Chapter 43: Lyra and Eiren — Story Beginning, Part 4
The silence of the night carried with it the weight of hidden intentions. Within that stillness, Velkaris stirred—his thoughts weaving like tangled threads across the fabric of reality. His plan to ascend, to become a Great Old One, was not something born overnight. It was carved into him, an inevitability, as though the stars themselves had whispered it long before he took his first breath as a god of deception.
Yet ascension demanded more than power. It demanded the right players.
"To rise higher, I must weave the fates of others into mine," Velkaris whispered to himself, though no mortal ear could hear. "The Witness… and the Heartbound. Without them, my path is incomplete."
The Heartbound Pathway was the easier choice. With the System's help, obtaining potions was simple, and the pathway itself nurtured hearts—binding emotions, desires, and truths into forms that could be reshaped. It was a sequence that could grow naturally under the right vessel. Velkaris had already decided: Lyra.
Silver-haired, green-eyed, with a soul too transparent for the mortal world yet resilient enough to bear divinity, she could endure the torrent of emotions—the burden of empathy twisted into power. She was the perfect candidate for Heartbound.
The real obstacle was the Witness Pathway. Unlike Heartbound, it was dangerous to touch. To witness was to remember, to know, and to reveal. That power could undo even him. With every step toward it, Velkaris felt as if the very core of his lies would be burned away by merciless truth.
"I wonder…" he mused, his voice slipping into the void around him, "is it only me who fears the Witness, or do all Great Old Ones carry such a shadow? Every one of them has at least one pathway tainted, reviled, or called evil. Other than the Key of Light, tell me just one that remains unstained. The Anarchy Pathway—I need not speak of it we have Black Emperor… yes, even that crown reeks of corruption. If not for Roselle's brilliance, who could deny that its potions resemble madness rather than majesty?"
A soft laugh escaped him, bitter and amused. "Evil and necessity… inseparable twins."
He let the thought linger, then dismissed it with a flicker of will. "Enough. That is the truth of gods. Let it remain so."
His gaze turned inward once more, to the delicate threads he wove around mortals. Lyra—destined for Heartbound.
Velkaris' thoughts stretched toward another concern: The Fool's gathering.
The great meeting in the gray fog of mysteries called to him, invitation already in hand. But to attend was not so simple. The Fool's table was no mere gathering—it was a snare, a trial, a mirror. Even with deception as his essence, he could not underestimate Klein Moretti.
"My divine intuition tells me this path is the least difficult," Velkaris muttered, as if trying to convince himself. "But difficulty is a relative thing when playing at the table of a Fool."
The future remained uncertain. Believers still tied him to existence. Their prayers, their madness, their blind faith—they were the anchor that kept him from dissolving into nothingness. Without them, even a god risked being lost to the tides of the cosmos.
"Perhaps when I become a Great Old One, their voices will no longer be necessary," he thought. "But now… now I must endure. To cast off their faith before my throne is complete would be folly. I still need them."
The void rippled as Velkaris' form dissolved into shadow. His plan was clear, yet treacherous: secure Lyra as Heartbound, find or shape the Witness, attend the Fool's gathering without exposing himself, and gather enough belief to survive until ascension.
Above it all, the stars glimmered faintly—like eyes that watched and judged. Whether they belonged to allies, enemies, or the universe itself, Velkaris could not tell.
But one truth remained: the game had only just begun.