Chapter 17 – Symphony of Puppets and Fate
The sky did not cry.
It saved its tears for another day.
But the world… it shattered. In silence, fragments of reality fell like window glass struck by an invisible storm.
Rolland sat upon a throne of illusion, his eyes empty, his smile counterfeit.
"I told you," he whispered. "We are all mere threads in His hand."
A crack opened between them.
Not in the ground, but in understanding.
Maxcen.
That name was not merely a name.
It was an inaudible note in the symphony of Enver's life.
Rolland rose—and for the first time, he no longer resembled a man.
His bones creaked, his body cracked like parched earth.
Invisible strings extended from his shoulder blades into the sky.
"Creation. I… am not human. I am the herald of will."
Enver did not flinch.
His eyes remained calm.
But inside, a storm raged.
"And your parents…" Rolland continued with a smile devoid of soul,
"They didn't die by fate.
They died by script. A plan. A theater.
And we all share the same director: Maxcen."
Zephyr, who had remained silent, lowered their head.
"Jessel too…?"
"A puppet. Older than me. Softer, more trustworthy.
But still—a toy of the eternal."
All of Enver's past was set ablaze in a single sentence.
---
Meanwhile, in the Astral Hall—
The Hellseer Council gathered.
Saelmir sat with closed eyes, golden tears streaming down a face that showed no emotion.
Kavdrin stood in the center of the circle, his hands weighing glowing symbols of sin.
Ysera whimpered softly, blue light falling from her hands like rain—but never touching the floor.
"Maxcen lives."
It was not news—it was a curse, echoed once more.
Noveras held flame in his palm.
"Enver's blood… was used to fuel the resurrection. And Zephyr…"
"…worships him," Miredan interrupted.
His voice hollow, like a tomb never visited.
"Not out of hatred. But love.
Ironic, isn't it?"
Dorvas dropped chains into the center of the room.
"So then?"
Silence.
Even eternity had no words.
Saelmir spoke gently.
"We face a sacred dilemma. Two entities—one a purifier, one a worshiper.
But both now bound by the same fault: they've become the bridge for Maxcen."
Kavdrin stood tall. "The solution?"
Ysera closed her eyes.
"Erase them."
Noveras nodded, the flame in his hand turning to ash.
"No," Elhara whispered, her voice nearly a song.
"Seal them. Do not kill. There's still a shard of conscience in their shadows."
Seven Councilors. Seven voices.
But only one decision was made:
Enver and Zephyr must be stopped—by any means necessary.
---
In a silent corner of the astral world, Enver stood gazing at the sky.
He had heard everything.
He knew he no longer stood on the side of sanctioned righteousness.
He knew his blood was no longer just forgiving—but fuel for ruin.
Zephyr approached.
There was no hatred in their eyes—only a question without answer.
"If we are merely puppets…" Zephyr whispered,
"…why does this pain feel so real?"
Enver looked down at his hand.
Within it, there was still a remnant of light.
But also, the shadow of Maxcen growing.
"The only real thing," Enver replied,
"is the choice to break the strings that move us."
This chapter is not about betrayal.
Nor the rise of a demon.
It is about the truth that even heroes can become part of destruction.
And perhaps,
the only true purification…
is to destroy the false god who wrote them all.