Page 14 of Unseen Eye (Aetherian Chronicles #1)

A laugh catches in my throat, but it dies under his steady, unflinching expression. “Real? Like Thalor, the goddess who turned spring leaves to autumn gold, and Valtris, the great warrior?” I shake my head, bitterness slipping out before I can stop it. “Those bedtime stories?”

His jaw tightens at my tone, but he only nods.

I blink, the words skimming past my understanding before they dig in, the absurdity sharp.

I feel a sick twist of disbelief—anger, almost, at how calmly he says it, as if I’m expected to just accept it.

“So… you’re telling me the gods were real?

” The sarcasm slips out before I can help it.

“Thalor, Valtris, even Eldorin—actually existed?”

Garet chuckles—a small, humorless sound that leaves his expression unchanged. “Yes, even Eldorin.” He gestures faintly to the room around us. “This… is his kingdom.”

My eyebrows shoot up before I can stop them. “Of course it is,” I mutter. “And I’m supposed to just believe all of this because you say so? Like, oh, surprise, your entire life was a lie. Congratulations.”

A flicker of something—pity, maybe—crosses his face. “I know it’s a lot to take in. But my father, King Baron, rules Astermiri.”

I open my mouth, but the question is out before I can stop it. “Wait—so you’re a prince?”

Garet rolls his eyes, visibly restraining his patience. “Yes. Now, please be quiet.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I shoot back with as much sass as I can muster, though my mind is already splintering under the weight of what he’s saying. I’m filled with this jagged need to know, to pick at every answer he offers like it might fall apart under scrutiny.

Garet takes a steadying breath, his voice growing serious.

“Aetheria is divided into five kingdoms, each once ruled by one of the original gods, the Divinities. Skorda was under Thalor, a land where the leaves changed colors with the seasons.” He attempts a light chuckle.

“Coire, ruled by Valtris, was a kingdom of warriors bound by unbreakable codes of honor. Catalpa was governed by Irisia, the Goddess of Wisdom and Magic, where knowledge and arcane arts thrived. And then, there was Soala…”

His voice falters, and a chill creeps up my spine as the weight of his hesitation settles in.

“Morosith ruled Soala,” he says quietly, his face shadowed.

“Once a realm of dreams and life, but he… turned.” A dark look glints in his eyes as he continues.

“He became obsessed with forbidden magic. He tapped into a darkness that twisted his mind, corrupting him from within. He sought to merge Aetheria with the abyss—a realm of shadow beyond any mortal understanding.”

“So, what happened?” I press, voice breaking a little.

Garet shifts, glancing away. “There was a war—a catastrophic one, between the gods themselves.”

The words are chilling, seeping into my mind like the touch of an early frost. “And they couldn’t… stop him?”

“They tried,” Garet says, his voice tense.

“The other gods pooled their power, sacrificing everything to seal Morosith away in the abyss. They forged gates, barriers that could hold him, each bound to the lands they ruled. But they knew it would only hold him for so long.” His eyes bore into mine, unblinking.

“Those gates are all that keep his darkness from spilling into Aetheria again.”

A spark of something—recognition—ignites in me, and before I can stop myself, the memory slips out. “I saw one,” I whisper, feeling the weight of my own words sink in. “In the woods one night. I thought it was just… a dream.”

Garet’s face hardens, his expression twisting into something close to disbelief, or maybe anger. “You saw one of the gates? And you didn’t think to tell me?” His voice rises with the question, like he can’t decide whether to yell or snap.

I flinch, not expecting the force behind it. His gaze cuts through me, accusing. “You saw something that damn important, and you kept it to yourself?”

I struggle to find words, caught off guard by his rage. “I—I didn’t know what it was.”

Garet’s jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring as if he’s holding back a storm. “Yet didn’t think to say anything? Are you serious right now?”

I swallow hard, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. “So… this darkness—Morosith’s forces—it could come back?”

His eyes narrow, frustration still simmering in every line of his face. “Yes. And we need to know how.”

I stare at him, my mind racing to find a shred of logic in his words.

Anger flares beneath my confusion—a simmering resentment that twists in my gut.

“And I was never told. All this time, these were just tales to me—legends with morals tacked on the end. You expect me to believe that all of this was kept from me for my own good?”

His eyes narrow, a flicker of pity laced with understanding. “Sometimes, knowing less is safer than knowing the truth.” His voice is resigned but steady. “But you’re not safe anymore.”

There’s a pause, thick with everything I don’t understand and the answers I’ve barely started to grasp. My voice is hollow when I speak. “And beyond Aetheria?”

“Beyond Aetheria lies the human realms of Providence, where you lived,” Garet explains. “Separated by mountains and strong magic, these realms are shielded from the gods’ direct influence.” I catch the subtle emphasis on “lived,” and my heart aches again.

I almost laugh, a brittle, painful sound. I think of Nessa and Finn, of home, so distant it feels like another life.

Garet’s face hardens, his eyes narrowing to slits. He doesn’t respond immediately, just leans in closer, his voice cold and edged with disbelief. “Before we go any further, I need to know exactly what happened with the commander. That light... what the hell was it? And who are you, Eva? Really?”

My anger spikes, a burning response at the tip of my tongue. I slam my fist on the table, glaring at him. “Who am I? I’m the girl whose life you’ve torn apart with your secrets! Kendry is dead because of you, and you’re asking who I am? I don’t know what happened with the light, Garet!”

He flinches, just barely, but it’s enough.

Instead of backing down, his expression sharpens, and he steps closer, his words like a challenge.

“You might not like it, but I don’t give a damn about your feelings right now.

We’re out of time. If there’s anything you’re not telling me—anything you’re hiding—I need to know. Now.”

“I already told you, I don’t know!” I shout, my voice shaking with frustration. “I have no idea why any of this is happening, and I don’t understand why you’re acting like I owe you anything!”

Garet’s voice lowers, but it doesn’t soften. “Eva, who are you, really?”

“I’m just human!” I scream, feeling a raw, helpless fury rise up in me. “What else could I be?”

He watches me, unmoved, his eyes unreadable. “No, Eva,” he says, his voice unsettlingly calm. “Humans don’t make light appear out of their hands.”

The realization slams into me, leaving me breathless. I’d tried to avoid even thinking about it, but his words make it real. “What… what are you saying?” I whisper, voice trembling.

Garet holds my gaze, his expression unreadable, a hint of something like pity in his eyes. “There’s more to you than you’re willing to admit.”

Silence falls between us, the weight of his words pressing down, and I struggle to make sense of what he’s implying. “Then where are the gods now?” I manage, needing something to grasp onto, something that makes this less impossible.

His expression shifts, a grim resolve settling over him. “The ritual that imprisoned Morosith drained the gods of their very essence, their power. They sacrificed themselves, binding not only him but also their own strength within an enchanted prison.”

I try to grasp the enormity of what he’s saying. “So… the gods are still locked in the abyss?”

“Yes,” he replies, voice low. “They sacrificed themselves to bind Morosith, and their essence is trapped there with him. But fragments of their power remain—passed down to their descendants. Some of us hold their bloodline and strength, though we’re shadows of what they were.

” His voice grows bitter. “And then there are the ‘lesser gods’—beings with only traces of divine power, who resented that they weren’t chosen to succeed the originals.

They challenged us, fought the succession, making peace even harder to keep. ”

Garet’s gaze drifts, his expression haunted as if he’s seeing the turmoil from ages past. I feel a chill, realizing that the scars of this power struggle still linger.

“So,” I say, my voice wavering as I piece it together, “the gods’ children rule now? And you’re… one of them?”

He nods.

My frustration spikes, breaking through the numbness. “But that still doesn’t explain why we were attacked—or why you were in Providence that night. Nessa, Finn, my home… were we just collateral damage in some ancient power struggle?”

Garet’s gaze hardens, the frustration in his eyes mixing with something else—something I can’t quite place, but feels like regret.

“I get it. You’re pissed off. But you’re missing the point.

Morosith’s grip is getting stronger, seeping through every crack in his prison.

The seal that holds him is slipping, Eva.

And when it finally shatters…” He doesn’t finish, but the implication is enough.

“So, we’re just… casualties to an ancient feud,” I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. Images of my friends flash before me—Finn, Nessa, Kendry. All hurt, all caught up in this mess. “Why were you even there?”

Garet takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting, as though weighing how much to share.

“I was in Providence following a lead on a troubling pattern. People have been disappearing—not just in Astermiri, but in other cities, too. Rumors hinted that something dark was stirring, spreading through these regions, so I was tasked with investigating the source.”

I blink, taken aback. “And that led you to…me?”

“Not exactly.” He clears his throat, his voice low. “I came across your stories at the market. They felt… eerily familiar. Like echoes of things I thought were buried.”

“Wait. My stories?”

He nods, meeting my gaze. “You described things no one outside certain circles should know—gods, ancient wars, even fragments about Morosith. And while some parts had creative flair,” he adds, with a faint smile, “the rest was unmistakably real.”

My pulse quickens. So that’s why he’d lingered around that day. I thought we had some sort of “meet-cute” when, really, I was his suspect.

I frown, crossing my arms. “So, this whole time… you’ve been watching me because of some uncanny stories I wrote?”

“There’s more to it than that,” he says, serious. “When I realized what you knew, I had to find out how. Stories like those—our stories—don’t just float around casually.” He pauses, his gaze piercing. “And your words might hold a key to this dark resurgence.”

Garet’s gaze sharpens, his eyes probing mine. “How did you know all that? How did you come up with those stories?”

“Why should I trust you?” My voice shaking with anger. “You’ve been lying to me for years! Was any of it real? You’re nothing like the merchant’s son I thought I knew.”

“I was doing what needed to be done, keeping things in order,” he says, shrugging with infuriating nonchalance

“Keeping things in order?” My voice rises, incredulous. “People are missing! Families are torn apart, and you’re standing here acting like it’s just… routine? You think that’s protection?”

A glint of irritation appears in his gaze. “I don’t expect you to understand. Some of us have responsibilities—ones you couldn’t possibly grasp.”

The condescension in his tone sends my anger flaring into something darker, something cold and relentless.

“Maybe you’re right. I don’t understand how anyone could stand by and watch people disappear, act like it’s for some greater good.

You think you’re some noble protector, but you’re just a coward hiding behind excuses.

You knew about the missing people—people disappearing in Providence and here. Did you even try to find them?”

Garet’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks away. “We’ve found traces. But no one’s come back.”

I stare at him, disbelief and frustration tightening my chest. “So, you’ve been covering it up. You knew, and you didn’t warn anyone? You just let them keep disappearing?”

His voice drops. “It wasn’t as simple as that. Whoever, whatever, is taking them—it’s something dark. Something no one in Aetheria fully understands.”

I feel the weight of his secrets pressing down on me, feeding the anger twisting inside. “And what about the others? The families who don’t know what happened to their loved ones—who haven’t had a choice?”

His face softens slightly. “I was trying to protect you, Eva. Even if it meant keeping things hidden.”

“Protect me?” I scoff, bitterness flooding my voice. “You don’t protect people by lying to them, Garet. You only make it worse.”

A pained silence settles between us, thick with anger and distrust. Then, with a steady gaze, Garet pulls out a dagger, its edge gleaming ominously. “One more question,” he says, voice taut. “Where did you get this?”

My breath catches. It’s the dagger—the one from the stranger who saved me. I reach instinctively for my pocket, only to remember I’m in a nightgown. “I… I don’t know,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Found it after the attack.”

His eyes narrow. “This isn’t just any blade, Eva. It’s bound to dark magic, something no ordinary human should have.” He studies my reaction, as if searching for answers in my face.

“What does that even mean?” I ask, feigning confusion.

“Eva, anything you know could help us. We’re on the edge of disaster here.”

I fold my arms, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “And this is your idea of working together—interrogating me?”

He sighs, rubbing his temples. “You’re right. I’ll…try to be more open with you. We both need to trust each other if we’re going to face this threat.”

“Wow, thanks,” I say dryly, “for the generosity.”

Garet tenses, but he nods. “I’ll take it one step at a time. For now, get some rest.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I mutter, barely able to contain my frustration. “Can’t wait for the next round of friendly questioning.”

Garet stands, slipping the dagger back into his pocket. My eyes follow the motion, unease prickling at the edges of my thoughts. His expression is unreadable as he heads for the door, leaving me alone with nothing but questions, anger—and a hint of fear—about just what he’s hiding.