Page 86 of Godbound
Did all of them truly prove their worth? Least of all Zyrel?
A bitter sound scrapes from my throat, a huff that tastes of bloodand acid. The nausea follows quickly behind.
“We should go,” Kaelzar murmurs, his sharp gaze sweeping over me with quiet concern. “We’ll watch the results through the mirrors.”
He carefully reaches for me, and I lean into his arm for a breath, just one, before forcing myself upright. I can’t show weakness. Not when the kingdom is still watching.
“Now,” the Sibyls continue, turning toward the people within the Sanctums, “it falls to these people to decide who will carry their prayers forward and which god shall no longer reign over the great kingdom of Calcatra.”
They raise their hands, fingers extending toward a row of five statues along the far wall.
“Iskavelle, Goddess of Air and Knowledge,” they say, “who grants wisdom to the seekers, clarity to the lost, and understanding to all who yearn for truth.”
My gaze follows their gesture to the crystalline statue of Iskavelle, delicate as mist. Her horns are short and pointy.
The Sibyls shift their hands to the next figure, ablaze in golden bronze with swirling horns. “Velskan, God of Traversing and Lust, who warms hearts and bodies alike, whose radiance stirs longing and inspires creation.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Seraphina straightens as Lyra Starcrest, Consul of Justice and Law, squeezes her shoulder. A silent endorsement. Lyra’s gaze sweeps the other Sanctums, daring anyone to overlook the one who saved her.
My attention flickers to Zyrel. He stands apart, untouched by battle, yet many people look to him as if victory is already his. The man beside him, Consul Montague, looms too close, his presence too deliberate to ignore.
Montague’s stare meets Lyra’s, an unspoken challenge passing between them. Something moves beneath the surface, a power play I don’t have the strength to decipher.
The Sibyls’ voices rise again, drawing me back. “Zoya, Goddess of Water and Life. She is the wellspring of creation, who stirs the tides of birth, calls forth growth from barren soil, and commands the riversthrough which all life must flow.” Her statue stands taller than the rest, her hair glistening with droplets frozen in motion, horns curving upward before flowing down along the length of her hair.
“Thul'Barak,” Sibyls continue, “God of Change and Beasts, who grants strength to the hunted, adaptation to the vulnerable, and courage to those who embrace transformation.”
Thul'Barak’s statue shimmers between stone and fur, as though caught mid-metamorphosis. Its horns are thick and tall, like a bull’s.
Then, a hollow pause as if even these divine heralds must brace themselves before speaking the final name.
“Calista,” they breathe together. “Goddess of Blood and Decay.”
No elaboration. Only her name.
Her statue stands regal and terrible, elegant horns arching like a crown.
The Sibyls lower their arms. “Step forward now,” they command. “Choose the god who shall carry your prayers onward. Let your faith decide which Champions remain in this trial and which one shall depart.”
The words hang in the air for a frozen moment, and then they move.
One by one, the people step forward toward the gods of their choosing.
Relief floods through me, and I almost collapse against Kaelzar. I saved more than half the people, they’ll remember that. Surely it will earn me enough prayers to get to the next challenge.
I just have to stay upright a little longer. Long enough not to bleed out on the sand beneath me.
But the relief is fleeting, swallowed by horror as I watch—helpless—while the very people I risked my life to save drift toward other gods.
Each departure lands like a fist to the chest. Some don’t even glance my way.
Their steps quicken, as if I’m the curse itself. As if my touch, my sacrifice, stained them. My pulse spikes, every footfall dragging my heart deeper into a dizzying panic.
I fought for them. I bled for them. And still, they turn away.
I have no way of knowing who will choose to stay. The uncertainty digs its claws into my gut. It shouldn’t hurt this much. I should have expected it.
I knew what I was and what I wasn’t. A cursed girl wearing the colors of a forgotten goddess, pretending she could belong among Champions. I was never meant to stand here.
