The Empty Throne

News arrived from the hidden world.

The throne of Olympus was empty. No god had claimed it. That should have been good news. For ten thousand years, the throne had been a seat of tyranny, and its emptiness might have been a promise.

Instead, every ancient faction wanted it.

Messengers came to Elias's door, then to Mara's, then to Noah's mother's, to Noah's loud and eternal delight. They came with sealed letters and anxious faces. A Titan sent a rumbling plea through a crack in the garden. A god's herald left a gift of silver bees. The Gatekeepers, newly reorganized, called an emergency Council of Gates and asked Elias to attend.

He refused at first.

"I'm fourteen," he said.

"You keep saying that," said Mara.

"It keeps being true."

"It does not make you less necessary."

Then he learned the throne was not a chair.

It was a mechanism.

Cael's old records, rescued from the ruin of Asterion, were unambiguous. Whoever sat upon the seat could command every Gate in the world. They could open them, close them, set them to any destination. They could turn the whole delicate network into a single weapon, wielded by a single will.

The old Covenant had prevented that power from being used.

The new Covenant had removed the lock.

Now someone could try.

So Elias, Mara, and Noah returned to the hidden world. It was strange to see it again, brighter, noisier, the streets of a lesser city crowded with strangers from half a dozen races. The Council hall was a vast circular chamber, hung with tapestries, jammed with representatives. They filled the benches and the aisles. They turned to look at Elias as he entered, in a long silent wave.

A masked stranger stood at the center.

He wore a plain white mask and a gray robe. He stood with his hands folded. When he spoke, the room went still.

"You cannot stop what is coming."

Elias recognized the voice.

It was gentle. It was kind. It belonged to an old man in a gray robe, who had once led him down a stair into the dark, and had wept at the foot of a collapsing mountain.

The false Cael.

The creature smiled behind its mask.

"You changed the Covenant."

"Yes," said Elias.

"You freed the thing outside."

"Yes."

"You think that makes you brave."

"No."

Elias raised the coin.

It glowed in his hand, small and warm and steady, with the eight marks bright on its face. The room was silent. A hundred faces watched him.

"I think it makes us responsible."