“You’re on watch,” I commanded Dynaxtar, patting her neck, and she whinnied in agreement.
Then, I opened up the channels of Fate I’d closed earlier tonight, the effects of the imbued blades below pulling hundreds of fortunes to the surface. Starfire burst behind my vision as they slammed into me. I gritted my teeth, hunching lower over Dynaxtar. I focused on her body beneath mine and the soft strands of her mane to keep myself grounded amid the flaring fortunes.
Shooting stars whirled, whites blindingly bright. Magic tunneled through my veins into the Starsearchers below. I hissed against the pain of so many readings crowding my chest, head spinning.
“Fatecatcher!”
“Arenothos?” I shouted back, unsure if I was yelling on Ambrisk or in that other place within my mind.
“We have been calling you forhours,” the Fate of Wrath and Redemption growled, voice as much a threat as his name.
“Who has?”
“All nine of your ties.” Fire burned in those words.
No, no, no. My palms turned sweaty, slipping on Dynaxtar. They couldn’t have been trying to get to me.
“You shut us out,” Arenothos spat. “No one is meant to do that. Look at the ruin that has transpired.”
Readings rushed by, forcing a cry up my throat as wind whipped at my cheeks. Images of Echnid’s gleeful grin and him commanding all seven Angels. They stood in a chamber overlooking the mountains. The Revered’s Palace. It was recognizable, but slightly warped. The god’s misty magic dulledthe view and statues of Angels, the floors a dull white as opposed to pristine marble.
One by one, the Prime Warriors flared their wings. Arrays of colorful ether shimmered off white feathers, the only facet of the reading not dimmed by Echnid’s influence. Each Prime Warrior grabbed the weapons of their clan, some donning elaborate plates of armor or vambraces. None covered their entire body in true defense. They were for one thing: intimidation. The impression of wealth and power.
Then, each of the seven Angels took to the skies with remorseful grimaces or haunted smiles, anticipation bouncing along a spectrum of causation.
“What’s happened?” I asked Arenothos as the reading faded into pure white starfire again.
The Fate’s silhouette shimmered within, swelling with anger. “We tried to warn you, but you missed the chance to adjust the paths against this.”
No. Horror dripped through me.
“Unfortunately, yes. First the Goddess, and now the Balance Realm will succumb. More Gods will rise in his stead.”
And though Arenothos was the Fate of Wrath, he did not sound pleased. His legends spoke of warfare, of bloodthirsty battles where he bathed in the life source of his enemies. Some said he drank it like the sweetest wine and adorned his suspected palace in the Fate Realm with their bones.
But the fates were so much more complex than legends painted. Where Arenothos was born of Wrath and fueled by bloodshed, he was also enraged by injustices that he did not deem worth the life. He wanted extremes—the worst of rage and fury, the righteousness of redeeming faults. He wanted blood on a battlefield, not innocent lives spilled in the deserts.
Fates were fickle and hard to unravel, but I’d spent more time with my nine Fate ties than I had any living warriors.Arenothos’s rage rolled along my spine; it pumped my blood faster.
“The Goddess of Fates and Celestial Movements was a tragic loss,” I growled. Tears tore down my cheeks as Dynaxtar climbed higher in the sky, and I rooted myself in both planes. “But she was a martyr for a greater cause, and nowIam the Fatecatcher. I will not let her death be in vain.”
“It is too?—”
But Arenothos’s words were swallowed by another barrage of fortunes. Of a different tie, raising hope against wrath.
“Unless you bear a solution, stay out of my way, Arenothos,” I spat.
Then I shoved the Fate from my mind, and planted myself firmly in the realm of the living. Unmoving stars rippled back into vision in a navy sky, the moon full and bright, watching us. My Fatesworn bond beat alive and vicious as Cypherion fought in the city below. My tie to Dynaxtar burned, seeking out an enemy for my sweet girl to devour after she’d been caged for so long.
She and I were the same. Both pushed to the edge of our fury, both with sugared countenances burying the beasts within. Now, together, we shed those skins and let them roar.
“Let’s claim the freedom we’ve earned, Dynaxtar,” I called.
And then, the khrysaor tipped her head back. She opened her jaw, and blue flames shot from the back of her throat, burning like the stars she was forged of.They torched a path through the clouds, and before I could marvel over that power, a winged figure came into sight in that window.
“Valyrie!” I yelled.
The Angel’s silver hair wound around her frame, lilac ether spilling through the sky. A scalloped silver plate covered her breasts, matching chains crossing over her stomach and décolletage. What appeared to be gloves covered her arms, butas Dynaxtar soared closer, I realized they were chain mail, looped delicately around each finger. And on her waist, just above her flowing silver skirt, a line of triple-bladed daggers were strung.
