The Immortal's Guide to Accidental Courtship

Chapter 8: The Uninvited Guest

The final chamber of the Pillar of Trials was a cathedral of hollowed light. Great ribs of white marble curved toward a ceiling that didn’t exist, replaced instead by a swirling vortex of nebulae and dying stars. At the center of the room sat a pedestal holding a pulsing, crystalline sphere that radiated a warmth like a summer afternoon.

Aetherion leaned over the pedestal, his nose nearly touching the artifact.

“Is that it? I thought it would be bigger,” Aetherion said, his voice echoing in the vast space. “It looks like a oversized marble. Can you eat it? It looks like it might taste like lemon.”

“Don’t touch it!” Zinnia barked, her hand catching his wrist just inches from the glow. “That’s the Star-Core. It’s a concentrated fragment of the Empire’s ley lines. You don’t eat it, Aetherion. You meditate on it to ascend to the next realm of cultivation.”

“Too crunchy, then? Got it,” Aetherion sighed, pulling his hand back. “Well, we’re here. We didn’t kiss, we didn’t die, and I’m pretty sure I heard my stomach growl three chambers ago. Can we take the ball and go home now?”

“It’s not a ball, and we have to wait for the Pillar to recognize the completion,” Zinnia said, though her eyes were darting around the room. She was still flushed, her breathing not quite back to its rhythmic, Saint-like calm. “Something feels wrong. The spiritual pressure in here… it’s curdling.”

“Curdling? Is that a technical term? Because I usually only apply that to milk,” Aetherion noted, his eyes narrowing as he looked toward the shadows beneath the marble arches.

“Quiet,” Zinnia whispered, her hand sliding to the hilt of her sword. “Do you hear that?”

“I hear a lot of things. Mostly my own internal monologue wondering if the palace serves midnight snacks,” Aetherion said, but his playful tone had a sharp, hidden edge.

A low, rhythmic chanting began to bleed through the walls. It wasn't the harmonious hum of the Pillar; it was a jagged, discordant scratching that felt like glass against bone. Suddenly, the starlight floor beneath them turned a bruised, sickly purple.

“Oh, great. Purple,” Aetherion muttered. “That’s never a good sign in these places. Usually means someone’s about to start a monologue.”

“The barrier’s been breached!” Zinnia cried, drawing her blade in a flash of silver light. “How? This is the heart of the Jade Palace!”

A rift tore open in the air, a jagged wound of pure shadow. From the darkness stepped a man clad in robes that seemed to swallow the light around him. His skin was the color of ash, and his eyes were twin pits of smoldering embers. Behind him, a dozen figures in hooded cloaks filed out, their movements jerky and unnatural.

“Finally,” the lead man said, his voice a dry rasp. “The seal is thin. The Pillar is distracted by these… children.”

“Who are you?” Zinnia demanded, stepping in front of Aetherion. “State your name before I strike you down, heretic!”

“I am Lucivar,” the man replied, a thin, cruel smile stretching across his face. “And you, Sword-Saint, are merely a pebble in the path of the Great Awakening. We have waited three thousand years for the Star-Core to be vulnerable. We have waited for the return of the Devourer.”

“The Devourer?” Aetherion popped his head over Zinnia’s shoulder. “Sounds like a guy who’d be great at a buffet. Is he a friend of yours, Lucy? Can I call you Lucy? You look like a Lucy.”

Lucivar’s eyes flickered toward Aetherion, dripping with disdain. “A commoner? The Everdawn House has truly fallen if they allow a flea to witness the end of days.”

“Hey, I’m a very high-quality flea,” Aetherion retorted. “And let’s be real, ‘The Great Awakening’ is such a tired brand. Have you considered ‘The Mild Stirring’? Or maybe ‘The Afternoon Nap’?”

“Ignore him!” Zinnia shouted, her aura erupting in a blast of frost that chilled the entire chamber. “Lucivar Timeless… the leader of the Obsidian Cult. You were supposed to be executed centuries ago!”

“Death is a suggestion for those who serve the Void,” Lucivar said, raising a hand. The cultists behind him began to channel dark energy, their bodies twitching. “Kill the girl. Leave the beggar for the Devourer’s first snack. He looks like he’s lived a life of grease and laziness—he’ll be easy to digest.”

“Rude,” Aetherion whispered.

The cultists lunged. They didn’t move like humans; they blurred through the air like ink dropped in water. Zinnia met them halfway, her sword becoming a whirlwind of silver light. The clang of steel against shadow-claws rang out, sending sparks of spiritual essence flying toward the ceiling.

“Aetherion, get to the corner!” Zinnia yelled, parrying three strikes at once. “Stay behind the pedestal!”

“Way ahead of you, Zin! I’m a master of corners!” Aetherion scrambled back, stumbling over his own robes with practiced clumsiness.

As he fell, his hand ‘accidentally’ slammed into a specific tile on the floor. A tiny, invisible pulse of pure primordial essence shot through the stone. One of the cultists, who was about to sink a jagged dagger into Zinnia’s back, suddenly found his feet slipping on a patch of floor that had grown unnaturally smooth. He slid past her, crashing headfirst into a marble pillar with a sickening crunch.

“Lucky break!” Aetherion cheered from the floor.

“Focus!” Zinnia grunted, slicing through the chest of another attacker. The cultist didn't bleed; he dissolved into smoke, only to begin reforming seconds later. “They’re fueled by the rift! I can’t kill them while Lucivar holds the gate open!”

“So, close the gate!” Aetherion suggested, crawling toward a different pillar.

“I can’t reach him!” she cried, struggling as Lucivar began to chant, his hands glowing with a dark, suffocating heat. “The pressure is too much! He’s at least a Tier-9 Peak Master!”

“Tier-9? That’s almost double digits. Impressive,” Aetherion said. He looked at Lucivar, who was now hovering a few inches off the ground, pouring darkness into the Star-Core pedestal.

Aetherion sighed. I really didn't want to do this. My back is going to be sore for a week.

He picked up a small, jagged piece of marble that had broken off during the fight. He weighed it in his hand, squinting.

“Hey, Lucy!” Aetherion shouted. “Catch!”

He tossed the pebble. To any observer, it looked like a desperate, pathetic throw from a terrified man. But the pebble moved through the air with a very specific, subsonic vibration. It didn't hit Lucivar; it hit the exact point where the dark energy ritual met the Star-Core’s defensive field.

Crack.

The feedback was instantaneous. The dark ritual didn’t just stop; it inverted. A shockwave of black light exploded outward, throwing the cultists back and slamming Lucivar into the wall.

“What?” Lucivar gasped, sliding to the ground. He looked at the pedestal, then at his trembling hands. “The resonance… it was perfect! How did it fail?”

“Probably the wind,” Aetherion said, leaning casually against a pillar. “The Pillar of Trials is very drafty. You should have brought a scarf.”

Zinnia panting, stood over the dissipating forms of the cultists. She looked at the pedestal, then at Aetherion, her eyes narrowing. “What did you do?”

“I threw a rock. It’s a very advanced technique from the ‘Angry Peasant’ school of martial arts,” Aetherion lied, dusting off his hands.

“You insignificant worm,” Lucivar growled, rising from the rubble. His robes were torn, and his face was twisted in a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. “I will peel the skin from your bones and make a drum of your soul!”

Lucivar blurred across the room. He was too fast for Zinnia to react. He reached out, his claw-like hand aimed directly at Aetherion’s throat.

“Die!” the cultist screamed.

Aetherion didn't move. He didn't even flinch. He just stood there, his hands still tucked into his sleeves. But as Lucivar’s hand came within an inch of his neck, Aetherion tilted his head slightly.

He let his eyelids droop, and for a fraction of a second, he stopped being the lazy beggar. He stopped being the 'lucky' fiancé. He let a microscopic sliver of his true self leak through—not into the room, but directly into Lucivar’s eyes.

Lucivar froze.

The dark energy around the cultist’s hand didn't just fade; it vanished as if it had never existed. His feet touched the floor, and his body began to shake—not with anger, but with a primal, bone-deep terror that defied logic.

“You…” Lucivar whispered, his voice cracking.

Aetherion smiled, but it wasn't his usual goofy grin. It was the smile of a mountain watching a pebble try to move it.

“Something wrong, Lucy?” Aetherion asked softly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or maybe just a very disappointing commoner?”

Lucivar backed away, his eyes wide, his pupils dilated until they were pinpricks. He wasn't looking at Aetherion; he was looking at the abyss that lay behind Aetherion’s pupils. He saw the birth of the suns. He saw the end of the Great War. He saw the man who had tucked the Devourer into a cage of eternal silence five thousand years ago.

“It’s you,” Lucivar breathed, his knees hitting the marble floor with a heavy thud. “The Eternal One… the Architect of the Void…”

“Aetherion?” Zinnia called out, her voice full of confusion. “What’s happening? Why did he stop?”

Aetherion blinked, and the terrifying depth in his eyes vanished, replaced by his usual hazy, bored expression.

“I think I have a very intimidating face when I’m hungry,” Aetherion said, shrugging. “Maybe he’s just realized he left the oven on at home?”

“No!” Lucivar shrieked, suddenly scrambling backward like a terrified animal. “He has returned! The stars are falling! The Eternal One has come to judge the shadows!”

“Lucy, buddy, you’re making a scene,” Aetherion said, taking a step forward.

“Stay away from me!” Lucivar yelled. He didn't even look at the Star-Core. He didn't look at his fallen cultists. He turned and dived back into the jagged rift he had created, his screams echoing long after the portal snapped shut. “HE IS HERE! THE ETERNAL ONE HAS RETURNED!”

The chamber fell into a deafening silence. The purple light faded, replaced by the soft, golden glow of the Star-Core.

Zinnia stood frozen, her sword still drawn, her gaze fixed on the spot where Lucivar had vanished. Slowly, she turned her head toward Aetherion.

“Aetherion,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Yeah, Zin?”

“What did he see?”

“I don't know,” Aetherion said, picking up the crystal ball from the pedestal and tossing it into the air like a toy. “Maybe he’s just not a fan of silver-blue hair? It’s a very polarizing color.”

“He called you the Eternal One,” Zinnia said, stepping closer, her eyes searching his face with a desperate, terrifying intensity. “He was a Tier-9 Master, and he looked at you like you were… like you were a god.”

“He was probably just delirious from all that chanting,” Aetherion said, offering her the Star-Core. “Anyway, look! The ball is glowing green now. I think that means we won. Do you think we get a trophy? Or maybe a gift card to the palace kitchen?”

Zinnia didn’t take the crystal. She just kept staring at him, the suspicion in her heart growing into a cold, hard knot.

“You’re not a beggar,” she whispered. “You’re not just some lucky traveler who found a lily in a cave.”

“I’m whatever you want me to be, Zin,” Aetherion said, his voice unusually gentle. “But right now, I’m a guy who really, really wants to leave this pillar before another cultist shows up to talk about my eyes. Can we go? My feet are killing me.”

Zinnia looked at him for a long time. Then, she slowly sheathed her sword.

“This isn't over, Aetherion,” she said. “I’m going to find out who you are. Even if I have to follow you back to that cave and stay there until you tell me the truth.”

“A roommate? Oh, the Cave-Council is going to love that,” Aetherion chuckled, walking toward the exit. “But just so you know, I don't do dishes. It’s part of my religious beliefs.”

As they walked out of the shimmering portal and back into the Rose Garden, the sun was beginning to set over the Jade Palace. Aetherion looked up at the sky, a small, tired smile on his face.

The Eternal One, huh? he thought. Lucivar always did have a flair for the dramatic. I really need to find a new place to hide.