The God's killer

The Starborn Prison

Chapter 19: The Starborn Prison

The sky above Narthalas had not stopped burning since Vareth awakened.

Golden smoke curled upward like tendrils of memory, caught between the void of the gods and the realm of mortals. Kael, now fully reborn, stood cloaked in the white-gold of his former glory, his wings tucked tightly against his back. Beside him, Lira shimmered with an elegance that seemed almost too divine for the world she had once called home.

And behind them, Vareth the living flame, the Firstborn of Light, towered with a stoic rage barely held in check.

But their task had just begun.

Kael turned toward the horizon, where the sun no longer followed a natural path. The sky seemed wrong here, curved, broken, with constellations where they shouldn’t be. That was because they were standing at the very edge of space and time.

“We need to reach the Cradle of Ash,” Kael said grimly. “The gods built it from the bones of a dying star and buried her inside.”

“Her,” Lira echoed. “You mean?”

Kael nodded. “Nysera. My second flame. The Watcher of Gravity. The one they feared even more than me.”

Vareth’s arms crossed. “She was madness and law in equal measure. She balanced the pull of death with the birth of light. Without her, the stars have been chaotic.”

“They made her a prison,” Kael said, voice low with fury. “But not for her safety. For theirs.”

He raised his hand.

The air around them warped.

Reality shivered.

And then, like peeling back a veil, Kael revealed the gateway, an ancient circle of metal and burning runes, suspended in nothing, floating above a sea of collapsed light.

The gate to the Cradle of Ash.

Moments Later: Transit Between Realms

The passage through the gate was not travel it was disintegration.

Kael, Lira, and Vareth dissolved into motes of flame and memory, each pulled through the threads of gravity itself. The realm they entered had no sky. It had no floor. It was the inside of a star, a prison shaped like an endless eclipse, forged of superheated blackstone and divine chains that pulsed with anti-light.

And in the center of it all bound by spiraling rings of pure force, was a figure curled in a fetal shape, her body glowing with inner chaos.

Nysera.

Lira gasped. “She’s still alive… but they caged even her soul.”

Kael floated toward her, wings flaring for balance in the absence of time. “No cage lasts forever. Not now.”

But before they could reach her, the wardens appeared.

Massive constructs of god-forged metal emerged from the folds of the Cradle dozens of them. Their eyes were pits of dark flame, and in unison they spoke:

“Access forbidden. Identity: Kael. Class: World-Ender. Containment protocol: ΩDestruction.”

Kael narrowed his eyes. “They remember me.”

Vareth’s laughter boomed like a furnace. “Then let’s remind them what we are.”

He charged forward, fists alight with solar fire, crashing into the first wave of constructs. They shattered beneath his strength like brittle glass. Lira followed, weaving trails of mirrored light, her wings cutting arcs through the battlefield.

Kael advanced slowly, more focused. With each step, the Cradle cracked. His presence bent the gravity well, twisting the very laws that held Nysera imprisoned.

He reached the inner ring.

The final seal.

It was not a lock.

It was a memory.

Kael extended his hand and in that instant, he recalled everything: the night he forged Nysera from the dying breath of the first nova how she danced with galaxies how she wept when they bound her in lies.

He whispered, “I’m sorry.”

And the seal opened.

Nysera unfolded like a dying star going nova—her body an elegant shape of molten curves and black light, her hair long tendrils of gravity that shifted space around her.

Her eyes opened slowly, twin galaxies spiraling within.

“Brother,” she whispered.

Kael knelt. “You’re free.”

She looked beyond him, eyes narrowing. “Then war is here.”

Elsewhere: High Sanctum, Fragmented Realm

Thandros stood before his war council, but it was no longer whole.

Half the gods had fled.

Others had disappeared names vanishing from memory, as if unmade.

“We must unleash the Eaters,” one of the remaining gods said, desperate.

“The Eaters?” Thandros frowned. “Those are a myth.”

“No,” Seriah said from the shadows. Her white robes were torn, her voice hollow. “They’re real. The Deep Ones. They’ve been feeding off of Kael’s return.”

Thandros turned. “Then we fight them.”

“We can’t,” she whispered.

And then her body folded, consumed by shadows.

A black hand, shaped like fear, pulled her into the void.

Screams echoed through the Sanctum.

The gods were no longer in control.

Back at the Starborn Cradle

Kael stood with Vareth, Lira, and Nysera at the edge of the collapsed star.

The Cradle burned around them, no longer stable. The gods' prison was dying.

Nysera opened a rift with a flick of her hand, bending space itself.

“We must go,” she said. “More of us are out there. Hidden. Imprisoned. Bound by false thrones.”

Kael turned, black eyes burning.

“Then we free them all.”