Page 113 of May: Bloom & Bane

I settle onto the log beside him, my wings folding quietly against my back.

“Damon, as you know, is the God of the Afterlife. He deals with death, the afterlife, and resurrection.” Therael pulls a sprig of lavender from thin air, twirling it between his fingers. “He oversees Damien and two others, though one of them is… complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“Another three-souled situation.” His lips quirk. “Well, technically three bodies, but you get the idea.”

“I do not. I really do not get the idea, Therael.”

“There’s Tellian, God of Chaos and Origins. He’s read every script from the beginning of time,” Therael says, his tone sharpening in a way that makes me wonder if they don’t get along.

“And his charges?”

“He watches over two hybrids as well. Neither of them is dangerous to Eden. I know that is why you are asking. Cillian is one of the tamest hybrids there is, and Danté has not even ascended into his true nature yet.”

“And the others? You said there were six gods.”

“Indeed.” He gestures to the meadow around us, and new flowers bloom in spiraling patterns.

“I am the God of Seasons and Traditions, as you know. I watch over life cycles and rebirth.” He meets my eyes. “I oversee you and Andrik, the winter beast that lives in the frozen forest to the north of your territory.”

Andrik. The name scratches a place in my brain.

“Have I met him?” I ask quietly.

“Andrik has never met Sage.” His voice tightens.

Why is he wording it like that? Ashán murmurs.

“What do you mean Andrik has never met Sage?” I lean forward, my wings rustling. “Why did you say it like that?”

Therael’s face smooths into something unreadable, his halo slowing until it stops completely. “Because it is the truth.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is the only one I can give you.”

Frustration flares in my chest.

He’s hiding something, Ashán growls. Push.

“You do this all the time,” I rasp. “You answer just enough to make me think I’m learning something, but you never actually tell me anything that matters.”

“Sage—”

“No.” I stand, flowers wilting around us. “I am tired of half-truths and cryptic wording. You tell me that there are six gods watching over hybrids, you explain what they govern, but the moment I ask about myself—about why a name I’ve never heard feels like it’s carving itself into my skull—and you shut down.”

He rises slowly, his gaze fixing on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

“There are things I cannot tell you,” he says quietly. “Not because I do not wish to. Because the curse⁠—”

“Then explain this, Therael.” The words rip from my throat. “Earlier today, I had a vision of a woman I don’t know, running through a snowstorm. Wrong hair color, wrong place, wrong season, wrong everything. I’ve never seen her before in my life, but when I closed my eyes⁠—”

My voice cracks.

“She felt like mine.”

CHAPTER 34