the quill aside and looked at her fully.

The stars of her face flared - just for a moment - before settling again. The script along her arms stuttered, one character cutting sharper than the rest before the flow resumed.

“How do you do it?”

I raised a brow. “Do what?”

“Control others.”

I chuckled softly. “I don’t control others.”

“But you do.” Her voice was calm. Curious. Almost reverent - and that, more than anything, set me on edge. “You made Aurelion give you a chance to plead your case in the middle of battle. You made Yveth leave her frozen halls after a millennium. You made Adhaneth sacrifice herself to seal the Interstitium. All you do is control people.”

For a moment, I just studied her. Was this another angle? Another attempt? Or was she actually asking?

“I didn’t make anyone do anything,” I said gently. “People make their own choices. Sometimes those choices align with what I want. Sometimes they don’t.”

I paused.

“I wanted Aurelion to give me a chance. I was lucky he did. Yveth chose to leave on her own. I didn’t suggest it. And Adhaneth…” My voice caught. “I didn’t want her to make that sacrifice. She did it anyway.”

Silence settled again. Long enough that I assumed we were done. I picked up the quill, dipped it into the inkwell-

“It’s semantics,” she said, just as the tip touched the page. “You controlled them, even if you gave them the illusion of choice. But let’s assume you’re right - despite all evidence. If you didn’t make them… why did they do it? Your failure with Adhaneth aside, why did Aurelion give you a chance? Why did Yveth pursue you? For that matter, why do the mortals around you pander to your whims?”

I set the quill down again and looked at her for a while, trying to get my thoughts in order.

This was a philosophy I only lightly studied. There was a whole psychology to the manipulation of people. Things I’d learned growing up. Things I’d picked up along the way.

Always say please and thank you. Acknowledge people’s achievements. Active listening. Show interest in others. Show empathy.

Some of it came from my parents. Some from watching others. Some from trial and error. They were more than management skills - they were the foundation of something deeper. A way to connect with people.

But when it came to forging real connections? That was something I’d only learned once I came to this world. Opening myself up, being ****, letting others accept me rather than pushing them away.

“I think… relationships are a two-way street,” I said slowly. “If you want to build one, you have to give as much as you get. Sometimes more.”

I met her gaze. The constellations had gone nearly still. Waiting.

“I gave Yveth companionship,” I continued. “Something she hadn’t had in a long time. I didn’t **** it - I offered it. Let her decide if she wanted it. It took time. Trust doesn’t come quickly. But…” I exhaled softly. “I think I was different enough to intrigue her. She once told me I reminded her of Arthyr. I’m not him, and I reminded her of that. But maybe I reminded her of what she had with him. The trust. The love.”

I wiped at my eyes. “I hope I gave her that.”

I leaned back slightly. “I try to give people what they need. Not always what they want. And if you give freely, people are more inclined to give freely in return.”

“So it’s transactional,” she said. “You trade favors.”

“No.” I shook my head. “The moment it becomes transactional, it falls apart. People see that. They don’t like it. You have to give without expecting anything back. Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when you’d rather not.”

I let that sit for a moment. “Relationships aren’t always balanced. Sometimes one person gives more. That doesn’t mean it’s broken - but if it stays that way, it won’t last. The ones that do last… they shift. One gives, then the other. Back and forth. It takes effort. Sometimes the effort is minimal. Sometimes it’s harder.”

I exhaled. “I guess what I’m saying is, in order to form relationships, you need to give without expectation. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. But you keep trying. Eventually, you find someone you trust. Someone who trusts you.”

She said nothing - just watched me in silence. After a long while, she turned away and sat with her back to me.

I didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe she was looking for a better way to manipulate me. Maybe she’d been testing something. Or maybe - just maybe - something I said had gotten through to her.

I didn’t know.

I returned to my notes, charting the interplay of Faith within her - watching, recording, trying to make sense of the storm she carried. Eventually, I closed the journal and stood. I crossed the room, but at the door, I paused. “I’m going on a trip. I’ll be gone about a week.”

No response.

I nodded once and turned to leave.

“Letheris,” she said.

I stopped. Turned back. “What?”

“Letheris,” she repeated, not looking at me. “That is the name you’re looking for.”

I waited, expecting more. Nothing came.

After a moment, I turned and left. I didn’t press. If it was a trick, I’d learn soon enough. If it wasn’t… Then it might have been the first real thing she’d given me. And I couldn't risk ruining that.

* * *

“Who is Letheris?” I asked.

I stood within the Concordance - the floating island adrift in the Interstitium where the High Witan held council. Flat gray stone stretched beneath my feet, set with twelve thrones. Only five were occupied. The rest sat empty - silent reminders of the seven gods Nyssira had consumed in her bid to rule the world.

“Where did you hear that name?” Aurelion demanded, rising from his throne.

“Be seated, my liege,” Solenna said, her voice cutting cleanly through the tension.

At the center stood Aurelion - the Oathbound King - god of sovereign authority. He looked less like a man and more like an ideal given flesh - marble-white skin veined with silver, every line of him carved to impossible precision. His dark hair was polished, streaked with deliberate silver at the temples, and his eyes were molten gold - no pupil, no sclera - just a seamless field of brilliance that reflected nothing and yielded less.

He wore a white tunic under red toga, each arranged with ritual precision. Behind him, his golden throne rose like a sunburst, diamonds set into it catching the light and breaking it into cold, cutting fragments.

To his right sat Solenna - the Burning Crown - goddess of judgment and justice. She did not need to rise to dominate the room. Her broad shoulders, powerful frame, and steady, unyielding posture made her presence undeniable. Her skin was a deep, rich brown that seemed to drink in the light, while white flame rose from her head in a steady, smokeless crown. Her eyes burned with radiant intensity - unforgiving and absolute.

Gold armor encased her right arm and bound her torso in sculpted severity, every surface polished to a mirror shine. Her throne of flawless glass refracted the light around her into shifting prismatic halos.

Beyond her, Kaelira - the Tempest Queen and goddess of storms - sat in restless tension. Her form was tall and lean, every line coiled like a storm about to break. Her skin churned in layered grays, alive with motion as lightning flashed beneath the surface in jagged pulses that swelled and faded without warning.

Her hair was a crown of living current, arcs of pale gold and white snapping outward to strike the spiraling coils of her throne before recoiling again. Her pale eyes - strangely human - held the weight of something vast waiting to be unleashed. Her deep blue dress ripples around her, panels whipping and twisting as though caught in a wind no one else could feel. Her throne of copper and iron hummed with contained energy - like a steampunk machine warming up.

Opposite them sat Miralis - the Guardian Spear - goddess of preventing the worst outcome. She was stillness to balance Kaelira's motion - her presence defined by restraint rather than release. Bronze skin gleamed with a burnished sheen, the seams along her limbs glowing faintly where inner fire pressed close. Flame flickered at her joints in controlled bursts, like a forge venting heat.

Her face was sharp and severe, her expression fixed in permanent judgment. Dark bronze hair was drawn back with utilitarian precision. Armor of living bronze adorned her - sat close - etched with hounds and swans that seemed to stir when the light caught them. Her throne of fire-blackened wood took the shape of sleeping hounds - faint embers glowing in the cracks, as if the wood remembered flame and had never cooled.

Last was Elthira - the Verdant Breath - goddess of wild growth. Where the others imposed themselves, she simply filled the space. Her full, soft form carried a quiet, unshaken vitality, her green skin layered in subtle tones like a forest canopy shifting in light. Flowers cascaded down her back in place of hair, bound in living vines that moved with slow, patient purpose.

Her yellow eyes, shaped like daisies, were gentle at a glance - but there was something deeper there, something that spoke of roots breaking stone and forests reclaiming what was theirs. Her gown was grown, not made - living leaves layered across her body, shifting with each breath as tendrils stitched them together. Her throne rose behind her in a lattice of living wood, branches twisting and shaping themselves to her form, bark and polished grain blending where it had shaped itself to her over time. Butterflies drifted around her in slow, wandering patterns, settling briefly before lifting again.

Gone were the others. Lunythera - the Waning Watcher - goddess of the moon. Elyndra - the Radiant Voice - goddess of truth revealed. Urzan-Brak - the Beast of Battle - god of carnage. Ashira - The Hearth that Devours - goddess of destructive flame. Dromaia - the Stone Womb - goddess of the bounties of the earth. Kareth - the Patient Hand - god of iterative creation. Thalos - the Far Horizon - god of journeys and exploration. Gods that should have filled the chamber now heavy in their absence.

“The Oathbound King’s question stands,” Solenna said. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Nyssira spoke it,” I replied. “She said it was the name I was looking for.”

The remaining gods exchanged glances - brief, weighted, meaningful in a way that excluded me entirely.

“Where is Nyssira?” Kaelira asked, lightning flaring beneath her skin.

“Contained,” I said. “And she’ll stay that way until I figure out how to undo the damage she’s done.”

“That is not an answer,” Aurelion thundered. “You will not keep secrets from this council.”

“It’ll have to be enough,” I said evenly. “I don’t trust you to make the right decisions. Not after you were taken in by her lies. Not after you kidnapped me, lied to me, attacked me, and tried to use me to do your dirty work.”

“You will-”

“She remains confined and her location hidden,” I interrupted. “That is non-negotiable.”

We held each other’s gaze - his blazing with authority, mine steady in refusal.

“My question still stands,” I said, turning to Solenna. “Who is Letheris?”

“We will not-” Aurelion began, his voice rising again.

“He was the god of oblivion,” Solenna said, cutting him off.

Silence fell. Aurelion stared at her, disbelief cracking his perfect composure. Lightning flickered faintly across his skin as anger gathered, restrained only by **** of will.

“Letheris is dead,” she told the king, her tone measured. “There is no danger in that knowledge.”

His jaw tightened, rage warring with reason.

“Was he one of you?” I asked.

“No,” Solenna said. “His aspect was deemed too dangerous to the world. He voluntarily submitted to imprisonment.”

“Voluntarily,” I echoed, not bothering to hide my skepticism.

“Take that as you will,” she replied. “You have your answer.”

“What made him so dangerous?”

“Oblivion,” she said. “He was the end. The end of memory. The end of life. The end of permanence.”

“How did he die?”

Again, they shared that look - the kind that carries an answer you already know you won’t like.

Solenna met my eyes. “Ask Nyssira.”