The God's killer

The Threads of Destiny

Chapter 24: The Threads of Destiny

The forest of Aelthryn was older than the gods themselves or so the druids believed. It hummed with a life untouched by time, where the roots glowed faintly with residual aether and the wind whispered forgotten names.

Kael moved silently through the mist-hung glade, Ashbringer wrapped in cloth across his back. Beside him, Lira’s steps were light, reverent. Her silver-white hair caught starlight even through the thick canopy, a beacon to the old spirits that lingered in the shadows. They weren’t alone nor had they been for days.

The ancient allies they sought were not armies, but remnants: protectors, guardians, and Sparkborn who had once followed the gods and then turned away in shame or silence. Now, those old pacts were stirring.

A glowing path formed beneath their feet as they entered the Sanctuary of Echoes. There, on a dais formed of broken crystal and living bark, stood the first of them: Kira, Flame-Warden of the South, her armor blackened by fire, her eyes burning with memory.

“You should have stayed dead, Kael,” she said, not unkindly. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

Lira moved forward. “We don’t ask for loyalty. Just the truth and a choice.”

Behind Kira, others emerged: a silent swordsman whose bloodline bore the mark of thunder, an old oracle with a blinded eye still glowing blue, and a pair of twin rangers who never spoke aloud. Each had turned their backs on the Council. Each now faced Kael and saw in him something terrible, and righteous.

“I do not seek their thrones,” Kael said. “Only justice. And the end of the rot that festers in the divine.”

“You’ll need more than a sword,” Kira said.

Kael nodded. “That’s why we came for you.”

Far Above: The Council Trembles

In the High Sanctum, the gods no longer debated. They raged. Accusations, threats, old grievances centuries of suppressed fear all poured out beneath the golden spires.

“He walks the world again!” bellowed Tharion, god of chains and order. “And his memories return!”

“It was your blade that failed to kill him!” snapped Elisaria, goddess of stars.

“We agreed to bury the prophecy!”

“And now it uncoils!”

Only Xeruun remained silent, eyes closed, smile faint. He didn’t speak until the storm of voices faded into silence.

“Then let the old pact be invoked,” Xeruun said softly. “We send one of the Veiled Blades.”

A hush fell. Even gods hesitated.

“Whom?” asked one voice.

“Send Veyr, the firstborn of shadow,” Xeruun said. “He knows her scent. Lira’s blood. He trained in the void. He remembers Kael.”

“And if Kael stands in his way?”

Xeruun’s smile widened. “Then we let grief weaken him. Kill the girl.”

Back on Aelthryn Soil

Night had fallen again, and the new alliance fragile as glass camped near the edge of the mirrored lake. Lira stood beside its waters, gazing down into her reflection. Her body, once wholly mortal, now shimmered faintly with divine essence. The transformation was nearly complete.

Kael approached, his expression unreadable. “You’re changing.”

“I am what I once was,” she said. “And what I chose to be.”

Kael stepped behind her, his hand brushing the silver strands of her hair. “Do you remember it yet? Your full past?”

Lira shook her head. “Not all. But I remember... us. I remember standing beside you when the stars burned. I remember choosing you when the others feared you.”

They kissed beneath the starlight slowly, as if trying to rewrite the past with this moment.

But beyond the lake, in the treetops, something stirred.

Veyr had arrived.

Clad in living shadow, face covered by an obsidian mask, he perched silently, watching. He didn’t act yet. He didn’t need to.

He only needed to study their rhythm.

Because the first cut, when it came, would not be aimed at the body but the soul.