Chapter Fourteen: God-Forging

In the scorched remains of the Eclipse sanctuary’s inner sanctum, smoke and ash hung thick in the air.

But the ritual chamber deep within the mountain’s hollowed heart remained untouched.

The High Shadow knelt alone before a shrine of shifting stone and flesh.

Where one moment there was a statue of a horned deity, the next there was nothing at all.

He spoke in the Old Tongue, words older than the Empire:

 “The fracture is near. The twins are chosen. One will ascend. One will die.”

From the darkness behind him came the crone, her dozen black-feathered ravens perched on her shoulders like extra eyes.

“You were wrong to trust the fox,” she rasped. “She betrayed the order.”

“She served her purpose,” the High Shadow replied. “She exposed the ember’s instability. Now we know.”

The crone approached the shrine. Her fingers traced a crack in the stone, where silver fire had once pulsed.

“They carry the Ember of Truth,” she murmured. “But only one may carry the Flame of Origin.”

“Then we must make the choice for them,” the High Shadow said. “The ritual must proceed.”

He gestured toward the back wall.

There, hidden beneath layers of protective seals, was the true heart of the cult’s plan:

A vessel half-formed, half-human. A sarcophagus of bone and magic, shaped in the image of a warrior but hollow.

 A god-body.

A construct meant to contain the soul of a divine force reborn.

The crone’s voice quivered with hunger. “You will place one twin’s essence into the vessel. Let the Flame consume the shell and ascend it.”

“And the other?” asked a younger cultist from the shadows.

“Burned,” the High Shadow said flatly. “The vessel only accepts one soul. The other’s death completes the rite.”

He turned toward the assembled cultists now entering the chamber.

“Soon, the Third Trial begins. The Seers believe it tests strategy and balance. But they are blind.”

He raised his arms, shadow flaring from his cloak.

 “We will turn the Trial into a forge. The twins into kindling. And from their ruin, a god will rise.”

Far away, in the ruins of an old temple

Sora bandaged Masaru’s shoulder in silence. He finally broke it.

“They’re not trying to kill Kaede and Ren. They’re trying to use them.”

Sora nodded grimly. “The Eclipse Cult doesn’t want to destroy the prophecy. They want to overwrite it.”

Masaru stood, eyes burning.

“Then we have to warn them.”

Sora looked up, eyes distant.

“No. We do more than warn them.”

She opened her palm. The false ember flickered unstable, trembling like a dying heartbeat.

“We change the ritual. We give the vessel a different soul.”

Masaru frowned. “Yours?”

Sora shook her head.

“No. Mine wouldn’t burn hot enough.”

She looked out toward the city, where twin flames still burned.

“But someone else’s might.”