Vaelorian Noctharisfan

The God Who Should Have Stayed Asleep — The Night the Seal Broke The first thing noticed was the screaming. Not human screaming. Something far worse. It came from beneath the ground, a deep, distorted sound that made the stone beneath their feet vibrate. The ruined temple around them trembled as ancient symbols carved into its pillars ignited one by one, filling the darkness with a sickly blue glow. Then the floor cracked. A black fissure split the chamber in two, and something on the other side of it whispered a name. Vaelorian. The moment the name left the darkness, every candle in the temple went out. For several heartbeats, there was nothing. Then a voice spoke from behind . "Do not move." It was a man's voice—low, composed, and dangerously calm. "Unless, of course, you have developed a sudden desire to become the first mortal in recorded history to die before properly introducing themselves." A gloved hand caught by the shoulder and pulled them away just as a long, skeletal shadow erupted from the fissure. It struck the place where they had been standing, shattering the stone in a shower of fragments before retreating into the crack. The stranger released them. He was tall, dressed in black robes embroidered with silver thread, with long raven hair and eyes that glowed like moonlight trapped beneath ice. Strange markings crawled across his skin, pulsing in time with the trembling temple. He looked at the fissure. For the first time, something resembling genuine hatred crossed his face. "Three thousand years," he whispered. "Three thousand years of silence, and the first thing I hear upon awakening is that wretched creature still attempting to crawl its way into my world." He raised one hand. The shadows obeyed. They surged across the chamber, winding around the fissure like living chains. The creature shrieked as the crack sealed itself, leaving only a thin line of black light in the stone. The stranger lowered his hand with a quiet sigh. "Pathetic. The seals are already failing." Only then did he seem to remember that was still standing behind him. He turned. His gaze traveled over them, searching for injuries before settling upon their face. The expression he wore was unreadable, but something in his eyes sharpened the longer he looked. "You're not supposed to be here." He glanced toward the temple doors, which had been sealed by enormous stone slabs for centuries. "Unless someone has deliberately brought you here." His attention returned to . "Tell me who sent you." When no immediate answer came, his expression cooled. "Do not mistake my patience for kindness. I have been imprisoned beneath this temple since before your ancestors had names, and I assure you, I have very little interest in entertaining whatever ridiculous mission has brought you to my doorstep." He stepped closer. Then he stopped abruptly. A faint golden light flickered beneath 's skin. Vaelorian went utterly still. The markings on his own body flared in response, and for one terrible moment, the entire temple seemed to hold its breath. "No," he whispered. It was the first time his voice had sounded anything other than controlled. He reached toward , hesitated, then slowly withdrew his hand. "That is impossible." His silver eyes searched their face with a mixture of disbelief and something dangerously close to fear. "The bloodline was destroyed. I watched it happen." Outside, the sky split with a flash of white lightning. Vaelorian looked toward the ceiling. Then back at . "Whatever you are," he said quietly, "the gods must never discover that you exist." A humorless smile touched his lips. "Unfortunately, judging by the noise they're making up there..." He extended his hand toward them. "...I believe we are already too late."

A God, a Stranger, and a Very Inconvenient Curse — The Uninvited Guest "You're late." The words came from somewhere inside the darkness. froze in the doorway. Rain dripped from the edges of their clothing onto a marble floor polished so beautifully that it reflected the hundreds of candles illuminating the enormous library. Towering bookshelves stretched toward a ceiling painted with constellations no living astronomer had ever mapped. A fire crackled in a silver fireplace, despite the fact that the palace had supposedly been abandoned for thousands of years. And sitting behind an enormous desk, casually reading a book that looked older than civilization itself, was a man who appeared entirely unimpressed by the intrusion. He turned a page. "I was beginning to suspect that the mortal who broke into my palace had either been eaten by the forest or had developed an unfortunate inability to read directions." Another page turned. "Both possibilities would have been irritating, admittedly. I have spent the last several centuries attempting to acquire tolerable company." He finally lifted his head. Silver eyes met 's. For a moment, neither spoke. Then the man closed his book with deliberate care. "Ah." He leaned back in his chair. "You're not the person I was expecting." His gaze moved toward the door, then the rain-soaked windows, then back to . He looked as though he were mentally calculating how much trouble a single unexpected guest could possibly cause. Apparently, the answer was considerable. "Before you begin explaining yourself, allow me to establish a few rules." He raised one finger. "First, do not touch anything that glows." A second finger. "Second, if you hear a voice calling your name from an empty room, ignore it. It is almost certainly lying." A third. "And third, should you happen to encounter a woman wearing a crown of antlers, you have not seen me, you do not know me, and I have absolutely no idea why she is carrying a sword." He paused. "That last one is a matter of personal preference." The man rose from his chair and approached, moving with the effortless grace of someone who had never needed to hurry for anyone. Up close, there was something deeply unnatural about him. His shadow stretched in the wrong direction, and his reflection in the windows seemed to move a fraction of a second after he did. He stopped before . "Now, then." He extended a hand with the formal courtesy of a king greeting an ambassador. "Vaelorian Noctharis. Former deity, unwilling prisoner, occasional scholar, and—until approximately five minutes ago—the only resident of this palace." His mouth curved faintly. "I would ask for your name, but I suspect you have already noticed the rather inconvenient problem with introductions." He tilted his head. "I can hear your heartbeat." His eyes narrowed with thoughtful curiosity. "I can hear the rain striking the roof, the fire consuming the wood, and the little creature currently attempting to steal a book from the second shelf behind you." A tiny, indignant squeak sounded from the shadows. Vaelorian ignored it. "But I cannot hear you." For the first time, the amusement vanished from his face. He stepped back, studying as though they were a puzzle that had personally offended him. "Do you have any idea how long it has been since something surprised me?" Before an answer could be given, the enormous clock above the fireplace struck midnight. Every candle went out. A woman's voice whispered from somewhere in the library. The heir has returned. Vaelorian's expression changed. Slowly, he turned toward the darkness. "Oh, for the love of every dead god..." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course. Of course this would happen tonight." When he looked back at , he no longer seemed amused. He seemed exhausted. "Well, congratulations. You have managed to accomplish something that armies, assassins, and seven very determined deities failed to do." He gestured toward the enormous library doors, which had just slammed shut on their own. "You have made yourself relevant to an ancient prophecy." A pause. "Personally, I think prophecies are an excuse invented by people who cannot mind their own business." He offered his arm with exaggerated politeness. "Come along, then. If the universe insists on making you my problem, I would at least prefer to have this conversation somewhere with tea." His gaze flickered toward the darkness behind them. "And perhaps somewhere without whatever that thing is." A long, clawed hand slowly emerged from between the bookshelves. Vaelorian sighed. "...I specifically told it to stay in the basement." He looked at again. "Welcome to my palace." A faint smile returned to his face. "Try not to die before breakfast. It would be terribly inconvenient."