Chapter 8: Velthorn's Promise
The gates of Velthorn Keep rose like jagged teeth from the cliffs of Damascal, framed by waterfalls that thundered into the gorge below. Jean hadn't seen them since the day she graduated the Academy, her saber still fresh in its scabbard, her hair bound in a novice's braid.
Now, she returned as a Knight-in-Assessment, the Emissary of Celeste, and the bearer of a sword that once belonged to the First.
But no title could quiet the storm in her chest.
Because within these walls waited her father—Warden Karsus Luther, the steel-tongued Patriarch—and her brother, Ascen, eldest son, heir apparent, and the one foretold to "bleed light before he bleeds steel."
And if Ravessa's words were true…
He had already begun to bleed.
---
The grand hall was colder than she remembered.
Her father sat upon the Throne of Horns, clad in iron-black armor etched with the history of their clan. His beard was trimmed to razor lines, his eyes sharp as ever—unsoftened even by the sight of his youngest daughter returning from war-torn lands.
"Jean Luther," he said, voice heavy with command. "The prodigal blade."
She bowed, fist to heart.
"I return bearing proof of my strength—and warning of a darkness rising beyond the borders."
Karsus's gaze flicked to the sword on her back.
"Not your saber."
Jean met his eyes. "Serah's sword. The First Emissary."
A murmur passed through the gathered elders.
But her father only nodded once. "Then the gods play their hand again. Come. Tell me everything."
---
Later, in the war room, with only Ascen and Whitney present, Jean laid bare all she had seen: the Faceless Idol, the cults, the Vault, and the names of the Twelve.
Karsus listened in silence.
When she finished, he looked to Ascen.
"Well?"
Ascen stepped forward. He wore the dark blue of the Clan's War Circle, his armor gleaming with runes. His hair was longer now, tied back in a warrior's knot. His expression unreadable.
"Jean speaks truth," he said softly. "I saw the same visions weeks ago. Before the light reached her."
Jean's blood turned cold.
"You've seen them?"
He nodded. "But unlike you, I didn't need the gods to grant me sight. I found the truth on my own—beneath the Sanctum, in the tomb of the Lionscourge."
He stepped closer.
"I've walked the path you're on, Jean. But I see it more clearly."
Whitney growled low.
Jean drew in a breath. "Then answer me plainly: have you broken the chain in Velthorn?"
Ascen's eyes met hers.
"I broke it," he said, "so that our family would never serve a god again."
---
The air split.
Swords hissed from scabbards.
Whitney stepped between them.
"Stop," he snarled. "The chain is broken already. Violence here only feeds what's watching."
Jean's hands trembled.
Her brother—the one she trained with, laughed with, bled beside—had acted first.
"I thought I'd be too late," she whispered.
Ascen nodded. "You are. But it's not your fault. You're still playing her game. I broke the chain to end it."
He looked to their father.
"I don't want the Patriarchy, Father. I want freedom. For all of us."
And then he left.
---
That night, Jean stood atop the Keep's tower, wind tugging at her cloak.
Whitney joined her.
"You still care for him."
"He's my brother," she whispered. "But he's wrong."
Whitney said nothing.
In the distance, the stars blinked out, one by one.
A sign.
Another chain had snapped—not by faith, but by rebellion.
Jean looked toward the east.
"Then we go to the next," she said.
Whitney's eyes glowed.
"To the sea. To the drowned city of Kareth-Del."
And behind them, a shadow passed through Velthorn—a whisper, a curse, a promise.
"The Emissary will drown in her own light."