Chapter 9 — Light in the Dust
Morning came quietly.
Sunlight slipped through the cracks of the shrine, drawing pale lines across Elian's sleeping face. The air smelled of sand and incense, though neither had burned in centuries. For a long time, the god simply watched him — the slow rise and fall of his chest, the soft tremor of his lips as if he were whispering secrets even in dreams.
He could still feel the echo of last night — the warmth of Elian's mouth, the strange ache it had awoken inside him. When he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of old memories: hands reaching for him in devotion, lips pressed to his name. But none of them had felt like this. None had been real.
"Why do you look at me that way?" came Elian's voice, groggy but amused.
The god blinked. Elian was awake now, propped up on an elbow, hair tousled, eyes golden in the morning light.
"I was wondering," the god said softly, "what sort of mortal dares kiss a monster and sleep soundly after."
Elian smiled faintly. "The kind who's too exhausted to be afraid."
He sat up, pulling the thin blanket tighter around himself. The night's heat had cooled, and the desert wind carried a chill. "Do gods even sleep?"
"Not like you," the god murmured. "We dream only of what we've lost."
Elian studied him — the sharp lines of his face, the faint glow still tracing his veins beneath the skin, like light trapped in flesh. "You keep saying we. But you're the only one left, aren't you?"
The god looked toward the broken altar. Dust caught in the sunbeams, spinning like tiny stars. "Perhaps. Or perhaps the others became your saints and rulers — bathed in the light they stole from me."
"The Council of Light," Elian said quietly.
The god's jaw tightened. "A name they gave themselves when they tore the crown from my head."
He rose, the faint shimmer of divine power rolling off him as he moved. The bandage Elian had tied around his hand was still there, stained faintly with gold. He touched it absently. "You tied this with care."
"You bled for me," Elian said. "I thought I should return the favor somehow."
A flicker of warmth passed through the god's eyes, brief but unmistakable. "You are a strange creature, Elian Vale."
"So you've said."
He smiled, but the god didn't. His gaze had turned distant again, as if listening to something Elian couldn't hear.
"What is it?"
"The world," the god said slowly, "is louder today. The light has begun to move."
Elian frowned. "The Council?"
"They know I've awakened. The flare of my power last night — it was enough to tear the veil. They'll come."
"Then we need to leave."
The god didn't answer. His eyes had drifted to the mural on the wall — the faded image of two divine figures entwined, one light, one shadow. His hand brushed the painted face of the woman in gold. "I remember her," he whispered. "She called me beloved once."
Elian hesitated. "Who was she?"
He turned to him, voice low. "The first lie I ever loved."
Before Elian could speak, the wind shifted again — sharp this time, carrying whispers like glass scraping against stone. The air grew colder, the sunlight dimming as if swallowed. The god straightened instantly.
"They're closer than I thought," he said. "The Saints travel by reflection — they use light itself as their door."
Elian moved to the shrine entrance. "We can't run forever. You said you needed to regain your power. How do we do that?"
"There are relics," the god said, eyes narrowing. "Fragments of my essence, sealed in the temples they built over my bones. I must reclaim them."
"Where's the first?"
The god met his gaze. "Under the Holy Archive — the city you call Solenn."
Elian's heart sank. "That's the capital."
"Yes."
"The most guarded place in the world."
"Then it will be a worthy beginning."
Elian stared at him, torn between awe and terror. "You make impossible things sound so simple."
The god smiled faintly. "Creation itself was impossible once."
Before he could reply, the old mirror in the shrine — a cracked relic covered by a veil of dust — began to hum. The glass rippled like water. A figure flickered within it — cloaked in light, faceless, eyes like molten silver.
"Elian—" the god warned.
But it was too late. The mirror pulsed once, violently. Elian was thrown backward as a voice filled the room, calm and hollow:
"By decree of the Radiant Seven, the heretic is condemned. Return him to the light."
The mirror exploded. The god moved faster than sight — a sweep of his arm sent shards scattering, his power burning white-hot for an instant. The shrine trembled; dust cascaded from the ceiling.
When silence returned, Elian was on the ground, staring up at him — at the god standing amid the ruins, breathing hard, his glow dimming.
"They found us," Elian said.
"They always do."
He extended a hand, pulling him up. His touch lingered a moment too long, thumb brushing against Elian's wrist. "You must stay close to me from now on."
"I think I've already made that mistake," Elian said with a shaky smile.
"Then let it be a beautiful one."
They stepped out into the blinding sun together. Below the cliffs, the desert stretched endless and shimmering — and somewhere beyond the horizon, the city of Solenn burned faintly in the distance, gold and cruel.
Elian shaded his eyes. "When we reach the Archive," he said, "what will you do?"
"Take back what is mine," the god said. "And remind the world who I was before they rewrote me."
He looked at Elian then, softer. "You'll stay by my side?"
Elian nodded. "Until the end."
A pause. "You may regret that."
"I already do," Elian whispered, but the god heard the truth beneath it — that he'd follow him anyway.
As they began their descent from the cliffs, something shifted in the sand behind them. A faint trail of gold shimmered where the god's blood had fallen hours ago — spreading, pulsing, alive.
From that light, a figure began to take shape.
A woman, her eyes the same shade of gold, her smile eerily familiar. She whispered in a voice both loving and venomous:
"So he remembers me after all."
She stepped into the sunlight — radiant, impossible — and the dunes burned under her feet.