They say the gods do not weep.
That they sit upon their thrones of stardust and silence, unmoved by the suffering of mortals.
But that is a lie. I know this because I saw a god fall—cast out, broken, and bleeding. And in the void between worlds, he wept.

His name was Elion. Once the Arbiter of Realms, keeper of order, lord of light. His hands shaped continents, his breath birthed storms, and his gaze kept the balance between life and death. Until the day he did the unthinkable—he gave fire to a mortal not of his world. A soul out of place. A boy from Earth.

Me.

I was seventeen, dying in a hospital bed, lungs full of smoke and dreams half-buried under rubble. I never asked for salvation. I never begged for a second chance. But Elion gave it to me.

And for that… he was betrayed.

The other gods stripped him of power, shattered his divine name, and hurled him into the Abyss Beyond Realms—a prison with no time, no stars, no hope. Where forgotten gods rot and madness feeds on memory.

But I remember him.

Now, five years later, in a world where dragons fear the sky and kingdoms kneel before monsters wearing crowns, I carry his last ember of divinity.

They call me the False Heir.
The Pretender.
The Human Curse.

But I will raise an army from the ashes of broken realms. I will tear open the gates of the divine. And I will rewrite the fate they tried to carve in stone.

Because gods do weep.
And for Elion, the god who saved me…

I will make the heavens bleed.

The world had stopped making sense a long time ago.But this?


The Bone Prince—our enemy, our executioner—stood before us once more… kneeling.


His once-skeletal form now shimmered with a ghostly aura. His ribcage cracked open like a gate. From within, a faint light pulsed—not evil, but bound.


Caeryn raised her blade. "You've got ten seconds."


"I'm not here to fight," he rasped. "Not this time."


"I was ordered to," the Bone Prince said, rising slowly. "But I've disobeyed worse masters before."


He gestured to the sigil glowing faintly on our hands. "No one's done that in ten thousand years. Not since the Fall of the First Flame."


"Then help us," Caeryn said, wary. "Tell us what you know."


The Bone Prince hesitated, then nodded.


"There were two heirs," he began. "Twins, born under a dying star. One was prophesied to destroy the Realms. The other—to save them."


I felt something cold settle in my chest.


"You were never meant to hold the shard, Jason. Your brother was."


The Bone Prince nodded. "And he was the heir. But he was murdered before the Shardbond could awaken."


The Bone Prince turned to me.And spoke a name I hadn't heard since the first chapter of my life burned to ash.


"He couldn't risk the prophecy choosing the wrong twin," the Prince said. "So he made the choice himself. Killed the true heir… and bound the shard to you."


Caeryn's voice trembled. "Why? Why would he do that?"


The Bone Prince looked at her, with eyes older than death.


"Because Jason was weak. Broken. Empty. Easy to control."


Everything—every word Elion had ever whispered into my soul—twisted in my head. Every promise. Every power. Every lie.


The Bone Prince stepped forward, something like sympathy in his voice. "But it's not too late."


"To do what?" I asked, barely breathing.


"To break the shard. To destroy the pact. To unmake the lie."


Because if I gave up the shard… I'd lose my only way to save my father.


Chapter 9 - Chapter Eight: Crown of Ashes