Snow fell like ash as I dragged the man who raised me—my not-father—into what was left of the cabin.
The walls were blown out. Half the roof gone. Smoke curled from the broken beams. The fire crackled weakly in the hearth, barely clinging to life. Same as him.
I lowered him onto the furs near the fireplace. His breathing was shallow. Blood soaked through his cloak, dark and slow. His leg was shattered. His ribs looked worse.
"Stay with me," I said. "You can't die now."
He opened one eye. The pain in it was unbearable—but so was the guilt.
"You should run," he rasped. "They'll send more."
"Not until I get answers," I snapped. My hands were still shaking. The sword—my sword—lay beside me, humming faintly, whispering in a voice I couldn't understand yet.
He exhaled. "You were born in a place not meant to exist. A rift between pantheons. Hidden."
"Pantheons?"
"The gods of every world. Olympus. Asgard. Duat. The Jade Court. All of them."
"What do they have to do with me?"
He looked at me with something between pity and fear. "You're their mistake. Their threat. The child of two gods that were never meant to meet."
I went still.
"Who?" I asked. "Who were they?"
He hesitated. Then:
"Your mother was—is—Neryssa. One of the primordial goddesses. From the days before light, before order. She was erased from most records. Not killed—banished. She commands the power of silence and shadow. The End Between Worlds."
"And my father?"
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "I never met him. Never saw him. But I know his name."
I leaned in.
He whispered, "Zepharion."
The fire dimmed at the name. The sword in my hand throbbed once.
I felt it—power, raw and ancient. That name didn't belong to any god I'd ever read about. No history book, no scroll, no myth mentioned it. Yet it felt… familiar.
"He's not part of any pantheon," my father said. "He existed before them. The first divine rebel. The one who made war against the thrones of heaven and hell alike."
"Then why am I alive?"
"Because they failed to kill you."
I clenched my jaw. The weight of it all pressed down like a mountain. I was the son of two forgotten gods—beings too dangerous to be remembered.
And someone still wanted me dead.
"What was that thing that attacked us?" I asked.
"A Shadowbound. A wraith made from corrupted divine will. They're sent by the Conclave of Pantheons. They hunt threats."
"Threats like me."
He nodded, slowly. "They'll keep coming. Until you're ashes."
I stared at the blade beside me. The runes still glowed—dim but steady. My reflection in the black-gold metal didn't look like me anymore. My eyes looked darker. Wilder. A storm lived behind them now.
"How do I fight them?" I asked.
He coughed hard. Blood on his lips. "You don't. Not yet. You run. You learn. You awaken."
"How?"
"There's someone who can guide you. The one who trained me to protect you. She lives deep in the Black Pines. South, past the Weeping Hills. She once served your mother, before the banishment."
"What's her name?"
He gave me a weak smile. "Alectra."
Something about the name stirred something in my blood. A memory I didn't have. A heat behind my ribs.
"But she won't come to you," he added. "You'll have to find her. Survive the path. Prove you're her heir."
The wind outside grew stronger.
Suddenly, the sword's glow pulsed brighter.
Then I heard it—whispers, carried on the storm.
Footsteps.
Not human.
They didn't even touch the snow.
"Already?" my father muttered. "They must've sensed the blade's awakening."
I stood, sword in hand, heart pounding.
Three figures stepped from the tree line.
The first was wrapped in gray feathers, with eyes like an owl and wings where arms should've been.
The second was draped in golden silk, but her face was covered in a cracked porcelain mask. Her fingers were too long, too thin. She held a staff of glass that never touched the ground.
The third was a boy—no older than me—with silver hair and blank white eyes. No weapon. Just a calm, empty smile.
"Child of the Forgotten," the feathered one said, her voice like wind between trees, "you must surrender."
"No."
They didn't blink. Didn't even flinch.
"We offer no mercy," said the masked woman. "Only cleansing."
My grip tightened. The sword answered.
The boy with silver hair stepped forward. "Let me test him."
Before I could react, he vanished.
Then—impact.
He was in front of me, fist in my gut. I flew backward through the cabin wall.
Pain lit up my spine. I coughed, tasted blood.
He appeared again—this time behind me.
I twisted, barely bringing the sword up in time. Steel met skin.
He leapt back. A shallow cut ran across his chest.
He looked down at it.
Smiled.
Then shadows exploded from beneath his feet.
Chains of pure light burst from the snow, wrapping around my legs and arms, pulling me down.
The masked woman lifted her staff. The air cracked. A bolt of divine energy screamed toward me.
I threw the sword up—and it absorbed the blast.
A hum built in the hilt. The sword drank the power. Then—
Boom.
It discharged.
A pulse of energy ripped through the clearing. The chains shattered. The owl-woman shrieked, wings shielding her face.
I was already moving.
The boy came at me again, but this time, I was faster.
I ducked under his strike, stepped in, and slashed. He vanished—then reappeared behind me, only to find my blade waiting.
Slash.
His arm split open. He stumbled, shocked.
"You're learning," he said softly. "Good."
Then he vanished in a swirl of mist.
The other two followed—dissolving into the storm.
They didn't expect me to fight back.
But now they knew.
I dropped to my knees, breath heaving. My veins felt like fire. The sword dimmed again.
My father—still lying by the fire—watched me.
"You've awakened something," he said. "They'll stop at nothing now."
I stood. Nodded.
"I'm leaving at first light."
"You'll need supplies," he muttered. "Take the compass. The cloak. And the stones. You'll know when to use them."
I knelt beside him.
"What about you?"
He gave a small smile. "I've done what I was meant to do. Bought you time."
I reached for him, but he grabbed my wrist.
His hand was cold. But his eyes still burned.
"Don't waste what you are. You are not a mistake. You are the last key."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Nodded once.
Then I stood, sword strapped to my back, cloak on my shoulders.
Outside, the storm raged.
But I didn't feel the cold anymore.
I had gods to defy.