(The Eternal Garden, Veyr’s POV)
For a long while, neither Veyr nor Kaelith spoke.
The wind moved between them in soft spirals, carrying the salt of the distant sea and the faint rustle of the golden leaves, yet even nature seemed to hesitate in the shadow of the two standing within the garden’s heart.
Kaelith’s gaze lingered on Veyr in silence, not as a captor studying a prisoner, but as something far colder, like a sculptor examining a cracked statue, unsure whether to repair it or let it shatter completely.
Veyr could feel it, that unsettling stillness behind the Great God’s eyes.
There was no hatred, no pity, not even interest, only an unnerving curiosity, the kind that made him wonder whether Kaelith saw him as a man at all, or merely a toy to amuse himself with.
When the God finally spoke, his voice was quiet enough that it almost blended with the sea.
"Tell me, child," Kaelith said, his tone calm yet heavy with something that made Veyr’s spine stiffen, "How is my brother faring within the Cult?"
Veyr’s fingers tightened around the edge of his robe, the question slicing through the fragile calm between them.
He lifted his eyes slowly, meeting Kaelith’s gaze, the reflection of the garden’s golden light flickering across his pupils like embers stirring back to life.
He could not believe that Kaelith had the nerve to ask him about Soron’s health.
Not after the betrayal he crafted two millennia ago.
*Sigh*
Kaelith sighed deeply, as if he had already read Veyr’s mind before the Dragon even uttered a word.
However, instead of being defensive about his question, he simply shrugged like he did not care, as he said–
"Tell me if you want, or don’t. It’s not like I’ll beg you for it or force you to co-operate.
It’s completely your decision.
I asked you the question, because unlike what you think, I do genuinely care about my brother’s health, and that of the Cult....."
Kaelith said, as Veyr began to laugh out loud at his words.
"Ha... Hahahaha..."
"You? You care about Soron? You care about the Cult?"
Veyr’s laughter echoed through the garden, harsh and disbelieving, breaking the serenity of the divine air.
"Please...."
He mocked, as he lifted a trembling hand to his face, half in disbelief, half to hide the twisted grin that stretched across it.
"It’s like claiming that the butcher cares for the animal he chops apart every day. What a joke," he said, his voice dripping with venom as his shoulders shook with derisive laughter. "The leader of the Righteous Faction, the founder of the Anti-Cult Alliance, and the man who tried to murder his own brother claims to care about them. How utterly pathetic."
The corners of Kaelith’s lips curved faintly, though his eyes remained still, unreadable.
"Yes," he said softly. "Yes, I do."
Veyr’s laughter faltered.
Kaelith took a slow step forward, his voice calm yet impossibly steady, like an old truth that refused to bend. "Just because your small mortal brain cannot comprehend it does not make it untrue. My relationship with Soron and the Cult is... complicated. But in my own way, I care for them both far more than you ever could."
The sincerity in his tone struck Veyr harder than any blade could have. It silenced him—not with fear, but with disbelief. For the first time since this encounter began, the Dragon found no immediate words to mock him with.
"What do you mean?" he asked at last, his tone cautious, measured, as if unsure whether to expect a sermon or a confession.
Kaelith turned slightly, glancing toward the horizon where the golden mist met the endless sea. "Walk with me," he said simply.
Without waiting for an answer, the God began down the marble path that wove between the radiant flora, his pace neither fast nor slow, but precise, like a rhythm the world itself was forced to follow.
Veyr hesitated, then followed, the faint chime of his silver robes echoing behind him.
"I have never shared my side of the story with a mortal before," Kaelith said as they walked, his voice deep and steady, carrying across the garden like the sound of the tide. "But today, I will humor you. Try to make of it what you will."
Veyr said nothing. He simply walked beside him, watching as the light of the Eternal Garden flickered faintly in Kaelith’s reflection.
"Tell me, Dragon," Kaelith began, his tone lowering, his eyes fixed ahead, "have you ever had something promised to you since birth? Something you trained your entire life for? Something you were told was your destiny... only for it to be snatched away without warning?"
Veyr frowned, unsure where the conversation was heading. "What are you talking about?"
Kaelith stopped walking. His gaze turned upward toward the sky, and for the first time, Veyr saw something crack in that perfect divine composure.
"I was the firstborn son," Kaelith said slowly. "The man destined to become the next Sect Master of the Cult of Ascension. I was Father’s right hand, the one who conquered one hundred and eight planets in his name, the heir everyone looked to."
His tone hardened with each word, as though the memories themselves had teeth.
"My entire life was a lesson in restraint. I was taught to behave, to speak with grace, to hide my emotions, to never act on impulse. I was raised to be the perfect successor. A symbol of discipline and strength."
He turned his head slightly, the light from the golden trees catching the edge of his sharp profile. "Yet while I was forced to live by these rules, my brother was not. Soron did as he pleased. He fought when he wished, retreated when he wished, lived among the commoners, slept among them, drank with them, laughed with them... and Father never once scolded him for it. Because Soron, you see, was never meant to be Sect Master."
Veyr’s eyes narrowed, already sensing the shape of Kaelith’s bitterness.
"And yet he became it."
Kaelith continued, his lips pressing into a thin line, as his anger flared.
*Dim*
*Tremble*
The sky above dimmed and the ground beneath him began to tremble as Kaelith spoke again, his voice lower, his tone icy and vengeful.
"The day Father declared Soron as his successor was the day the stars went dark for me. I had fought wars in his name. I had buried friends, sacrificed centuries of my life for the future of the Cult. And in the end, all of it was taken from me because he—" Kaelith’s composure broke, his tone cracking for the first time— "because he felt more. Because Father claimed that Soron carried ’the spirit of the people,’ better than I did."
The air around them trembled faintly, rippling through the divine mist. The tranquil scent of the flowers began to fade, replaced by the faint tang of ozone.
"I was told to smile," Kaelith continued bitterly. "To step aside with grace, to bless my younger brother as he took everything I had lived for. Father said I was too rigid, too cold, that I reminded him too much of himself..... and that the Cult needed someone better to govern it now.... Someone more humane....."
"Yet, he was the one who made me this way."
Kaelith said, as the veins on his neck began to pop out in fury.
Over 2400 years had passed since he had this conversation with his father, yet it somehow still rang fresh in his mind, even to this day.