Page 191

Story: Ashes to Ashes

I gesture to where Siobhan’s body lies, still glowing faintly with residual divine light that makes the air shimmer. “Not everyone. She awakened. Right before she died, she awakened completely.”

Understanding crawls up my spine like ice water, raising every hair on my neck. If dying Wild Court members areremembering their true nature—their divine nature—then the systematic raids aren’t just genocide.

They’re preventing a pantheon from reclaiming the world.

“The Tuatha Dé Danann,” I breathe, pieces clicking into place with horrible clarity that makes my breath catch in my throat. “The Wild Court are not just royal bloodlines. They are the old gods who chose mortality.”

Orion’s amber eyes widen with understanding, the child in his arms whimpering softly as she senses the weight of revelation. “The Cauldron of Life. It did not just grant power—it let gods forget their divinity to live among mortals.”

“And now they are dying and remembering what they really are,” Kieran adds, shadows writhing with barely contained rage that makes frost climb the nearby trees. “Which explains why the other courts are so desperate to eliminate them.”

Memories of long nights by a fire reading through ancient texts rises. “According to the deepest lore, the gods chose mortality for different reasons. Love, curiosity, the desire for genuine experience without omniscience.”

“But death breaks the Cauldron’s enchantment,” Orion realizes, his guardian oath pulsing with protective fury. “They wake up divine.”

“Exactly. And if enough of them awaken simultaneously...” I close my eyes, calculating the implications. “Divine war. The mortal courts would not stand a chance.”

Kieran steps closer, political mind already calculating implications while frost spreads from his boots in increasingly agitated patterns. “How many Wild Court families remain?”

“Maybe two dozen scattered across multiple realms,” Orion says grimly, adjusting his hold on the traumatized child. “If they are systematically hunting them with these weapons...”

“They are not trying to prevent mass awakening,” I realize with sick certainty that makes bile rise in my throat. “They aretrying to prevent any awakening. Kill them fast enough, brutally enough, that consciousness cannot complete the transition.”

“Except tonight they failed,” Kieran observes, shadows reaching toward the lingering divine light with something like reverence. “Siobhan awakened despite the bone sword. Which means the weapons are not perfect.”

“Or,” The Morrigan interjects, her voice cutting through our discussion like a blade through silk, “she was already too close to remembering when they found her. Death merely completed what was already beginning.”

That’s when she walks through the fire.

The Morrigan emerges from the heart of the burning settlement like she owns destruction itself. Silver hair flows like liquid starlight, untouched by flame or smoke. Her battle leathers gleam with fresh blood that steams in the heat, and her eyes hold the depth of eternity—ancient beyond measure, terrible in their beauty.

In her right hand, she carries a severed head—one of the Seelie soldiers who led tonight’s raid, his perfect features frozen in terminal surprise, violet eyes staring sightlessly at nothing.

But it’s what she holds in her left hand that makes every nerve in my body scream recognition.

A sword. But not any sword—this blade gleams with sickly pale luminescence that makes shadows recoil, its edge forged from what looks like bone. Ancient, divine bone embedded with fragments of corrupted crystal that pulse with malevolent power like a diseased heartbeat.

The child in Orion’s arms whimpers, but her eyes remain their natural Wild Court green—traumatized, terrified, but still Fae. The divine awakening that marked Siobhan’s death doesn’t spread to her. Whatever allowed Siobhan to remember at the end, this child is either too young or too far from her own awakening threshold.

“Thank the gods,” I whisper, watching the child’s frightened but stable Fae consciousness. One divine awakening we can handle. A cascade of divine consciousness would have torn reality apart.

But even one is enough to change everything.

“Boys,” The Morrigan says conversationally, as if we’re meeting for afternoon tea instead of standing in the aftermath of divine massacre. “We have a problem.”

“The awakening gods?” Kieran asks, though his voice carries respect that borders on reverence, shadows pooling around his feet in deference.

“Oh, that is not the problem,” The Morrigan corrects with a smile that could freeze hellfire. “The awakening gods are exactly what is supposed to happen when my people are slaughtered like animals.”

She tosses the severed head at our feet with casual violence, then holds up the bone sword with barely contained fury that makes the air itself tremble. “The problem is what they used to kill her.”

“They have weapons,” I realize, mind racing through implications while my throat goes tight with horror. “Something that can actually destroy divine essence.”

“Not just any weapons,” The Morrigan confirms, and her voice carries a rage so ancient it makes the air itself tremble with recognition. “This blade was torn from her killer’s hands before I removed his head. Look closely at what they have done.”

My bloodstream crystallizes as realization strikes like a physical blow. The bone gleams with familiar power, and embedded along the blade’s edge are fragments of crystal that bear markings I’ve studied in the most forbidden texts.

“Divine bone,” I breathe in horror, revulsion clawing up my throat until I taste bile. “They are forging weapons from the bones of slaughtered gods.”

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