Chapter 13: Conclave of Divinity
The Sanctum of Light floated among the clouds—an ancient, divine fortress suspended by celestial anchors above the Sea of Heavens. Its marble towers shimmered with eternal dawnlight, and the air vibrated with unseen hymns. Only Emissaries could walk its halls, summoned by the gods themselves.
Jean stepped through the luminous gates, her silver-white hair billowing behind her. Whitney walked beside her, his massive form calm but alert. The divine aura here was overwhelming, a pressure that bowed even the proud.
"Celeste is watching," he murmured. "But she is silent still."
Jean nodded. "Something's changed."
The Hall of Concordance was a vast amphitheater of starstone and gold, built for moments that shaped fate. Seated upon the elevated platforms were the Emissaries—each marked by a god, each accompanied by their divine guardian.
Jean scanned the room.
There was Seraphine Durnstahl, the newly risen Emissary of Flame. She stood tall in a cloak of embers, her fiery gaze never once leaving Jean.
Next to her was the Emissary of Stone, a giant of a man clad in obsidian armor, known only as Orran of the Deep Vault, whose divine guardian was a gargantuan rock-beast that slumbered behind him.
And across the chamber—seated calmly in lotus position—was Kira of the Monsoon, Emissary of Storm, a girl no older than Jean, her tattoos glowing with lightning. A tiger of pure wind sat at her feet.
Ryan and Freya stood in the mortal gallery, protected by spells of warding. Even they seemed stunned by the power that radiated here.
A voice filled the hall—not heard, but felt:
"The Conclave is assembled."
The air bent as a divine projection descended—an image woven of light and song.
It was Aureon, Herald of the Pantheon.
"Six Emissaries are now known. Four have not yet awakened," he said, his voice echoing through soul and stone. "Antares stirs. The wound left by Martin Luther no longer holds."
Gasps rippled across the room.
Jean remained silent.
Aureon turned to her.
"Emissary of Light. Why has Celeste withheld her voice?"
Jean stepped forward, her blade glowing faintly. "She fears what is to come."
Seraphine scoffed. "Or she doubts her champion."
Jean met her gaze, unflinching. "Say that again."
The fire flickered in Seraphine's eyes. "You're soft. You still believe in honor, in mercy. Dragons will not bow to light. They must be burned."
"Enough," Aureon said, and the very walls shook. "The Emissaries are not here to quarrel. You are humanity's last hope."
Kira of the Monsoon spoke next. Her voice was like rain on steel. "Then where is the Emissary of Shadow? Where is the seventh?"
No answer came.
But far beneath the Sanctum, in the sealed vaults of forgotten gods, a pair of eyes opened in the dark.
And someone smiled.
---
Back above, Aureon raised his hand.
"The Conclave is adjourned. Return to your worlds. You must grow strong. When the next sign comes, war shall begin."
Jean turned, her jaw tight.
Seraphine walked beside her.
"You're not ready for what's coming."
Jean didn't look at her. "I don't need to be ready. I just need to survive long enough to kill Antares."
Seraphine smirked. "Good luck with that, Emissary of Light."
---
As Jean stepped back onto the Silver Oath, Ryan met her with a scroll marked in wax.
"A message from the Luther Clan," he said. "It's urgent."
Jean opened it.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Adam Luther has returned from his assessment. And he's declared his claim to the Patriarchy."
---