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Alekir, The Soulbinder

Shadows ripple against my skin, alive with whispers no one else can hear. They curl and twist at the edges of my vision, not obeying but… waiting. Listening. I press my palm against the cold stone wall, feeling the vibration beneath—faint now, barely there, but unmistakable.

The God stirs.

Not a full awakening. Just the barest flutter of consciousness long buried, but it’s enough to make the air in Absentia feel thick, wrong. The corrupted magic scrapes against my senses like rust on silk.

“She’s begun,” I murmur, more to myself than the darkness.

My voice doesn’t echo. Nothing does here. The darkness drinks sound like it drinks hope; greedily, leaving nothing behind.

The Heart’s pulse reaches even this far, each beat an unwanted caress across my senses.

Distant yet insistent. With each flare of its power, I feel the mate bonds shifting, straining against the barriers I crafted centuries ago.

The spellwork isn’t breaking, but it’s… remembering. And memory is a dangerous thing.

I don’t turn at the sound of approaching footsteps. Don’t need to. Thorne’s energy announces him long before his shadow detaches from the greater darkness.

He kneels, head bowed. “Master.”

His deference doesn’t mask the hunger beneath. The boy’s gotten ambitious lately. It would be concerning if it weren’t so predictable.

“Rise, Thorne.” I gesture him forward with fingers that gleam too pale against the shadows. “Tell me.”

He straightens, trying not to look eager. Failing. “The girl grows stronger. The Heart of Eternity awakens in her, but she hasn’t mastered it.” A pause. His brow furrows. “And her chaos mage… there’s something about him. The way magic responds, it’s not—”

“Of course there is.” I cut him off, suddenly irritable.

The God’s presence flares briefly, drawn to the mention of the boy like a snake to warmth. My skin prickles with it, the ancient awareness brushing against mine. Interesting. The connection runs deeper than I’d thought.

“And the academy?”

Thorne’s lips curl. “Frightened. Divided.” Pride slips into his voice, he thinks this is his accomplishment. “They can’t decide whether to shape her into a weapon or cast her out as a threat. I’ve ensured they consider both options.”

Good. Fear is a blade that cuts deeper than steel, particularly in the hands of the powerful. The academy masters will either crush her or sharpen her. Either outcome serves.

The air shifts, thickens, and Lady Virath materializes from the gloom.

Unlike Thorne’s cautious approach, she moves like she owns the shadows, like the darkness is merely an inconvenience to be brushed aside.

Light magic glows at her fingertips, a deliberate rebellion.

She knows I allow it only because it serves me.

“You summoned me, Alekir.” Her voice is honey over gravel. Her gaze flicks dismissively to Thorne. “And yet, I find your pet already here. How quaint.”

Thorne bristles like an offended cat. I silence him with a glance.

“Play nicely, Virath.”

She arches a brow, unconcerned. The light at her fingertips pulses. “The God of Chaos stirs?”

It’s not really a question. She knows. She feels it too, the weight in the air, the pressure behind reality. The way Absentia itself seems to hold its breath.

I incline my head. “Kaia has accelerated the timeline. Every time she touches the Heart’s power, the God feels her.” I let the truth slip between us, dangerous and seductive. “She is not just a vessel. She is a beacon.”

Virath’s fingers twitch, her light magic flaring before she reins it in. Something like fear slides across her face, quickly masked. “Then we should act now. Send her into Absentia. Let the corruption take her.”

“And if she succeeds?” Thorne counters, stepping closer, forgetting his place in his eagerness to challenge Virath. “If she masters the shadows, the Heart will only make her stronger.”

Virath smirks, all elegant contempt. “A weapon for the academy. Or for you, Alekir.”

“Precisely.”

They think in such small terms; power and control, strength and war. They plot and scheme while standing in the shadow of a god, and they don’t see. They don’t hear what Absentia whispers in the dead of night, when even my dreams aren’t my own.

The God’s presence intensifies whenever the chaos mage draws near her, as if recognizing something long lost, something stolen.

The God does not want her dead.

The God wants her whole.

The Absentia challenge will push her to her limits, force her to break or rise. But it’s not just a test of her will. The shadows will not merely watch her.

They will mark her.

They will claim her.

And when the time comes… so will he.

I close my eyes against the certainty of it, against the vision of what comes next. The shadows press closer, almost eager, sensing my weakness. I push them back with a thought.

Not yet. But Soon.