36..?

Zeroth grunted as he fastened the last of his armor straps, rolling his shoulders to adjust to the weight. Something felt off—not in a bad way, just different. The metal was light, far lighter than it should have been, yet when he flexed his arms and shifted his stance, it was sturdier than anything he had ever worn before. His fingers idly traced over the reinforced plating, feeling the tempered steel blend with intricate engravings of runes he hadn’t noticed before.

With a sigh, he reached for his new shield—the massive slab of thick, bark-covered wood Sylvana and Tingle had forged specifically for him. Its surface was raw and jagged, looking more like a torn fragment of an ancient tree rather than a proper shield, yet when he lifted it, the weight was perfect. He could already feel the slight thrum of its enchantments beneath his fingertips, the way it seemed to drink in the residual magic lingering in the air.

He huffed. Guess I need to get used to using a shield now.

Across the room, his allies were finishing up their own preparations. Ardric methodically tightened his gauntlets, the soft golden glow of Luminara’s blessing radiating faintly from his form. Varic stood nearby, adjusting the grip on his yklwa, his enchanted cloak shifting as if eager for battle. Tingle was busy affixing the last of his magically enhanced boots, while Pyronox, ever the looming presence, stood with arms crossed, his molten form flaring and dimming in quiet thought.

Then, as Zeroth secured the last buckle on his vambrace, a familiar voice broke through the relative quiet.

“Ahem.” Thalamar cleared his throat, his tone casual but deliberate. “Before we move forward, I believe our dear deities may find it wise to take a moment to… prepare elsewhere.” His gaze flicked momentarily toward Vulcanix, who had been silently looming near the back of the chamber. "Perhaps a moment to commune amongst yourselves, make any last-minute considerations before the Godswar begins?"

Vulcanix narrowed his fiery eyes. "Hmph. If you need an excuse to be rid of us, Archmage, at least make it less obvious," he muttered, but after a moment, he waved a dismissive hand. "Fine. This is a mere formality anyway."

Luminara gave Thalamar a curious glance before nodding. “A final meditation will do us well.” She turned to Ardric. “Do not falter in my absence.”

Eldrinacht began to phase away but stated, “I suppose I could use some fresh air. And by that, I mean being anywhere but here with him.” He nodded toward Vulcanix before vanishing in a subtle wisp of darkness.

Thorund gave Kael a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping through a conjured golden doorway. One by one, the deities left, until only the champions and Thalamar remained. The air felt suddenly lighter in their absence, the oppressive weight of divine energy finally lifting.

Thalamar let out a slow breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “By the stars, it’s difficult to think with that much ego in one room.”

Zeroth chuckled. “You get used to it.”

Thalamar ignored the comment and took a step forward, his eyes flicking toward Zeroth’s waist. “Now, then…” He lifted his hand and, with a subtle movement of his fingers, murmured a quiet incantation. A faint tremor rippled through the air.

A moment later, a familiar shimmering form materialized above Zeroth’s belt.

Grimbli.

But unlike before, when only Zeroth could see him, this time, everyone could.

Ardric sucked in a breath, his eyes widening as he took a reflexive step back. “What in the blazes—”

Varic’s hand shot to his yklwa instinctively before his brain caught up with his reflexes. “Uh… What are we looking at, exactly?”

Tingle, to no one’s surprise, immediately scurried forward, eyes wide with wonder. “Oh! Tingle has never seen a spirit do that before! Fascinating!”

Grimbli, now hovering above them in full spectral form, glanced down at himself, then back at Thalamar. “Well, I’ll be damned… I didn’t think you’d actually pull it off.”

Zeroth blinked. “Wait, you knew he could do this?”

“Of course I bloody knew,” Grimbli grunted. “I’ve been watching him do magic for a thousand years...” He looked around the room, then sighed heavily. “Guess I should properly introduce myself to the lot of you, now that I don’t have to play floating glowy rock.”

Thalamar folded his arms. “Then I suppose it's time for the truth.” His voice carried a weight to it, one that made even Pyronox’s ever-burning form dim slightly in intrigue.

A heavy silence fell over the room as Grimbli’s spectral form hovered above them. The normally jovial spirit wore a rare expression—one etched with the weight of centuries past, of burdens carried long beyond the time they should have faded.

Zeroth adjusted his stance, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Alright, old ghost, let’s hear it. You’ve been waiting a long time to spill this, haven’t you?”

Grimbli huffed, floating a little higher. “Longer than you could ever imagine, lad.” His spectral gaze flickered to Thalamar. “And you. It’s about time you stopped pretending.”

The archmage sighed, rubbing his temples. “Yes, yes. I know.” He straightened, his usual casual demeanor shifting into something more resolute. “But there was a reason, Grimbli. You know that.”

Grimbli scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned his full attention to the group, his spectral form pulsing with faint golden embers as he prepared to speak.

“Over a thousand years ago, the first Godswar took place—not so different from the one about to unfold. Back then, the deities still played their little games, testing their strength through mortal champions.” His gaze darkened. “But what the histories don’t tell you… is that it almost broke the gods themselves.”

Zeroth frowned. “What do you mean?”

Grimbli’s form flickered as if remembering something painful. “The Godswar was meant to be a contest, yes. A grand spectacle of might and will. But things went wrong—horribly wrong. And at the center of it all was one man.” He turned to Thalamar.

“Vaelthore Everbound,” Grimbli said, his voice carrying the weight of the name.

A visible shudder went through Thalamar at hearing it spoken aloud, though he showed no signs of surprise.

“Who?” Ardric asked, confused.

Grimbli exhaled heavily. “Before he was Thalamar, he was Vaelthore, the first champion of Aeonis.”

Zeroth’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes flared and snapped to Thalamar, who stood rigid, staring at the ground as if every word spoken carved deep into his soul.

Grimbli continued. “He was chosen to be Aeonis’s sword in the first Godswar. And he was powerful, a warrior and mage unlike any the world had ever seen. He was unkillable and his will was indomitable. Not a mage alive matched his magical prowess. But, like all champions, he was bound by divine law to fight on behalf of his god and abide by the rules of the contest.”

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He turned grim. “Until he broke those rules.”

The room tensed.

Thalamar, still silent, closed his eyes.

Varic spoke first. “What… did he do?”

Grimbli’s eyes burned. “He fell in love.”

Zeroth’s mind reeled. He had expected betrayal, some grand defiance of the gods, a rebellion—but love? That was what caused him to fail?

“Her name is lost to time,” Grimbli murmured, “but she was a champion, too. A chosen of a god that no longer exists—one who stood against Vulcanix.”

Pyronox visibly stiffened at that, but said nothing.

“The Godswar was nearing its final stages. The battles had been brutal, the champions dwindling. But then, Vaelthas—Thalamar—learned that his beloved was going to die.”

Thalamar finally spoke, his voice low and controlled. “I tried to stop it.”

Grimbli nodded. “He attempted to interfere, to cheat the system that binds the Godswar. He called upon every ounce of magic he had, tried to defy fate itself. But the cost…” Grimbli’s form flickered, as if pained by the memory. “The spell backfired. A ripple of divine power surged across the battlefield, distorting the very fabric of the gods’ domain and slammed into the goddess Aenara, nearly destroying her. Aeonis, being the arbiter of the war, was forced to act.”

Zeroth felt a pit in his stomach. “And what did he do?”

Thalamar lifted his head. His expression was unreadable. “He erased me.”

“He didn’t kill me,” Thalamar continued, “but he wiped me from history. My name, my past, my identity—all of it, erased. The gods declared me unworthy of being a champion, and so they made sure I would never be one again.”

Grimbli added, “Aeonis couldn’t bring himself to destroy his own chosen, so instead, he rewrote him. Changed his very being, made him forget everything. He became Thalamar, a mage with no past, no memory of the war.”

Zeroth exhaled sharply. “But you remember now, don’t you?”

Thalamar’s lips curled slightly. “Yes.”

Grimbli shook his head. “And yet, you never left the gods’ game. Instead, Aeonis had me forge something new—a place where this little ‘accident’ could be hidden away from prying eyes.” He gestured to Thalamar. “I created the Mage’s Guild and he placed you at its center, locking you there under a divine perception filter. No one questions why you’ve been alive for a thousand years, because they can’t.”

Zeroth’s skin prickled. “You mean… the guild itself is a damn prison?”

Thalamar smirked, but there was no humor in it. “A gilded one, but yes.”

Grimbli grunted. “Aeonis never hated you, lad. He just couldn’t have you mucking up another war.”

Zeroth rubbed his temples. “So let me get this straight. Thalamar—Vaelthas—was Aeonis’s champion. He fell in love with another champion, tried to save her, nearly broke reality, got his identity erased, was dumped into a mage’s tower, and you”—he pointed at Grimbli—“were forced to build both the coliseum then the Mage’s Guild to cover it all up?”

Grimbli snorted. “Aye, that about sums it up.”

Varic ran a hand down his face. “What in the hells are we even doing here? If the gods were willing to erase a champion before, what makes you think they won’t do worse this time?”

Silence followed. Then Thalamar chuckled.

It wasn’t a bitter laugh, nor one filled with anger. It was one of understanding.

“Because,” he said, meeting their gazes one by one, “this time, we know the game. And we choose to play it.”

Zeroth, still reeling from the avalanche of revelations, shook his head in exasperation. His brow furrowed deeply as he tried to piece together everything he had just learned. But amidst the chaos of the past, there was something that still gnawed at him. Something bigger than even Thalamar’s erased past. Vulcanix.

The so-called God of Lava and Metalworking had started the first Godswar. And yet, there had to be more to it. Zeroth turned his gaze to Grimbli, then to Thalamar, both of whom still lingered in silence, waiting for whatever question would come next.

"Alright, I've got another one for you two," Zeroth said, breaking the heavy quiet. "We’ve danced around this long enough, so let’s just put it all out there. Vulcanix. What the hell really happened with him in the first Godswar?"

Grimbli’s spectral form shifted uncomfortably, his eyes dimming slightly. Thalamar, however, gave Zeroth a knowing look, one that almost seemed relieved that he was asking the question.

Zeroth pressed further. “We know he started the first Godswar, right? That much is clear. But I keep getting the feeling that this wasn’t just some chaotic power grab. And now that we know you had a stake in that war, Thalamar, what about him? What happened?"

Thalamar exhaled through his nose, folding his arms. “Tragedy.”

Grimbli’s voice, for once, was not filled with its usual gruff sarcasm. Instead, it was measured. Heavy. “He lost someone as well.”

The weight of those words pressed into the room.

Zeroth narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

Thalamar answered this time, his voice like an old book being opened to a forbidden chapter. “Aenara.”

Pyronox flinched slightly at the name.

Zeroth’s fingers twitched slightly. “Aenara. That name… You mentioned it earlier." Zeroth felt a chill run down his spine. "Explain."

Grimbli floated forward, his eyes glowing a little brighter now. "Aenara. Goddess of Metalworking. Vulcanix’s other half. His tether to reason. The one thing that kept him from fully embracing the destructive nature of lava."

Zeroth blinked, shocked. "Wait. What? Vulcanix had a—?"

"A anchor. A partner. A balance," Thalamar clarified. "Where he was destruction, she was creation. Where he burned, she tempered. They were bound together in a way few gods ever were. And for the longest time, she was the only thing keeping him from going too far."

Zeroth leaned back, exhaling through his nose. "So, what happened?"

Grimbli’s expression twisted. "The first Godswar happened. Vulcanix was ambitious. He feared the other gods would eventually try to snuff him out, so he decided to make the first move—to become something greater before they could stop him."

Thalamar continued. "But Aenara… she didn’t agree with his methods. She believed power should be earned, not taken. So, she did what she thought was right."

"She chose a champion to fight against him," Grimbli finished. "A mortal strong enough to stand in his way. She tried to stop him, to bring him back before he went too far."

Zeroth’s stomach twisted. He already knew where this was going. "And it backfired."

Thalamar’s gaze darkened. "Worse. Because I made it worse."

Zeroth didn’t speak. He just waited.

"Vaelthas, my past self, was the one who tried to cheat the Godswar,” Thalamar continued. “I tried to stop a death that was never meant to be stopped. But the spell, the sheer power I tried to call upon, it didn’t work how I thought it would. It created a backlash so strong that it nearly destroyed Aenara."

Zeroth felt the air in the room grow heavier. His mouth was suddenly dry.

"Vulcanix watched the love of his existence be unraveled before his very eyes. And in his desperation to save her, he absorbed what was left of her essence," Grimbli said, voice solemn. “He didn’t do it out of cruelty. Not out of malice. But out of pure, desperation.”

"That," Thalamar murmured, "is what drove him mad."

Zeroth's mind reeled. The pieces all clicked together like molten iron cooling into shape.

Vulcanix hadn't just lost. He had sacrificed something beyond power. He had been left with nothing but his own shattered rage and the remnants of the one thing that had ever truly meant anything to him. And now he was back and Zeroth had his power.

"That explains why he's so full of hate,” Zeroth muttered. “He’s not just angry about losing. He’s broken and full of grief.”

"A grief that has long since turned to fury," Grimbli confirmed.

Zeroth swallowed hard, his fingers flexing over the gauntlets of his armor. “So, let me get this straight… if—and that’s a big if—if Vulcanix wins this Godswar, what then? What does he actually get?”

Thalamar’s gaze met Zeroth’s. And for the first time, the old mage looked truly uncertain.

“We don’t know.”

Zeroth narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit.”

Thalamar’s face remained unreadable. "Vulcanix has kept his true intentions hidden. Even from the other gods. Even from Aeonis."

"Which means," Grimbli added darkly, "whatever he does have planned, it's something none of us will like."

Zeroth exhaled through his nose, rubbing his face. "Well, isn’t that just fantastic."

He had walked into this war thinking Vulcanix was just another power-hungry god with a bone to pick.

Now, he realized Vulcanix wasn’t just playing to win.

He was playing to fix something.

And Zeroth had no idea whether stopping him was actually the right thing to do.