It was that time again. Once every hundred years, beneath the light of the Blue Moon, the people of Myrenn gather to crown their god.
Not with thrones or titles, feasts or offerings—but with a mark. A soul-binding seal etched into mortal flesh, chosen by fate and delivered by divine hand.
The rite is ancient, older than the stars, and it is said that when the mark is given, the gods themselves shift—gaining dominion, power, and the right to rule for the next century.
No one remembers how the tradition began. No one dares to question it.
The gods are not myths in Myrenn. They are brothers, six in number, born from starlight and ruin. They have walked the skies, the earth, breathed power into oceans, and whispered destiny into the veins of their people.
And now, with the Blue Moon rising again, the time has come to choose the next vessel.
From Aetheris, a celestial realm that drifts just beyond the veil of the mortal world — Ka'el watched.
His gaze never left the girl below. She knelt beside an injured farmer, her hands stained red, stitching flesh with calm precision.
"Lucky Kael," a voice murmured behind him. "Not many of us are mated to the ones we actually love."
Kael didn't turn right away. His long blond hair shifted in the breeze of Aetheris, catching silver light. When he finally glanced back, his green eyes were sharp, too sharp, and his smile was only half a thing—small and quiet, like a secret he'd waited a hundred years to tell.
"I know she's special," he said softly. "I knew she was from the very moment she was conceived by her mother. And, now I can't wait to make her mine, Byron."
Byron, the eldest of the six divine brothers, said nothing.
There was always something unsettling about Kael when he smiled—like the expression never quite reached his eyes.
His love for the mortal girl might've been genuine, but it also seemed like pride wrapped in poison, climbing toward something dangerous.
"She won't know you," Byron said at last. "Not the way you want her to. The bond will change her. It always does."
Kael's gaze drifted back to the mortal realm. The girl—Nyla—was wiping blood from her hands now, unaware that her life was no longer her own.
"She's stronger than she looks," Kael murmured. "She won't break."
Byron frowned. "That's not what I'm worried about."
Another presence entered the chamber and the air shifted.
They didn't need to turn to know who it was—when Theron walked in, the lights in Aetheris always bent just slightly, like even divinity flinched at his arrival.
He moved like a shadow wrapped in silk—unrushed, unbothered, and entirely too aware of his effect on the room.
Where Kael radiated light and golden warmth, Theron was every inch the storm. Dark hair fell in loose waves to his shoulders, thick and tousled like he'd just woken from some ancient dream.
His skin was moonlit bronze, a stark contrast to the sharp silver of his eyes—eyes that didn't glow like Kael's, but shimmered like cold metal ready to strike.
He was beautiful in the way knives were—sleek and dangerous, meant to be held carefully or not at all.
Even now, barefoot and half-draped in dark robes that looked more like night than fabric, he looked less like a god and more like a sin someone had whispered into existence.
"Am I interrupting something sacred?" he asked, his voice coming smoothly. "Or just another one of Kael's daydreams?"
Kael stiffened, but said nothing.
Byron turned slowly, as if weary of what he'd find. "You're early."
Theron smiled darkly.
"I came to witness history," he said. "Isn't that what we're calling it now? A divine coronation wrapped in fate and sentiment?"
Byron's jaw clenched. "Do not start Theron."
Theron's smile widened, slow and sharp. "Don't worry, brother. I wouldn't dream of ruining your perfect little ritual."
But the glint in his eyes said otherwise.
Theron stepped away from his brothers, the murmurs of their conversation fading behind him as he walked to the edge of the sky.
From here, the mortal realm looked almost peaceful. Myrenn stretched out below him—mountains silvered by the sunset, forests breathing in rhythm with the earth, and at the centre of it all, a soft pulse of magic rising like smoke.
The Blue Moon was climbing, full and watching.
Time was running out.
He stood there for a while, silent, the wind tugging at his robes. Stars shifted lazily above him, uncaring. The people didn't care who ruled. They never had.
Ka'el had been raised for this. Groomed like some divine jewel to sit on the throne of the realms. And maybe he would've been the right choice—if rulership came with purity alone.
But Theron had seen what his brother refused to see. The cracks in the order. The arrogance behind Ka'el's golden smile. The way he clung to fate like it was a crown he'd already earned.
"She may be his mate," Theron murmured to the night, "but it doesn't mean it's his time."
His fingers curled at his side, nails biting into his palm.
He didn't want her. Not the way Ka'el did.
But the realm needed a god who could see beyond prophecy. Beyond love.
And if that meant stealing fate itself...
So be it.
______
Nyla looked up, her eyes squinting at the sunset. It was nearly time.
Not that she knew or cared about celestial calendars. Her hands were too busy stitching the torn flesh of a farmer's leg to think of what was to be. Blood soaked her knuckles. Her teeth clenched as she tied the final knot.
"You'll limp for a few days," she said, reaching for the bandages. "But you'll live."
The old man grunted, but he didn't thank her. They rarely did. A Vessryn healer was useful—but never welcome.
Outside, the bells chimed. Low and slow. Three times.
Nyla paused, eyes flickering to the sky. She could feel the shift in the air, the strange hush settling over the kingdom like dust. The gods were waking. Somewhere far above, in the celestial realm of Aetheris, six brothers would gather to choose and mark the next vessel.
She had never seen a marking before. Only heard whispers—that the chosen one would glow, that their soul would burn, that their name would be called from the heavens themselves.
But she wasn't worried.
No one ever looked for a vessel in a place like this.
As Nyla was about to step into her small cottage, a voice called from behind her.
"Nyla! Nyla wait!!"
She turned to see Lys, the Kingdom's seer running with a staff in her hand.
"Lys?" Nyla squinted her brow. "What is it?"
"It's you." Lys gasped.
"What do you mean? What are you talking about?" Nyla swallowed.
"It's you. The moon chose you—gods, Nyla, they're coming for you."