When Telos came to, he lay under the gaze of another god. She looked like a widow, a lady in mourning. Her dress was a green so deep it was almost black to the eye. A veil covered her face, and yet eyes shone star-like behind its shade. She towered a full three feet over the tallest of the Furies.

  Telos looked around. The Furies were gathered about him, along with Xarl. He had never expected to see the torturer again, much less as an ally, but the tangle of Fate was strange indeed.

  Steadily, Telos rose. Jubal, Ylia, and Qala were all there. Jubal’s wound had been healed. Ylia looked a little fresher. Qala, however, still bore the scars of lost years.

  “Where is my mother?” he whispered.

  Jubal and Ylia exchanged uncertain looks, and Telos felt a dagger in his heart, burning as it cut—but then he heard a voice.

  “Telos!”

  He wheeled around. His eyes widened with sheer surprise. There stood his ancient mother. Covered in blood. One leg looked broken, so she was leaning on her sword. Yet, there was a defiance in her eyes, and a steel in the grey of her hair, that spoke of much life yet left to give. He grinned ear to ear.

  “I always knew you were tough as nails,” he cried.

  Julya limped toward them, though soon Ylia and Jubal had crossed the distance, and helped her hobble along. Julya finally stood before Telos. There was a smile on her face, tears in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry… about your friends,” Telos said.

  Julya nodded.

  “They were brave men. Selfless men. But what we did here… I get the feeling it mattered.”

  “Telos Daggeron.”

  Telos and his mother turned. The goddess had waited with surprising patience, but now she was addressing him directly, and he suddenly realised he should kneel. So he did. Julya withdrew and knelt also, allowing the goddess room. Though he was exhausted, overawed, he meant this display of fealty. Eresh had saved them all.

  “You…” Telos said. “You helped me… In Daimonopolis… And you sent them to help us.” He indicated Xarl and the Furies.

  He could not see her face, but he sensed Eresh was smiling.

  “Of course I did. My brother and I have ever worked together.” He heard the sudden grief in her voice, then. The power of the emotion almost seemed to move the clouds above them. Somewhere above them, metal whined. Telos knew, then, that their battle had been observed from above—likely by more than one party. “Alas,” Eresh said. “No more. Beltanus is dead. But he chose his successor well.”

  “Danyil is dead,” Telos croaked.

  Eresh cocked her head.

  “I did not mean his natural-born son, dear though Danyil was to him. No, I mean you Telos. You were intended to be his successor. I do not think he intended that you should take over so quickly, but no Fate is certain war.”

  Telos swallowed hard.

  “I am sorry… I am… I am so sorry. For—”

  Eresh held up her hand.

  “Do not apologise to me, Telos. This war was not your doing. His death was not your doing. Nereth, Lileth, and The Warden all gambled with the Fate of worlds—and lost.”

  “Where is Nereth?”

  “Her father holds her,” Eresh said, and Telos heard the smile curling her lips. “He apprehended her just as she fled from you.”

  “Koronzon?” Telos whispered. “The real Koronzon, I mean?”

  Eresh nodded.

  “Nereth and Talon were his children, by the goddess Tiana. Tiana was also mine and Beltanus’ mother, though we had a different father. But come, there shall be plenty of time for you to learn of these things…”

  “Where is… Talon?”

  Everyone turned in surprise to look at Ylia. The crowd seemed to hold its breath, for she had dared to interrupt the speech of gods. But Eresh only laughed.

  “Ah, yes. I must thank you, Ylia Hart, for looking after my half-brother. Nereth cursed him most spectacularly. The serum she used to accomplish the feat was highly dangerous, but thankfully, it seemed he has retained his mind. He is aboard my vessel now, recovering.”

  Ylia looked down at her feet. Telos felt sorry for her. She had probably wanted to say a true goodbye. Even if Urgal was a lie, the memories they shared were genuine enough, and it seemed from what Talon had said upon waking that he remembered his time as a felidae—and Ylia’s care.

  Eresh’s sky-ship had landed atop the Falls of Loathing. There were figures—nearly as tall as Eresh was—moving in and out of the ship. A quartet of them carried the huge Nergal up the ramp into the ship’s hold. He shivered.

  Eresh followed Telos’s gaze.

  “You did well, Telos Daggeron. A day later, and The Nergal would have been irrecoverable. But such is the often the nature of Fate. Paths converge, at a certain place and time. The ignorant call it chance. But the wise know it is destiny.”

  “And yet destiny can be changed,” Telos said.

  Eresh paused.

  “Yes, yes it can, otherwise there would be little point in striving. Nereth once explained Fate to me this way: it is like a garment that you are weaving while you wear it. The garment must be worn, otherwise you shall be cold. But the garment is not yet final. Always, you are weaving it. It is never finished until the final day. The shape of the garment might therefore change much. You will find new ways to wear it. It is the same garment, the same threads. But the weaving is new. And ongoing. Does this make sense?”

  Telos nodded. His head hurt, and he wondered at whether the metaphor applied to his own body. How much had been replaced now, how much changed as he was pulled apart and remade a second time? He wondered if the others had seen it. What had Eresh done?

  But he still felt like himself, and perhaps he should leave it at that and not question it further. He was coming to learn that not all knowledge was desirable. Sometimes, knowledge got in the way.

  “I must give you this, mother,” Jubal said, bowing. Telos knew that Jubal was referring to Eresh’s title as the Mother of Theronts. Jubal was standing before the literal author of his race. The human race too, Telos. Never forget that. We, too, were wrought by the gods…

  Jubal held forth the black stone that’d emerged from The Warden. Now Telos saw it more clearly, it resembled less a stone and more a kind of pearl, a hardened sediment rendered beautiful by the very scum in which it was formed.

  “Ah…” Eresh said. She took it from the theront.

  “May I ask what that is?” Telos interjected.

  “It is the last piece of the man who was Koronzon Hammyr,” Eresh said, staring into its depths. “It seems a part of him was able to resist the Daimonic influence, bending their power entirely to his will. It is… strange. He chose of his own free will to follow the path they laid before him. A paradox, of sorts. Most do not get to choose. But still, that he could resist their influence in some form is an anomaly worthy of study. It shall be taken to the Smithlords of Nyshala.”

  Telos did not know what to say. Ylia spoke.

  “He won’t be able to…”

  “To come back?” Eresh finished. She gave a laugh that sounded like insects mating. Telos felt chills running through his spine. “No. Not even out crafts could bring a man back from… this. But some trace of him may yet remain in the stone. Such was his willpower, he was able to leave his mark. Just not in the way that he foresaw.”

  Telos heard the sardonic lilt of her voice. He decided he like Eresh a great deal. She was so unlike her brother, yet they shared creative genius—that much was clear.

  Xarl stepped forward out of the throng of Furies. He knelt before the goddess. His eyes flicked briefly to Telos before they fixed adoringly upon Eresh.

  “My lady, what would you have us do now.”

  “It is a good question, my dearest Xarl.” The sound of Eresh crooning over this monster set Telos’s hairs on end, but he held his tongue. Now was not the moment for one of his quips, however tempting. “You and the Furies must hunt down those Daimons that fled. You shall be our scourge upon them. Can you do this for me?”

  Xarl’s eyes widened with delight. He bowed his head.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Oh, wait one moment!” Telos said. He ran up to the slope of the Falls—marvelling to have his limbs in working order again—and quickly darted up it. He searched around for a few moments, then returned bearing a black, Qi’shathian blade.

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  “I believe this is yours, Xarl.”

  He presented Darkbite to the theront, who stared at him in dumb-founded, open-mouthed awe. Slowly, with almost comedic reverence, Xarl stood and took it from him.

  “My… my thanks, Telos.”

  “I think you earned it—I’m not sure.” Telos swallowed. “You did bad things, Xarl. But I see now that so have I. And we have fought this hard for the world to have a second chance. Why not us as well?”

  Xarl smiled—a quite terrifying expression. He took the blade in one hand and threw his other arm around Telos.

  “It was an honour to fight by your side!”

  They had not fought together in the slightest, but Telos would not refuse the gesture of goodwill, especially not as Xarl still terrified him. He was fairly sure he had seen Xarl lost amidst a deluge of acid—and yet here he stood, spotless. Even Eresh seemed wary of him.

  When they parted, Telos fought not to wipe his hands on his trousers. He felt slime clinging to his palms.

  Eresh let out one of her unsettling laughs again, then approached Telos. To his surprise, she took his hand in hers. Telos saw Ylia flinch, but hold herself in place.

  “Now Telos, I must tell you something grave. Our father, Lord Koronzon, has returned and requested the presence of the gods…” She pointed upward. There, clouds were parting as a colossal ship revealed itself, hovering above their world like an omen either of doom or salvation.

  “Then you are departing?” Telos said.

  “All the gods, Telos. Or rather, all those that remain… New gods must be created to replace those who fell. But that is a conversation for another time. Nereth’s Fate must be decided. Among many other matters. Come, Nilldoran awaits.”

  He blinked. What? He had understood the implication yet he could not believe it. He had thought… What had he thought? That when all this was done he would simply stop? Yes, and that he and Ylia would find a farm somewhere, where no one could ever bother them, and have lots of golden-haired, bright-eyed babies together. And that somehow he would make up for the lost years with his mother. She was looking at him now, with a curious intensity, as though gauging his decision.

  But of course, life could not be so simple. One battle was over, but all was not done. Daimons still roamed. Decisions had to be made about the Fate of the Nergal. The dead had to be buried. And, as Eresh had said, new gods made.

  The Warden’s words, about the impotence of the gods, were clearly not mere bait. He was right. They could no longer conceive naturally. Telos wondered, then, what that meant for himself. Had he lost the ability to become a father?

  “Well,” he said, as much to interrupt the rabid flow of his own thoughts as anything else. “I suppose I could summon myself for one more adventure.” He glanced at the others. “So long as I’m not alone.”

  Jubal grinned. “I said to the end, Telos.”

  “Me too,” Ylia said, softly.

  “I have nothing left here,” Julya said. “Why not go with you?”

  But Qala shook her head.

  “Your next journey is not for me. I am glad to have come this far with you, even though it has cost much…”

  “Qala, I…”

  “As Eresh said: do not apologise. And like Ylia also stated: you offered me choice. We may ask how much choice we have, given the tight weave of Fate. But I believe I did choose, and I am glad I did, for I saw a great evil averted here…” She sighed. “But now I must go back to my Path. And the destiny of Qi’shath. It may be I am too weak, now, to see it through. Yet, I must try.”

  Telos bowed.

  “I understand.”

  “No, Telos, you do not.” This came from Eresh, and all turned to see the goddess stood now atop the Falls, beside her ship. She was alone now, her attendants having gone within. Her eyes glinted through the black veil as she projected her voice with superhuman strength. “You must come alone. Nilldoran is not a place for mortals.” The eyes of the Dark Veiled Lady turned upon Ylia, Julya, and Jubal. “I doubt not your bravery, nor your contribution to the cause, but our planet is a harsh mistress. The atmosphere will kill those not born of Nilldoranian stock—or carrying the Godseed. I am sorry. I will give you time to say your farewells.”

  Eresh turned and walked up the ramp into her sky-ship. Telos turned.

  “Ylia, Jubal, I—” And then the tears came. They came more suddenly than a thunderbolt from heaven, more suddenly than death. He had hardly cried throughout his thirty-seven years of life, but over the last few days, he felt like he had done nothing but weep. Making up for lost time, he thought bitterly.

  Ylia came to him. She clasped him in an embrace so tight he hated her for it, for how could he leave such warmth, such love, such beauty. She pulled him away, somehow his god-strength not equal to hers.

  She was trembling as she spoke. “Telos, a long time ago, a man left me…”

  “Ylia, I’m not him—”

  She held up a hand, quietly silencing him.

  “You must be tired of us telling you to shut up. It’s just that, for once, we want to help you.”

  “I haven’t helped you. I’ve doomed you all. You’ve all lost…”

  Ylia shook her head.

  “We’ve been over this, Telos. Whatever we lost, we gained something better. And I was going to say, before you rudely interrupted—” She gave him one of her dazzling smiles and winks, the food that’d kept him from starving over the last few moons. How can I go? “I was going to say: this is not the same as what happened with my father. I’ve lived my entire life afraid of losing people, to the point I never had anyone in the first place. But I see now: what we had cannot be taken away. It’s written in stone, and in stars. You have a destiny before you. I knew that from the first day I saw you, drenched like a cat in the rain.” She smiled warmly. The tears just would not stop breaking from him, all the more painful for her kindness. “You have to go, Telos. You’ve been running your whole life from responsibility, from who you are. But that’s not you. I’ve seen the real you: the man who fights for those he loves, who tries to save where he can, who always has a plan. You’re not perfect. But neither was Beltanus. If anyone can take up the mantle of a god, it’s you.” Now Ylia was crying too. Silent tears. Burning like fire. “Don’t worry about me. The others will take care of me.” She leant in close. “And I’ll wait for you.”

  With that, she stood back. Gods, he hated how brave she was. How pure. She had feared being abandoned most of her life, but now she faced it, with a smile, with bright encouragement.

  By contrast, he had spent his whole life looking for love. For real love. And now, having found it, he had to let it go.

  Were it not for her bravery, he wouldn’t have been able to do it. He would have done what he always did: bargain, plan, scheme, manipulate. But he saw now that he couldn’t get what he wanted that way. Love had to be freely given. Thus, his only option—agony though it was—was patience. She had told him she would wait for him. Like all the gifts of his life, it was also a curse, and one he was not sure he could bear.

  But he would find a way. Because she was worth it. The angel of the golden ale. His ray of sunshine in a dark prison cell.

  There were no words or smokescreens left to him. So he smiled and nodded and choked on more tears.

  Julya stepped forward next.

  “My son…”

  They looked at one another. There was nothing left to say other than that. They embraced and he let the tears fall. She was weeping too. Oh, how he had misjudged her. How he wished he could take everything back. But it was too late now. He had to be content with this, this one moment, and that she had survived.

  After parting with his mother, he went to Jubal, and the two clasped hands like warriors—like friends. Again, no adequate words could be spoken. Jubal understood perfectly that he was now Ylia’s guardian.

  As Telos pulled away, Jubal gripped him more firmly and pulled him in close.

  “I will share with you one word of warning, Telos,” he whispered. “An old piece of theront wisdom: Time moves differently on Nilldoran. Beware its slippage if you wish to return.”

  Telos nodded.

  “Thank you, brother.”

  He embraced the theront, which took Jubal by surprise. Jubal laughed and returned the crushing huge.

  Next, Telos came to Qala. She embraced him like a sister, and he feared lest his resolve weaken again. She felt frail beneath his hands, but when they parted he saw her admiration and her strength, and he knew these were signs he had to go on.

  “You have found the Way, Telos. Few can say that much. Walk your path with your head held high.”

  He smiled at her, and bowed in the Qi’shathian fashion.

  “I hope when I return you have received your rightful crown.”

  Qala laughed, and it was like the wild wind blowing—all strange music.

  “I hope you shall not be gone so long, Telos. Remember us, down below, when you stand upon heaven’s soil.”

  Telos smiled sadly. “How could I forget?”

  He looked for Urgal out of habit—but the god had already been carried by attendants into the ship.

  Telos took one last look at Ylia. She glowed. And he knew, in his heart of hearts, that whatever happened, whatever the vicissitudes, he would find his way back to her. This was his oath, his promise, his curse. He would bear it with a smile. He would go to the home of the gods and endure whatever conniving and politics and trials they threw at him. He would see justice done. But in his heart of hearts, he would know the truth: where his true home was, and where he must return.

  In a strange way, The Warden had taught him something, after all. It was never the outer circumstances that mattered, but who one was within. The fires of life were meant to burn away the lies and shells to reveal the Truth.

  Telos turned, unable to hesitate any longer lest his resolve fail. With the bold strides of one whose spirits had been quickened by Fate, he strode up the ramp, and into the golden light of Eresh’s sky-ship.

  The ship’s engines roared. With the fire of Daimonsblood ignited, the craft ascended—rising, rising, rising upward into the atmosphere—towards the home of the gods. Telos took one last longing look at the human goddess he loved, far below now, a smear of gold in the vast darkness of Memory, before the ramp lifted and he looked upon Erethia no more.

  Thank you all for coming this far. I’m simply blown away so many people have gathered around the campfire to hear my tale. This story means a lot to me on a number of levels, so to be able to share it is truly a gift.

  I’d like to take a moment here to thank the entire Royal Road community for reading, encouraging, and just making my day, week after week. In particular, I’d like to thank Azurewyrm66 for proofreading the entire 246,000 word novel. I did not ask Azure to do this, nor offer a reward, and yet it was done with remarkable dedication. From the bottom of my heart: thank you! Any errors that remain in the text are my own fault, not a reflection on their hard work.

  I’d also like to thank Teloscientist for writing the first ever review of From Black Fires Rise, near the very beginning of releasing it. This gave me a much needed confidence boost. I felt seen, and the review spurred me on to continue the narrative boldly—and never to forget the lessons of Tolkien.

  I further wanted to put a note here to explain the future of the series. When I first started writing, I imagined the story unfolding across six books—or more specifically, a single arc that ran for six volumes. This was The Vicissitudes, of which From Black Fires Rise was the first instalment. However, as I have worked on the story, it became clear to me that the story perhaps has a different shape than this, composed of multiple arcs or threads.

  With the third instalment, the first arc of the series reaches its conclusion. There are more arcs to come, but this one is done—and I think contained. It’s a good place for me to stop, refuel, re-assess, and begin planning the next arc.

  I hope you enjoyed this first story. If you did, please leave a review so that others might find their way into the world of Erethia.

  And if you have ever suffered under your own vicissitudes, just know you are not alone.

  All the best

  Joe