The Last Ascension

The drums didn’t sound like drums. They sounded like something calling back.

They pulsed through the village in steady waves—deep, ancient, and mythic—like something beneath the earth was answering them. Each beat pressed against my ribs, syncing too perfectly to be chance.

I’d felt it, every Ascension.

The ground trembled faintly beneath our feet, subtle enough to ignore—unless you were looking for it.

I was.

Around me, bodies painted in ochre and ash moved in hypnotic rhythm, crowned with leaves and gold-threaded beads that shimmered beneath the dying sun. It should have been beautiful.

Instead, it felt… controlled.

Engineered.

I folded my arms, watching.

Not celebrating.

Watching the pattern build.

“It’s been a thousand years since the skygods descended,” I muttered. “And we’re still doing this.”

Darion chuckled beside me. “Enzo Aurelion,” he said, nudging my shoulder, “six years chasing your ‘truth’… and all you’ve got to show for it is a broken safe and a nosebleed.”

“That is something,” I said quietly. My thumb found the god-tear in my pocket—stolen from my father’s safe last moon. A bead of blue glass, or metal, or something in between. Light lived inside it. Ever since I took it, the headaches came. Then the blood. “Solid pieces no one else wants to see.”

“Godspeed, Darion Azara!” a girl called as she passed. Darion grinned, already distracted.

I didn’t look. “You’re shameless.”

“And yet,” Darion said, lifting his cup of ale, “I remain adored.”

“That won’t save you when one of them decides to stab you in your sleep.”

He shrugged. “Worth the risk. You should live a little before the north shaft caves in on you for real.”

The north shaft. Blind for three days after. Still worth it. The tunnel proved the gods left something behind.

“No.” My gaze returned to the center of the clearing. “They’re hiding something in all this. And I won’t stop until I find it.”

The boulder.

It had started again.

Faint blue glyphs flickered across its surface—subtle, almost invisible—pulsing in time with the drums.

Not firelight.

Not reflection.

A signal.

Pressure built behind my eyes. A trickle of warmth slid from my nose. I wiped it with my sleeve. Blood. It only started after the safe.

“You see that?” I asked.

“What?”

“The boulder.”

He glanced, then shrugged, offering me his cup. “That’s just the skygods. They’re pleased you’re bleeding for them now.”

“You still don’t get it, Darion.” I shook my head. “Look around you. Don’t you feel it? The rhythm—it folds into itself… builds, collapses… builds again.”

“Ah,” he said with a grin. “There it is. The scholar who bleeds when the gods start listening.”

I exhaled. “You’ll never see it, will you?”

Before he could answer, the drums stopped.

Silence fell—sharp and absolute.

Three figures in white emerged, escorted by bare-bodied guards with spears. Something in me tightened.

“Oh,” Darion whispered, leaning closer. He pointed subtly. “The one in the middle. Red hair, green eyes… exactly your type.”

“Darion.”

“Too bad she’s an arrow priestess. Untouchable. No husband. No lover.”

“Is that all you know about them?” I asked quietly.

“Hush,” he muttered. “It’s starting.”

The girl in the middle stepped forward. She removed the upper layer of her garment and knelt. Her back bore strange blue markings—too precise to be ink, too alive to be paint. In her hands, she held a smooth, ovoid relic.

Like an egg.

But not.

The entire village watched.

A towering warrior approached with a lash.

“Vel’kara threx ul na’vi—”

“Zor en kai.”

The words settled uneasily in my chest. My teeth hummed.

The lash cracked.

I flinched.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

The priestess gasped—and the ovoid in her hands began to glow. Faint blue. The same glow spread across the boulder. Then her markings followed.

In my pocket, the stolen god-tear burned hot against my thumb.

Each strike landed hard, but the priestess did not cry out. Instead, her body seemed to ease into it—almost… euphoric.

“Zor en kai,” she said.

No writhing.

No tears.

This wasn’t worship. It was control.

The energy intensified.

“This is wrong,” I muttered.

“Says the one who’ll uphold it someday,” Darion replied.

His words settled heavily. Because he wasn’t wrong. I was my father’s son. And one day, this would be mine to defend.

I couldn’t.

The lashing continued—thirty-five strikes. I counted every one. The last time, it had been fifteen. This one… was different. Stronger.

Finally, a figure in a purple robe raised a hand and the lashing stopped. The glow faded, slowly giving way to blood and broken skin.

I shook my head.

One day, that lash would be in my hand. And worse—part of me was afraid I would understand it.

The drums resumed—soft this time. The priestess rose, composed, and dressed as though nothing had happened.

The villagers erupted.

“Zor en kai!”

“Zor en kai!”

For a second—just a second—the pattern made sense. Not words. Not prayers. Instructions. Not for us. My breath caught. The ground trembled again.

I turned away. I couldn’t watch anymore.

Darion grabbed my arm. “Don’t.”

“Let go,” I growled.

“If you must chase your answers, do it without sacrilege.”

“Look at you,” I said. “Darion Azara, voice of restraint. Since when do you care about restraint?”

He smirked. “Since you started cracking your father’s safe and bleeding on holy days. The north shaft didn’t kill you, Enzo, but this will.”

“I’m going,” I said. “I need answers—even if it’s from her.”

“Enzo, we’re not allowed near these priestesses. Not to speak, not to touch—”

“Darion.”

Something in my voice made him stop.

He sighed and let go. “Just don’t do anything stupid. Stupider than the shaft.”

I needed answers. Even if they killed me for asking. I moved. Past huts. Past shadows. Past the fading echo of celebration. Until I reached the edge of the village, where a river cut through the land and lavender drifted in the air.

She was there.

Alone.

Seated on a fallen log, examining her wounds.

Up close, they were worse—angry welts, streaked with blood. And yet her face remained composed, as though the pain belonged to someone else.

A breeze stirred her hair.

She sensed me.

Rose.

Turned.

We stared at each other. Too long. Too close.

“How did you know I was here?” I asked.

“I smelled you,” she said.

I blinked. “You—what?”

“You smell of ash and ale,” she said. “And lavender. And copper.” A pause. “It’s reacting to you,” she said. “You weren’t meant to touch it.”

My heart stuttered—wasn’t meant to? “Then who was?”

No answer. I pushed forward.

“You smell everything?”

“Only what matters.”

For a moment, she almost smiled. Then it vanished. “You’re not supposed to speak to me, Enzo Aurelion.”

I stiffened. “You know me?”

“Everyone knows the Chieftain’s son. The one who robs his father for answers.”

“What else do you know?”

She hesitated. “Enough.”

I stepped closer. “They say you understand the skygods. Is that true?”

Silence.

“Why didn’t you scream?” I pressed. “Your markings—they reacted. The relic reacted. You felt it, didn’t you?”

Her eyes locked onto mine. Sharp. Unyielding.

Then—

It hit.

A piercing pressure behind my eyes.

Not sound.

Something deeper.

I staggered, teeth clenched, gripping my head. The world narrowed to that single point of pain. The god-tear in my pocket seared my skin.

“What are you doing to me?” I groaned.

No answer.

Then, the pressure vanished as suddenly as it came. I drew a breath. Our eyes locked again.

A pause. Then—

“What’s your name?” I asked.

Before she could answer, hoofbeats shattered the moment.

Fast.

Closing.

“Move!” I shouted.

She didn’t.

I lunged, dragging her aside as three horses tore past. Dust exploded into the air. The riders slowed, then circled back.

My chest tightened.

Their horses were larger. Sleeker. And their armor gleamed—refined, precise.

Not ours.

Imperial.

The dragon crest caught the light—

The exact same crest carved into the wall of the north shaft.

And just like that—the festival felt very far away.

I stepped forward, not back.

For six years I’d been chasing echoes. Now something was answering.