Path of the Extra

As though she had swallowed something rotten, Jasmine felt her stomach twist violently. Her face drained of color. Nausea rose sharp and bitter in her throat, and, dizzy with it, she forced herself upright by bracing a hand against the pillar. Even then, her knees nearly gave out beneath her.

“So you’re telling me that… that you were born to kill Azriel?”

Pollux did not look back at her. He simply gazed out over the garden with a melancholy expression and gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment.

“How… how does that even make sense…?”

Jasmine stared at him, stupefied. The more Pollux explained, the more foolish she felt. Then she saw him raise his hand and gently graze the side of his neck with his fingers.

“My fate has always been to kill him.”

A sudden brilliance wrapped itself around his throat.

Jasmine narrowed her eyes at once. The light was so intense it hurt to look at, so blinding that every instinct in her body urged her to turn away, to squeeze her eyes shut and shield herself from it. But something deep inside her whispered that she should not.

So she resisted.

Against the protest of her body, she kept staring. Her eyes burned. Tears welled and spilled from the strain. Slowly, painfully, the shape hidden within the radiance began to emerge.

It was a collar.

A white collar, impossibly luminous, encircled Pollux’s neck.

“Lady Fate can be quite cruel…”

At last, he turned to look at her. Through the overwhelming glow, Jasmine could barely make out the upward curve of his lips—something faintly mocking in it, though the rest of his face was almost entirely swallowed by light.

“Some might say,” he murmured, “that I am a slave to fate.”

“A slave… to fate…?”

With a wave of his hand, the collar vanished. The light disappeared as if it had never existed, and Pollux let out an amused laugh.

“What else could I be called? Lady Fate has bound me as her slave, condemned to enact her vengeance upon him, bereft of will, of voice, of choice. That is the nature of a slave, is it not?”

Jasmine found no answer.

She could only stand there in silence, staring at him, until he suddenly began to walk, moving deeper into the heart of the garden.

After only the briefest hesitation, she followed.

With every step, the fragrance thickening in the air grew more intoxicating. It curled into her nostrils like a narcotic, sweet and overwhelming, making her head feel lighter and lighter, as though she were floating on clouds. She had to fight the urge to simply sink to the ground and let herself be consumed by the beauty of this place.

They walked in silence, Jasmine trailing a few steps behind him, her eyes fixed on his back. At last, she found the courage to speak.

“…You said Fate wants vengeance on Azriel. Why? And how does that even work? Isn’t fate just a concept?” Her voice wavered with confusion. “A concept wants to kill my brother?”

Still walking at the same steady pace, Pollux gave a small hum and nodded.

“She is not a concept. Or rather, she is, and yet she is not. Beings like her are often difficult to define.” He paused.

“But she is a sentient existence, just like us. And call her Lady Fate. She can be quite… reprisal-minded when she is not addressed properly.”

“L-Lady Fate…?” Jasmine tilted her head, uncertain how to react even to the name. “Then… what is she? Another god?”

“Of course,” Pollux replied immediately.

“She is one of the strongest beings to exist across the realms, having completed the Path of Fate. Perhaps even more than the gods of the god race, she has every right to kill your brother.”

Jasmine frowned, a hot anger bubbling in her throat. She swallowed it down and forced her voice to remain calm.

“And why would she want that?” she asked. “Don’t tell me that because your fate is to kill Azriel, Azriel’s fate is to die. Is he a slave to fate too? Wait…” Her brows drew together. “Wouldn’t that make both of you apostles of Fate as well?”

An apostle bore the mark of their god.

But did a mark always have to be a tattoo? Could there be other forms? Other methods for gods beyond the Ten Ancient Gods? Suddenly, Jasmine found herself burning with questions.

What were the true differences between the Divine Hierarchy and the Profane Descent? What of their depths, their orders? Did each possess its own strengths and weaknesses? Were all races governed by the same structure? Humanity stood within the First Divine Order, and until Sovereign, everyone seemed to unlock the same blessings through growth and ascension.

There was so much she still did not know.

Then she heard Pollux laugh—a low, charming chuckle that seemed almost at odds with the subject.

“No. Neither of us are Apostles of Fate. Nor is it his fate to die.” He sounded almost amused now.

“In fact, he has no fate at all… aside from apparently enraging everyone in the universe.”

He shook his head and laughed again.

“Perhaps executioner would be a better word than slave.”

Jasmine stared at his back in confusion as he continued, sounding deeply entertained by her bewilderment.

“Apparently, long ago—long before even the legendary Ancient Holy War—your brother killed Lady Fate.”

“…!”

“And only recently has she finally revived herself.”

A small smile curved his lips.

“And she… is very, very angry.”

Jasmine stopped walking and stood frozen in place, staring at Pollux in shock.

Pollux halted as well and turned to face her, regarding her with a curious gaze and an enigmatic smile.

Then, before long, Jasmine laughed.

She laughed as though she had just heard the most absurd joke in centuries. She covered her mouth with one hand, yet even then her laughter retained a strange elegance, lilting through the garden like a bewitching song, as if such a sound belonged here.

“So I am supposed to believe that my brother is some ancient, terrifying being who has the gods trembling in fear, who sealed all the races, and who also killed Fate—no, forgive me, Lady Fate—who somehow then revived herself from death.” Her lips curled, though there was no warmth in the expression. “And you are Lady Fate’s slave, born solely to kill Azriel in pursuit of her revenge, while working alongside the god-race, who are also the enemies of your own people and the reason your kind was wiped from existence.” She tilted her head. “All of this… just to kill my little brother?”

Her smile sharpened into something colder. Crueler.

“You do realize how utterly ridiculous that sounds, don’t you?”

Her eyes darkened.

“And while saying all of that, I noticed something else. You speak as though you never truly know anything for certain. Apparently. It is all apparently. Tell me… who was it again? The True Stars? They are the ones who told you, aren’t they?”

Pollux did not seem offended in the slightest. He merely shrugged.

“That is how it is. I know nothing of your brother beyond what has been told to me by those who wish for his death.” His expression remained composed. “The True Stars are the god of the Starbloods.”

Suddenly, Jasmine felt a headache bloom behind her eyes, sharp and familiar. She groaned and squeezed them shut.

“Apologies,” she heard Pollux say, his voice gentle, almost consoling. “It seems all of this is proving somewhat strenuous for your mind. Bear with it a little longer.”

Then Jasmine opened her eyes again.

She was still in the garden. Still standing where she had been.

But something was different.

“Brother!”

The sudden cry rang out behind her in a voice she did not recognize. Jasmine flinched and spun around at once, muscles tightening in alarm.

And what she saw only deepened her confusion.

It was… Pollux.

The same silver hair. The same features. The same clothing as the Pollux standing beside her.

He was running, breathless, strands of silver hair clinging to his face with sweat as he rushed toward… another Pollux.

That second Pollux stood calmly among the flowers, back straight, hands clasped behind him, his posture composed and regal. His face was utterly expressionless.

“Brother! The Holy Guardian has fallen! They are about to breach the veil! We must retreat before we are all wiped out!”

Jasmine’s eyes widened as she looked between the two of them, unable to understand what she was seeing.

They were both Pollux.

Or at least they both looked like Pollux. They were so identical she could barely distinguish one from the other, save that one wore a desperate expression she could never have imagined on Pollux’s face, while the other looked exactly as she would have expected—calm, cold, and impossibly indifferent.

Then the Pollux standing beside her spoke.

“What you are seeing is myself… and my twin brother, Castor.”