Page 33 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor’s Destiny (Time for Monsters)

I felt it before I saw it—a pulse, a steady rhythm that wasn't my own, but something older, something woven into the stone and water beneath us. The air shifted, thick with something ancient, waiting. And then, as we stepped forward, the passage opened into a vast space, and the underground river spread before us like a black ribbon of liquid glass.

I stumbled to a stop, and my breath caught in my throat. It was beautiful. Impossible. And at the same time, familiar.

The river twisted through the city. Its waters gleamed and reflected the shafts of light filtering from the ceiling above. The same light touched stone bridges arching over the water, the limestone structures carved with glyphs that felt like whispers in my head.

Even though I had never been here before, I felt like I knew this place. Somewhere, buried deep within me, Vaelora recognized it too.

The people lining the streets turned toward us. The moment they saw Vardor, their expressions shifted from curiosity to awe, reverence, and worship. They bowed to Asharat, fell to their knees for Vardor, and when their eyes found me, they bowed their heads to the ground.

My head lifted of its own accord, my shoulders moved back, and pride filled every pore of my body. I should have felt embarrassed. Part of me wanted to scream at them to get up. But I didn't.

Because deep inside me, Vaelora stirred like a whisper in my bones, and that part of me knew I deserved it.

They called my name, her name. Vaelora. And with every voice that added to the chanting of my name, with every pair of eyes filled with hope, belief, and expectation, something inside me grew stronger.

Power hummed through my veins.

Every step I took felt lighter, as if I were slipping into something old, something that had always belonged to me but had been locked away. It frightened me. I feared that if I kept walking, if I kept listening, if I let them believe in me as they did, then one day I might wake up and I wouldn't be Roweena anymore.

I would only be Vaelora.

My fingers drifted to my belly, pressing gently over the still-nonexistent swell of my unborn child. A sharp wave of worry curled around my ribs. The baby. Vardor's and my baby. What would happen to him?

Vardor moved beside me, his presence like a rock I knew I could always rely on. I turned toward him, opening my mouth to ask, to confess, to share the fear that was swallowing me whole. But before a word left my lips, my eyes fell on a great golden door looming before us. The entrance to Vaelora's temple.

The final step of the path she had left for us.

The golden doors loomed before me, carved with symbols I recognized without knowing how. I traced them with my eyes—glyphs of renewal, destruction, war, and creation, all woven together in a language older than mortal empires.

The temple was waiting for me. The weight of the people's belief pressed against my back, thousands of eyes locked onto Vardor and me. Their whispers echoed through the cavern, some murmuring Vardor's name, others chanting Vaelora, Vaelora, Vaelora .

It filled me. It strengthened me. And it also terrified me. Because the more they believed, the more real she became.

Vardor stood beside me, his expression stony. I could feel the tension radiating off him. He was always like that—stone and steel in the face of uncertainty. He was wary. Of the temple. Of what Vaelora had planned for us. Of what would happen once we stepped inside.

Asharat placed his palms against the golden doors, and they shuddered open. More warm air surged out, thick with the scent of incense and oil.

The moment my feet crossed the threshold, a wave of energy surged through me, washed over my skin, and wrapped around me. The lure of incredible power whispered my name.

The temple was nothing like the towering, grand structures above the sands. It was smaller, more intimate—but every inch of it pulsed with purpose. The walls were lined with reliefs of gods and warriors, of battles fought in the heavens, of stories I had yet to understand.

A single altar of black stone stood at the very center, positioned beneath a circular opening in the ceiling. The opening was perfectly aligned to catch the light from one of the shafts above.

I stopped to stare as understanding settled deep in my chest.

"This is it," I murmured.

My hand pressed over my stomach again. Had Vaelora foreseen that too? Had she known or even considered the possibility of a child? If she hadn’t, it could have been a sign that I was never meant to carry this child. The realization hit me like a cold blade to the ribs. I should not be able to create life. Gods do not give life. They extended and shaped it. They might even take it away. But they didn't create.

Did that mean I was carrying something new? Something unnatural? Would Vaelora allow this? Would she let this child exist?

My breath hitched, and suddenly I wasn't standing in a temple—I was standing on the edge of a precipice, one step away from falling. Vardor must have sensed the shift in me because his gaze dropped to where my hand rested against my stomach.

And for the first time, I saw something in his expression I had not expected to ever see: Fear.

He wasn't afraid of the temple or the people we could still hear chanting our names outside. He was afraid of what this pregnancy meant.

For me. For him. For our child.

Unaware of our trepidation, Asharat moved next to the altar, spread his arms, and said, "Welcome home."

My pulse thundered, and Vardor's shoulders went rigid beside me. I could read the same war of emotions going on in him that was ravaging me.

Vardor's voice was hard as his gaze locked on Asharat. "Explain."

Asharat tilted his head, and something passed between him and Vardor. "She mourned you, Vardor. For a long, very long, time. She was never the same after you… were gone. She busied herself creating all this," he stretched out his arms to encompass the underground city, "but once she was done… she only wanted you back. This," again he spread his arms, "didn't mean anything to her without you. She is the goddess of balance, but how could she keep the balance if she was unsteady? She wanted you back, but she was afraid that it was for her own selfish reasons." He paused. "In the end, the decision was taken from her, and she saw only one option. She needed to be born as a mortal and test you. You would either pass, and the two of you would face what is to come together, or you would both die as mortals."

My heart hitched. I doubted this city would survive for long without her. Vaelora had been willing to risk the death of thousands just to be with Vardor again?