Chapter 7 – Echoes of the First Priest
The desert gave way to stone.
They had walked for two days beneath a bruised sky, where the sun burned dull and the wind carried the scent of storms. Ruins rose like bones around them—columns half-buried, faces carved into rock eroded into eyeless warnings.
Elian had stopped asking how the god knew where to go.
Every time he did, the man would answer, "The earth remembers me."
But tonight, as they camped beside a broken obelisk, Elian could no longer keep silence from gnawing at him.
"You said they scattered your heart," he began. "What about the rest of you? Your power, your memories?"
The god looked up from the small flame he'd coaxed from the sand. "Power can be reclaimed. Memory is a wound that bleeds when touched."
"You remember me, though."
The god smiled faintly. "Because you are the one who opened my tomb."
Elian frowned, leaning closer to the firelight. "That's not all, is it?"
The god's gaze lingered on him a moment too long. "You speak as though you already know the answer."
"I don't." Elian's hands trembled in his lap. "But ever since the temple… I've been dreaming. Not of you—but of someone else. A man in gold robes. His voice sounds like yours, but his eyes—his eyes glow white, like suns."
The god's expression hardened. "Describe him."
"He's standing in a hall of light," Elian said slowly, eyes unfocused as memory blurred into vision. "Seven thrones behind him. He's holding a blade made of glass, and there's someone kneeling before him—a man chained in black. You."
The fire crackled sharply.
"He says, 'For peace to last, the Creator must sleep.' Then he drives the blade through your chest."
Elian swallowed, shaking. "When I wake, I still hear your scream."
The god said nothing for a long time.
Finally, he spoke, voice low and heavy as thunder. "The man you see is the First Radiant. The one who led the binding."
"And I keep seeing him—why?"
The god rose, moving to the edge of the ruins. The wind caught his hair, streaking it with firelight. "Because his blood runs in yours."
Elian froze. "That's not possible."
"Every possibility was born of me," the god said. "And every sin."
Elian shook his head, standing. "You're saying I'm—what, his descendant? That my blood is theirs?"
"Something older," the god murmured. "When the priest bound me, he used his blood to seal the covenant. He offered it willingly—believing it would save the world. But the blood of a willing liar carries my mark forever."
Elian's pulse thundered. "No. I'm not one of them."
The god turned. "Then why does the earth listen when you speak? Why do the relics wake at your touch? You carry a fragment of the covenant, Elian Vale. Whether you want it or not."
Elian's knees weakened. "Then what am I to you?"
For the first time, the god hesitated. "The one who freed me. The one who damned me. The only mortal whose touch does not burn."
The silence between them thickened until the fire sputtered out. The god stepped closer—so close Elian could feel his breath against his temple. The air shimmered between them, heavy with heat and divinity.
"You should fear me," the god whispered.
"I do," Elian breathed. "But it's not enough to stop me."
The god's lips brushed the edge of his jaw—not quite a kiss, more like a warning. "Then you will break faster than I imagined."
Elian turned toward him—and saw his reflection ripple across the god's eyes. For an instant, it wasn't his own face staring back. It was the man in gold.
The vision vanished as quickly as it came, leaving Elian shaking.
"What did you see?" the god demanded.
Elian tried to speak but couldn't. His voice came out as a whisper. "He was… smiling."
A sudden sound shattered the air—a ringing, crystalline chime. The god's head snapped toward the darkness.
Light danced along the edges of the ruins, rippling like water across mirrors. The god's hand tightened around Elian's wrist.
"They've sent another," he said.
The glow twisted, forming shapes—reflections that moved when they didn't. From one of the fractured pillars stepped a woman of glass, her eyes perfect mirrors reflecting the fire, the god, and Elian all at once.
The Saint of Reflections smiled. "I've found you."
Elian stumbled back, the god stepping in front of him. The Saint tilted her head, her mirrored eyes fixing on Elian.
"Interesting," she murmured. "The mortal bears the seal of the covenant."
The god's voice dropped to a growl. "He bears nothing that belongs to you."
But the Saint only smiled wider. "Oh, Creator… you misunderstand."
She raised her hand, and the mirrors around them flared to life. In each one, Elian's reflection turned—not to look at the Saint, but at himself.
Then one reflection spoke. "You shouldn't have freed him."
Elian staggered, his own voice echoing back at him from the glass.
"I didn't—"
"Didn't you?" the reflection hissed. "You were called to that tomb. You heard her voice. You obeyed."
The Saint's laughter rang like breaking glass. "Ah… so she still whispers."
The god's expression changed—sudden, sharp, almost frightened. "Who?"
The Saint's smile didn't reach her eyes. "The one beneath you. The first flame. The goddess you buried when you chose to rule alone."
Elian's heart stopped. "Goddess?"
The god turned toward him, face pale as moonstone. "There is no goddess."
The Saint's mirrored eyes shimmered. "Then why does she call the mortal by name?"
The wind roared, the mirrors shattered—and something ancient laughed in the dark.