22: The Herald’s Demand

The divine herald hovered above the ground, his form both majestic and terrifying—his robe woven from starlight and his eyes twin orbs of void. Divine pressure coiled around Ren Zian like a vice. Even the air refused to breathe.

Behind Ren, Lyra's breath hitched. Arin moved closer, hands on her hilts. Nyelle murmured a warding chant, her fingers glowing with ancient sigils.

"You carry three pacts," the herald spoke, his voice deep enough to shake the bones of the temple. "You are not permitted to wield them. Not without the gods' sanction."

Ren took a slow step forward. "I didn't ask for your permission."

A flicker of tension sparked through the chamber.

The herald's expression didn't change, but the temperature dropped.

"You defy the divine order. The punishment is obliteration."

Ren's jaw clenched. "Then deliver it. But know this—whatever you destroy, I will become again."

The herald raised his hand. Celestial symbols spun into existence, forming a glyph that burned like a miniature sun. The energy crackled outward.

"Get back!" Ren shouted.

The glyph struck.

A blast of raw divine force slammed into Ren's defenses. The pact marks on his body surged to life—one shielded, one absorbed, and one… resisted. He was flung back, crashing against a pillar, stone cracking.

"Ren!" Lyra cried.

Arin rushed forward but was blocked by a radiant barrier.

The herald advanced, floating. "Your soul will be split, your essence unmade. The pacts shall be returned to the heavens."

But as he raised his hand again, a strange pulse echoed across the temple.

A new presence emerged.

From the broken shadows stepped a woman—cloaked in deep azure, her hair flowing like ink. A scar ran down her cheek. She carried no weapon, but her very presence seemed to warp space.

Nyelle froze. "A fallen goddess…"

The woman smiled faintly. "How rude of you, Herald. Waging judgment without full council."

The herald narrowed his gaze. "You forfeited your place among us. You no longer speak for the divine."

"True. But I still hold dominion over this temple."

The herald hesitated. Power shifted around them.

The fallen goddess turned to Ren. "You are not the first to defy them. But you may be the last who gets to choose what that defiance means."

Ren stood, trembling, scorched—but alive. "Then I choose freedom."

She extended a hand. "And I choose to help you earn it."

The herald roared. Divine light surged again, brighter, angrier.

But this time, the fallen goddess caught it mid-air, crushing the glyph between her fingers. The sound it made was like a scream swallowed by thunder.

Silence followed.

The herald slowly lowered his hand. "This is not the end, Ren Zian. The gods will not be mocked."

He vanished in a shimmer of starlight, leaving behind a scorched rune on the temple floor.

Ren exhaled slowly.

The fallen goddess walked beside him. "You walk a cursed road. The next pact will not offer you power—it will offer you temptation. Be ready."

Ren met her gaze. "What's your name?"

She gave a sad smile. "Eira. Once a goddess of truth. Now… just a witness."

They regrouped in the chamber. Arin helped bandage Ren's arm. Lyra sat beside him, silent, but her hand never left his.

Nyelle was studying the scorched rune.

"This," she said, "is a mark of celestial surveillance. The gods now track you directly. There will be no more hiding."

Ren nodded. "Then let them watch. I'm not turning back."

Eira leaned against a pillar. "You've made three pacts. Only two more remain before the Astral Crown is complete. But know this—each one demands more of you than the last. And not all pacts are with the righteous."

Ren looked out into the dark corridor ahead.

"I don't care who waits at the end. I'll claim my throne. And I'll burn their heavens if I must."