Chapter 1223: Bravado
’I guess we now know how.’
Atticus reached out mentally to the only one he knew was far too proud to admit his current fear.
His proud voice came almost immediately. ’How what, bond?’
’How Whisker has survived this long despite his playful and nonchalant attitude.’
Ozeroth scoffed. ’It’s all simply bravado. He’s trembling on the inside like a little girl.’
’You’re one to talk.’
’What’s that supposed to mean?’
’I’m your bond, Ozeroth. I can feel your fear.’
’How can you feel something that does not exist?’ he shot back instantly.
Atticus didn’t argue. Everyone had their way of dealing with fear.
Whisker’s was a sudden mood change. Magnus sank into his own world.
Ozeroth’s method was denial, he was far too proud to admit otherwise.
’I’m not different.’
The quiet of the walk had given Atticus time to reflect. He realized his own retreat, conversations. To keep the mind busy. Keep it from drifting toward the storm ahead.
To Atticus, fear was simply discomfort, a warning bell. It didn’t cripple him nor stop his actions. It sharpened him. Made him more cautious.
And right now, he was deeply uncomfortable.
’I don’t like this,’ he repeated for the umpteenth time as they finally reached the end of the path.
“What now?” Whisker asked from behind.
They stood before a veil of blue, the vastness of the blue star sprawling endlessly in front of them. They couldn’t even see its end. If not for their powerful sight, their eyes would’ve been burned out by the light.
Atticus shrugged at whisker’s question. Even he wasn’t sure. He glanced at the other pathways and noticed that the people walking within hadn’t stopped, they simply kept moving.
“We pass through?”
He stepped forward, and the blue light swallowed him whole.
Whisker and Magnus exchanged a glance.
“We haven’t had the chance to officially meet. I’m Whisker,” he said with a smile, offering a handshake.
Magnus met his gaze for a moment, then shook his hand. “Magnus.”
They let go a second later, both exhaling deeply, then stepped through the veil.
…
A figure in a cloak of darkness made his way through the blue halls at the core of Torrevenos.
With a hole the size of a fist in his chest and a walking stick to act as support, Quiet Flame took his time.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had been on Torrevenos. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been on any star.
The Virelenna had always been held on Aelrion, and he never had cause to leave. But that was a long time ago, back when he stood at the top of all. But now…
Quiet Flame reached for the hole in his chest. His deepest trauma. The reason his being had radiated sadness for centuries.
He remembered that day like it was yesterday. It was fresh. The overwhelming power. The disdain. The two pairs of eyes that had gazed at him like he was worth nothing.
He, a whole freaking star. The humiliation…
He felt the tight grip of his arm, he had clenched his fist.
Quiet Flame gritted his teeth.
Anger. It was a feeling that had plagued him since the day that being descended and ripped a hole through him.
The being had destroyed everything he had painstakingly built for millennia.
He would have his revenge, even if it was the last thing he ever did.
Quiet Flame took in the halls. They were basic, but it was the line of portraits fixed on the walls that pulled his attention.
Portraits of one figure.
’Of course it’s him.’
The Star of Torrevenos. Back when Quiet Flame was at the peak, he had tried everything to beat him, but nothing worked.
Now that he was weakened, it was expected that he had used the opportunity and taken over the affairs of the Lower Planes.
’Let’s get this over with.’
Quiet Flame didn’t like that he was meeting those he once considered beneath him in his weakened state. He knew what was coming, and he did not like it.
Still, as he reached the massive double doors, Quiet Flame didn’t pause. He pushed through and entered.
Immediately, he took in the room, and froze.
Four thrones were arranged on a higher elevation than all others in the room, with three already filled.
They had been good enough to set out a suitable place for Quiet Flame to sit as an equal, but he knew deep down that this wasn’t the case.
In the middle was a figure whose throne was larger, and whose aura was more expansive than any in the room.
The Star of Torrevenos.
Iron Crown.
He sat like a god among men, barely sparing Quiet Flame a glance as he entered.
But Quiet Flame wasn’t focused on him. His gaze was fixed downward, where multiple people were seated on different thrones.
Their aura, the way they carried themselves, their defined Will, Quiet Flame recognized them instantly.
Middle Planers.
“What is the meaning of this?” Quiet Flame demanded, and eyes turned towards him. He looked at the Middle Planers with nothing but hostility.
“Ah, old man. You’re here.”
Quiet Flame settled on a figure whose voice sounded like a primal beast.
The Star of Dranzmael.
Crimson Hollow.
He appeared as a laughing beast with infinite mouths and golden eyes sealed inside a blood red moon. His eyes were amused as they stared at Quiet Flame.
“You still have the bad habit of asking stupid questions,” he laughed. “What do you think? They’re here for a bath!”
“You will watch your tongue.” Quiet Flame’s voice came cold, but Crimson Hollow only snorted.
“Or what? You’ll make me feel sad? Or will you report me to the being that made that hole through your heart? What exactly will you do, huh? Weakling?”
Crimson Hollow didn’t hold back and laughed.
Quiet Flame gritted his teeth. Crimson Hollow had been the last born. The weakest among them. If not for his current weakness, he would’ve never dared to speak to him in that manner.
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