Kieran awoke to near-total darkness in his room. The only indication he had that his eyes were even open was the thin slit of light coming from beneath the door. Groaning heavily, he pushed himself up into a sitting position.
He fumbled blindly for a few moments, searching for his belt and pack. Then, annoyed, he stood up and opened the door. Light flooded in from a sconce in the opposite wall.
“Note to self, ask Rah’na for a room with a window,” Kieran mumbled as he put on his belt. After a moment’s consideration, he decided to leave his pack behind. He doubted he would need anything from it for the Vault.
Once ready, Kieran made his way to the living room. He found Rah’na sitting in a comfortable-looking chair by an ornate fireplace, gazing into the gentle flames.
“Ah, there you are Kieran. Come, sit.” The old wolf indicated the open chair beside her “We should talk before we head to the Vault.”
Kieran rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he slumped into the chair. His body was apparently still recovering from the previous day’s travel and battles. The crackling of fire, combined with the plush cushions of the chair, was almost enough to lull him back to sleep.
“First, here.” Rah’Na reached into a pack at her hip and pulled out a small cloth bag. “If you need more at some point, let me know.”
Kieran accepted the bag and looked inside to find two notebooks, a sealed bottle of ink, and a simple quill. He looked up at Rah’Na with a genuine smile, his lingering weariness washed away by gratitude.
“Thank you.”
“Of course. Now, about the Vault.” The old wolf held Kieran’s gaze, her tone and expression turning serious. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you much in the way of details. Only… prepare yourself for a fight. Eon’s Vault was made before my time, as a test from the Pantheon for their Chosen Contenders. It will open only to one who has earned the favor of all nine gods. I, myself, haven’t seen it open yet. Not for me or any Contender in my lifetime.”
A heavy silence hung in the air.
“So…” Kieran considered his words carefully. “It is guaranteed to be a battle? A physical fight?”
“No. It depends on which god, if any, decides to hear you out.” Rah’Na returned her gaze to the fire, cradling a mug of drink Kieran hadn’t noticed until then. “Some of them are stubborn. You will have to earn their trust another way before they test you at the Vault’s door.”
“Which ones are likely to show up, then?”
“You already know of three. Gir’Amal, Defiant Star. Yry’Shar the War Bringer. And La’Rata, Life Everflowing. Although, La’Rata is unlikely to show up for one of Death’s Chosen. Not without some… convincing.”
The fire’s reflection flickered on the surface of Rah’Na’s drink as she spoke softly. “The rest, you will have to earn favor with before they give you the time of day. Some will take more effort than others, but all are willing to listen… eventually. La’Rata will be the most difficult. She and Vahr’Khul have been at each other’s throats since time immemorial.”
Kieran nodded. “Makes sense. So, Vahr’Khul included, that is four gods. Could you tell me of the rest, by name if nothing else?”
“Very well. This knowledge is important.” Rah’Na tapped a clawed finger against the side of her mug. His gaze drawn to the sound, Kieran noticed the ring he’d given Rah’Na was resting on her finger.
“Fahra’Uhn, Bearer of Strife,” Rah’Na began, after a moment of thought. “They and Gir’Amal are often aligned, as one brings strife and the other defies it. Then there is… Tyra’Khul, Veiled Shadow. Death’s sister, god of knowledge and secrets. I imagine she will be rather interested in you, Kieran.”
“Oh? Does Death have any other siblings?” Kieran interrupted, suddenly recalling that Vahr’Khul had referred to Rah’Na as ‘my sibling’s contender.’
“Yes. Gir’Amal. Although they rarely see eye-to-eye…” Rah’Na glanced at Kieran quickly before returning her gaze to the fire. “But Qara’Vhal, Celestial Arbiter, gets along quite well with both. They are the god of justice. I imagine their Contender will be next to reach Eon’s Peak.
“Of the last two, Orna’Von and Ruhn’Unan, the twin guardians of artists and musicians, I do not know much. Orna’Von is the god of arts and craftsmen, while Ruhn’Unan is the god of music and travelers. Both are elusive and rarely show themselves directly, even in times of peace.”
Kieran let his own eyes drift to the fire as he organized the new information in his mind. Opening the Vault seemed like a good way to get ahead of the invasion, and his competition, but trying to please all nine gods seemed like more trouble than it was worth. Especially when he considered that the Vault hadn’t been opened in… gods only knew how long.
“What do you think?” he suddenly asked the old wolf. “Should I even go to the Vault? Is it worth it?”
Rah’Na kept her gaze on the fire.
“I lost interest in the gods’ games long ago, Kieran,” she said slowly. “I prefer to spend my blood for Lyruna and its people. Still, the fact remains… the gods give power. A boon from them might strengthen your arm against the invasion.”
Again, the ring on her finger clinked against the mug as she tapped it.
“You must choose your own course, Kieran. But if you are willing, and if you continue to use the gods’ gifts for the good of Lyruna… then, yes. It could be ‘worth it.’”
“Well, no use delaying then.” Kieran rose from his chair. “Shall we?”Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
In answer, Rah’Na placed her drink on the small table in front of them and stood. The pair set off in silence.
Rah’Na led him along the settlement’s streets, where Kieran was surprised to find how far up the mountainside the settlement continued. The further up the mountain the street curved, the deeper it cut into the cliff face itself. As they walked, Kieran found himself imagining how lively the place must have been before it was abandoned.
“Rah’Na?” Kieran ventured, struck by the thought. “If this town is the one place that is truly safe from the invasion, why was it abandoned?”
The old wolf’s gaze fell to the ground in front of her. “That is a long and complicated story. I promise I will tell it to you, but not here. Not now.”
Kieran simply nodded in return. His curiosity was thoroughly piqued, but his days as a police coroner had taught him when to hold his tongue. The tone of Rah’Na’s voice made it clear: this was absolutely one of those times.
The pair continued in silence until the street came to a much steeper incline. The buildings on either side gave way to bare stone. The paved stones of the road ended abruptly, opening into a huge, rocky yard.
And across the yard lay a sight that awed Kieran.
Inset directly into the mountain’s face, a door the size of a small house awaited his approach. Made from brass, the door reflected the dawn light dazzlingly, making it difficult for Kieran to discern the carved figures adorning it.
When his eyes adjusted, Kieran saw nine circles carved into the door’s upper edges, laid out in a semi-circle.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Rah’Na asked, causing Kieran’s attention to snap towards her. “But alas, from here, you must continue alone.”
“Why is that?” Kieran asked, his gaze drawn irresistibly back towards the magnificent door.
“This trial is for you, and you only.” Rah’Na crossed her arms. “I will wait here, but I cannot help you with what is to come.”
Kieran could not reply. The Vault door caught and held all his attention. It was so much… more than anything he had imagined.
Suddenly, propelled by a surge of wonder, Kieran stepped towards the door. As soon as his foot crossed the threshold of paved stone and entered the rough yard, one of the circles reacted.
The second circle on Kieran’s right lit up with the same color as his bracelet. It flashed wildly for a moment before settling into the same black-hole pattern he was so used to seeing on his wrist.
A familiar cold crept up his spine as words echoed in his mind like cracking ice.
“You are first to reach the Vault in this cycle, my Contender. Tread with care.”
Before Kieran could even process the words, another of the circles lit up. This time, it was the second from the left, glowing with a radiant display of prismatic light.
Momentarily blinded by this light, Kieran’s only signs that someone, or something, had appeared were the sound of a heavy landing and the rush of air that followed. Blinking away the blindness, Kieran looked at the being that now stood before him.
It was the living equivalent of the statues he had seen at the cathedral, the place where Vahr’Khul had sent him to retrieve the platinum ring with the nine-pointed star. Yet this creature was very much alive, and not made from stone.
It stood proud, the needle-like legs holding its vaguely feminine form aloft. The thing towered over Kieran, standing at least twelve feet tall. Its flesh mirrored that of Vahr’Khul: crystalline, with a sea of stars dancing beneath. Its torso was covered by a capelet, similarly adorned with patterns of constellations. Its face was featureless, save for two prismatic lights where the eyes should be.
“And so, the first Chosen Contender to stand before Eon’s Vault in this cycle.” The being’s voice crackled in Kieran’s mind like a gentle flame. “My sibling’s own, no less, and one that has already caught my gaze. Your fight against Broken Tusk left an impression, Contender. Rarely has Death been defied by its own power so masterfully. For that, I commend you.”
The being’s words left behind a warmth in Kieran he wasn’t used to. Admiration and pride, two emotions so completely and utterly alien to his heart.
He felt his hand move instinctively to lean against the hilt of his sword.
“Thank you, I suppose,” he said calmly. “Now, forgive my bluntness, but who are you?”
“I am Gir’Amal: Flame Eternal, Defiant Star. This puppet is but a vessel for my voice, that I may converse with you on the mortal plane.”
The words surged through Kieran’s mind like wildfire. It was a strange feeling, combined with the ever-present cold of the energy flowing through his bracelet.
Kieran shot a glance towards Rah’Na over his shoulder. The old wolf still stood at the end of the path, arms crossed and head held high.
Kieran felt a smile spread across his face. Containing it quickly, he turned back to the ‘Defiant Star.’
“Am I to assume, then, that Broken Tusk’s death is enough to prove myself to you? Or is that a vain hope?”
“Far from it, Contender.” Gir’Amal held one hand out in front of them, palm towards the ground. “I would have you tested against my own blade.”
Kieran’s breath caught in his throat.
Rah’Na had warned him to be ready for a fight. He just hadn’t expected that the fight would be against one of the gods.
Before he had the chance to speak again, a crystalline sword emerged from the being’s downturned palm. It carried the same patterns along its blade as Gir’Amal’s flesh and cape.
In one smooth motion, Gir’Amal grabbed the blade and turned it towards Kieran, lunging forward on needle-like legs.
Barely reacting in time, Kieran ducked beneath the god’s blade. The sound of crystal splitting the air right above his head sent shivers down his spine.
Quickly readjusting, Kieran dashed forward and under Gir’Amal’s extended hand. He figured there was no point trying to block the attacks of an actual god, even if they were acting through a ‘puppet.’ Instead, he focused on his own offense.
The second he was steady on his feet, Kieran drew his shortsword and threw himself into a pirouette, weapon extended. His strike, carried by the momentum of his dash, struck Gir’Amal across the thigh.
Kieran watched closely as the blade slid against godly flesh. The contact sent sparks flying into the air. He watched, fascinated, as the blade left a tiny groove in the god’s flesh.
His observation was cut off when Gir’Amal slid its needle foot across the ground, cutting a line into the stone as they swung their leg towards Kieran.
Cold energy coursed through him as he called on Form of Death. He reappeared only a couple feet away from Gir’Amal, giving him just enough space to evade and counter the god’s blow.
That was when Kieran saw the perfect opening, and he moved to take it. He dropped into a half crouch and grabbed his sword with both hands, then lunged forward with the aim to skewer the divine vessel.
But just as he launched his attack, Kieran noticed fire building in the line Gir’Amal had cut into the ground. He decided, then, to take a calculated risk: defy the odds, and attack through the fire.
He pressed on.
As flames wrapped around the lower half of his body, Kieran’s blade made contact with the center of Gir’Amal’s sculpted stomach. He felt the blade dig a few millimeters into crystalline flesh.
Gir’Amal used their free hand to grab Kieran’s throat, but Kieran ignored the grip. He anchored his feet against the pain, feeling his flesh already starting to burn, and pushed against his blade with all his might.
CRACK.
The sound echoed like thunder, followed by a shattering cascade. Kieran’s blade dug into Gir’Amal’s vessel and sent a spiderweb of cracks through its body. In the next moment, the flames subsided as the god’s form shattered into pieces.
Only its hand remained, grasped around Kieran’s throat.
Kieran gasped through the pain. He fell forward onto his knees, his legs unable to hold his weight.
Yet Gir’Amal’s voice roared through his mind, an uncontained wildfire of pride and joy“:
You are worthy, Chosen Contender.”