We had been wrong. The gods were not content to sit back in complacence, waiting as we slowly ground ourselves down against the armies of Enusia. The heroes were not at the Divine Throne. Not all of them. Not Verity.
But now, there was no Verity. From the moment I'd seen her, I'd known. Like a cold stone settling in my gut. The soul that wore her body was no longer her own. The God of Fate had descended to Enusia, claiming her silver hair and eyes, her strength.
His objective couldn't have been more clear, nor his conviction. The very first thing he'd done was freeze fate, his sword aimed at my heart. If Fyren and Fable hadn't practiced endlessly with the Oracle of Eternity, if he hadn't still been adjusting to his new form, then none of us would have escaped. And even now, Fyren was still there, fighting, buying us time.
