Page 1 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

Karis Endolinn had never considered how he might die.

Where he hailed from, contemplating the end wasn’t practical, and those he kept in company with deemed it weak.

He was raised in the shadow of kings and warriors, philosophers and wielders, all of whom were remembered for their dedication to living without fear.

It was not Karis’s aim, however, to be remembered.

He’d lived a long life, and in those three hundred years, his only objective was to leave everyone he’d befriended, mentored and loved, with the tools to finish what he’d started.

Following the Sight, the Mother and her gifts, he laid the path out for them in the only way he could. The series of steps that all started here, tonight, in a small, moonlit clearing amidst the thick woods of San Bruno, California, Earth.

It all began… with his end.

Dirt crunched beneath his boots. The sound of wind-rustled branches hummed in his ears, brushing his grey-blonde hair over his shoulders. The smell of earthy, spicy cedarwood he’d come to love permeated the air. He felt euphoric. Happy, even. But he did not show it.

The hooded figure stalking behind him, wielding the knife that would kill him, could not see Karis express anything but stoicism.

Couldn’t sense his relief. Couldn’t glean how desperately tired he was, and how he so longed for rest. The visions were clear on this need to remain neutral.

He’d have to present himself as emotionless as possible, unwavering as the knife came down on him.

He came to a stop, poised himself as best he could, straining to stand on those exhausted feet. Then Karis Endolinn—storied Oracle of Hydor, leader of the exiled and friend of humanity—recited the poetry of his ancestors one last time.

“In unrest, I find my beloved Ealis wayward in the fight for dominion. Those souls gifted everlasting life have, in time, coveted death. Praised it. Hungered for it. Blessed Viator will be envied, hunted, but not worshipped. For true power now lies in the reforging of oneself as a God. And to become truly immortal, one must rule in the afterlife…”

The hooded figure stepped forward, pulling out a gold-hilted steel blade. It was lightweight but shook slightly in the trembling hand of the assailant, who was not a trained killer of legends, only ordered to be there, to follow Karis, to put him down quickly.

“… Lest we forget to rejoice in the Mother’s love, for it is a blessing to be held at all.”

The weapon raised high in the air, hung motionless for a moment, glinting in the starlight before driving down into Karis’s back for the fatal, promised blow.

“Forgive me,” Karis muttered, and fell to his knees.