Chapter 151: Chapter 151: Trust a god
White ether still hissed against the marble floor where Victor had stood, his absence like a pressure drop in the hall. The chanting of the priests faltered, became whispers, and then dissolved altogether as the air settled back into stillness.
Theobald stood at the center of it, breath coming too fast, his hands trembling in the glow of his own power. He’d expected triumph, rapture, the clean sweep of godhood. Instead he had a skull-crowned executioner walking through his ritual and handing him a list of rules like a leash.
Rules. Always rules.
His jaw clenched, blue eyes flaring as white ether streamed off his skin. All the years of fasting, study, the careful games played inside Clarke family dinners, and the hidden rites performed at dawn, and still, at the peak, there was a voice telling him what he could and couldn’t touch. He could feel the pattern now, clear as light on glass: threads of fate running like rivers under the marble, the way each name hung over the altar like a weight.
And through that new sight he saw them approach.
Jonathan Clarke’s steps echoed between the pillars, slower than usual, his face composed but eyes shining with the satisfaction of a man who thought his investments had paid off. Beside him, Anna walked with a queen’s posture, her smile already shaped for court audiences. They stopped at the edge of the circle, heads bowed just enough to look devout.
"Theobald," Jonathan said, voice hushed with reverence, or maybe rehearsed awe. "You’ve done it. You’ve brought us to the brink."
Anna’s smile deepened. "You’ll lift us all."
Theobald stared at them, and for the first time the glow behind his eyes showed what he truly was now: a being who could see through performance to the tangle beneath. Threads snapped into focus, bright and damning: Jonathan’s hunger, Anna’s secret ambition, and the unborn child, a bright seed of possibility at the center of their plan. They had never wanted Theobald god for his own sake. He was a stepping stone to a stronger piece on the board.
His fingers curled, nails biting into his palms. He couldn’t touch the child directly; the rules wrapped around it like a shield. Even the thought of striking at it made his new sight recoil. But nothing in the weave forbade persuasion. Nothing forbade redirection.
He let his face smooth into something serene, almost saintly. "Yes," he said quietly, his voice carrying the echo of priestly chants. "I see everything now."
Jonathan’s shoulders eased, the first crack of relief showing through his mask.
Theobald smiled, slow, luminous, and wrong. "Elias," he murmured, as if tasting the name. "I need him."
Anna blinked, startled. "Elias?"
"Yes, your little brother as a sacrifice for our son." Theobald closed the space between them and touched the swell of her belly. "Don’t you want to be my soulmate, Anna? Don’t you want to share all of this," he spread his arms, "as a goddess?"
Anna flinched at the contact, the faintest shift of her weight betraying how cold his touch felt now. Up close the white ether streaming off Theobald wasn’t gentle at all; it hissed against her skin like dry ice. Her hand hovered protectively over her belly before she caught herself and forced it back down.
Jonathan’s mask cracked further, a flicker of calculation breaking through the rehearsed reverence. "Theobald..." His voice faltered. "What are you saying?"
"I’m saying I see the threads." Theobald’s eyes shone too bright to look at, his smile a perfect, unsettling curve. "All of them. I see the child’s fate, and yours, and hers." He glanced at Anna, and for a heartbeat the echo of the priestly chant seemed to rise and fall with his breath.
Anna’s lips parted, no words coming out.
Jonathan stepped forward once, then stopped at the edge of the circle, his shoes skidding on the glowing sigils. "We agreed you would raise us all," he said, softer now, an edge of strain under the reverence. "Not..."
Theobald tilted his head, the movement graceful and inhuman all at once. "You agreed I would rise. The rest you assumed." White ether curled lazily around his fingers as he lowered his hand from Anna’s stomach. "Do not mistake your ambition for my vow."
"Are you betraying us, Theo?" Anna’s voice wavered, tears brightening her eyes. For a heartbeat she looked almost like the girl she had been, not the woman standing in a god’s circle.
Theobald almost laughed. The sound caught in his throat and came out as a soft exhale instead, a ripple of white mist. They knew what he was now, knew he could see every thread running through their hearts, and still they thought they could stage-manage him. Fool him. Chain him. A god. Even a minor one, for now.
"Betraying?" He let the word roll over his tongue as though tasting it. "Anna, sweetheart... why would I?" His smile widened, luminous and cold. "I could make you my soulmate. I could share everything I’ve climbed to, every drop of this." He spread his hands, and the ether above the dais flared, staining the marble with a dazzling light. "But Jonathan and the child?" His gaze flicked to her stomach, then to her father. "I can’t do it without help."
He stepped closer, the glow around him brightening, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, coaxing, and threaded with the new echo of his godhood. "That’s why I need Elias."
Anna’s hands went protectively to her stomach. Jonathan’s composure cracked just enough for a tremor to run through his jaw. "But we tried," he said tightly. "Victor’s wrapped him in so many layers of security you can’t even see daylight through them. He’s already moved Elias into his private mansion. He’s pulled him out of the university labs and locked him up at NumenCorp. It’s like trying to take a jewel out of a dragon’s mouth."
Theobald’s white eyes flicked from one to the other. "Dragons can be coaxed," he murmured. "And Victor..." his smile sharpened, almost amused, "...Victor can be distracted. He is the thing between you and godhood."
Jonathan’s brows drew together, but he didn’t dare speak. Anna’s lips parted as if to protest, then closed again under the weight of Theobald’s gaze.
They didn’t have to know.
They didn’t need to know that Victor was more than a god, that the skull-crowned executioner who had stepped into the ritual was older and colder than any pantheon. They didn’t need to know that Theobald had never planned to lift them with him, that the talk of shared ascension and unborn divinity was only a tool to pull them into his palm.
He let his expression soften, the white glow around him dimming just enough to look like benevolence. "Trust me," he said, his voice a low echo of the priests’ chants. "All of this will still be ours. But first I need Elias."
Jonathan and Anna traded a glance, hesitant, calculating. Theobald watched the flicker of it with new eyes and almost smiled. Let them believe what they wanted; by the time they realized what he truly was, it would already be too late.