The silence swells.
“Until Rhex,” he admits.
“God of Deceit and Envy?” Ronyn asks. “What does he have to do with it?”
Thalmyr sits on the throne steps, elbows resting on wide knees.
“He forced himself on her,” he says, and for the first time, his voice fractures. “Not once. Not in some moment of weakness he could regret and bury.” His jaw tightens. “Repeatedly. Deliberately. Like he believed she was something to take.”
He shakes his head, jaw set. “The rest of the pantheon said they didn’t know. And maybe they didn’t,” he continues, shrugging. “But they didn’t look closely enough to stop it either. Regardless, she never believed them. Believed that they did what everyone else in power does—turned a blind eye. Pleadedignorance. Until one day… she snapped,” he says, shrugging like this story has spun in his mind for years.
No one speaks.
They just wait.
“She would come here to escape the pantheon. Remind herself of the light that still existed in the realms—amongst the people. We fell in love, but… she was obsessed with revenge. Began to sabotage the domains of the other gods, until carnage ensued. Sentient forests, new species of predators in our forests and mountains, turbulent oceans and weather. The realm began to turn on itself. Warring between the pantheon took root. So I made a plan…”
Holy fucking Stars.
The story begins to fall into place.
Seren gasps.
Ronyn murmurs something under his breath.
“You made a plan to exile the gods,” Elyssara breathes.
He sighs. “Yes. I chose the balance of the realms over the woman I loved, and I’ve not stopped paying for it since. But Nyrielle was always clever. She found out about my plan. Paid the witches to sabotage it. Now, she’s here. But not as the woman I knew.”
His gaze lifts, hollow.
“As a beast with no morality. And she wants to take down everyone who possesses power that could rise up against her own.”
Fuck.
Dread pools in Elyssara’s belly, low and cold and absolute. Godless. Lawless. Powerless. That’s what these realms are.
“This doesn’t absolve you from what you’ve done,” Ronyn snarls, his teeth bared.
Thalmyr just nods, eyes closed, lips pursed.
“I know,” he breathes.
“Why hunt Elyssara if you need her?” Seren asks, her voice quiet and sharp.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t hunt her. I pursued her. I know what those beyond The Barrier think of me. I know there is no trust, nor allegiance. There is hatred. So we tried to apprehend her. If it took force, then so be it,” he admits, not an ounce of shame in his tone. “Whatever it took to bring her here.”
Elyssara holds his gaze, confliction twisting through her chest. Not forgiveness—definitely fucking not. Not acceptance, either.
Understanding.
And she hates it.
Because understanding does not undo what was done. It does not feed the starving or raise the dead. It simply makes the weight of it harder to carry. Because it would be so much easier if he were a monster. So much easier if she could tear him down without hesitation. But he is not.
At least, not entirely.
He is a man who made impossible choices and called them necessary. A man who carved survival out of sacrifice and expected the world to accept the cost. A man who took everything from her—and still stands here believing it was worth it.
