Twilight of the Gods ✔️

Chapter 29: Time Conundrum

"We're at crossroads," Tristan said, taking another drag of his pipe. "You've come here to do a terrible thing to me."

Daeva shook her head. "You assume wrong. The thing I'm about to do will only hurt me."

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "In all versions of the future after meeting you, I am left with the shorter end of the bargain. But I guess I deserve that after what I have done to you."

She remained silent, watching Tristan shape the smoke with his lips. A smoky clock left his mouth, its vaporous hand ticking with every second that passes.

"You will do a terrible thing to me," he said. "That is inevitable. You will also do something awful to Ezra after me, a well-deserved punishment for his crimes. But I must pass on a message to you, God of Chaos. I've seen something in my visions that frightens me, something that I must show you."

"I don't trust you," she said. "You've imprisoned me in your visions before. Who's to say that you won't trap me again?"

She felt the fibers of the hanging rope press against her neck and the edge of a sharp blade whisper by her wrists. A thousand hands pressed against her back, threatening to shove her into the past. She banished them, pushing them to the back of her mind.

"You have my word," Tristan said. "This is a serious matter."

She narrowed her eyes in distrust. They both knew that meant nothing to her.

"You've only ever hurt me. Break the chains of my imprisonment and I will open my mind to you."

Tristan nodded in understanding. He rose from his cushions, effortlessly weaving through the curling smoke hanging heavily in the air. He stood before her, a tall slender man reeking of incense. The smell overpowered her nostrils so much that she unconsciously brought her hands to her face. Realizing the rudeness of the gesture, she started to lower her hands. Tristan grabbed her wrist, stopping the movement.

"Don't," he said, drawing closer with the smell intensifying. "The others can't stand it either."

A mixture of disgust and pity came to her throat. If he hadn't tormented her, she might have genuinely felt sympathy for him. Unlike Ezra, who was the hated de facto leader of the group, Tristan was the black sheep. His fellow Elysians tended to avoid him, with the exception of Vivian who had an unexplained closeness to him. And despite having a brilliance rumored to rival Ezra's, he was perpetually left in a drug-induced slumber, made dull by his vices. He kept his addiction around like a spoiled pet, overfed by the smoke in his pipe and the pleasurable dizzy spells that came with it.

Daeva clamped her hand down around her nose and mouth, unable to keep out the sweet smoke. Tristan closed the distance between them, sinking his fist into her throat.

"This will hurt," he said, closing his fist around his link.

I sincerely doubt it, she thought. It never hurt with the others.

But as his scaly hands shattered the metal of the chain, pain ruptured from her neck. She clawed at her skin, fighting the poisonous sensation spreading to her chest.

"I warned you," he said, holding a bloody, rusted chain in his hands. She marveled at the way her ichor stained his palms like fresh ink. Was she finally free, ready to escape this torturous game? Could she walk away, at last, from all that tormented her subconscious?

Her questions must have shown on her face because a grim expression dampened Tristan's demeanor. "There is still one more link inside you. Ezra will need to remove it to release you."

She groaned inwardly. It was unlikely that he would be the one to free her. After all, he was the one that originally imprisoned her, subjecting her to her first round of torture all those years ago.