Chapter 154: The Making Of Exodus
Kivas’s golden eyes held steady on the group, the weight of her words lingering like a held breath in the temple’s hush.
"The trigger for this apotheosis—it’s tied to me being the Celestial Avatar. That’s the role confirmed for imbuing Genesis Cores, the one that resonates with Fateline and pulls everything into motion. So the plan is straightforward, disrupting that resonance at its root."
She uncrossed her arms, fingers tracing an absent pattern in the air as if mapping the invisible threads. "Temporarily strip the divinity from my soul, and we will prevent the third Apotheosis from happening. When the deadline arrives and the requirement is not met, then nothing will happen.
"Apotheosis starts when Fateline echoes against a soul laced with divinity, then bleeds into the vessel. Without the soul to answer, it fizzles. But mine’s unique—it’s the Avatar aspect that ignites it, not just the existence of divinity combined with a mortal print.
"So we sidestep the prerequisites. Sever my soul’s tether to the Well of the Soul—that’s the anchor for all the fate-skills marking me as Avatar. A divine miracle handles it clean; I’ve got the reach for that."
Oizys’s brow furrowed, her voice threading concern through the logic. "Severing the soul... you’re talking about hollowing yourself out. What happens to the rest—the divine portfolio, the vessel?"
Kivas nodded, her tone even, like reciting a schematic she’d already tested in her mind. "The divinity’s origin traces back to that skill, the one with the deity’s remembrance. Pull the soul free, and the portfolio unravels with it—gone from the core, at least until we stitch things back.
"This will leave the prerequisites unmet. No Avatar, no trigger. Apotheosis stalls before it sparks, and eventually, it just won’t erupt because there is no gunpowder within the bomb."
Fymnhendyr tilted her head slightly, her ancient gaze sharpening with quiet appraisal, but she held her tongue, letting Kivas unfold the layers.
"And the fallout?" Samael pressed, her voice low and measured, the strategist in her already mapping contingencies. "Fathomi doesn’t like loose ends when it comes to soul, especially when it is done with intention."
Samael knew the intricacies of the many rules of Fathomi, but for this time specifically, she wanted to know how deep Kivas had researched and knew about it before she even suggested this reckless plan.
Kivas’s lips quirked faintly, not quite a smile, more an acknowledgment of the chaos they’d court. "That’s the twist. My soul ends up in limbo—not dead, not alive. The Well stays with the vessel, divinity’s echo clings there too, which denies the death of my identity.
"No entropy to the body, no clean vessel-loss like a standard death. Fathomi might glitch in this regard." Kivas lightly chuckled. "Is she killed? Is she dying? The conflict buys time, while Fathomi will see a brand new familiar and native soul to take care of regarding that very incident."
"Meanwhile, the vessel holds the divine shell—portfolio intact in the Well, Living Deity frame still existing. Vaingall’s blessings are not touched. Yoiglah can still perform miracles and draw faith and divinity from the portfolio. The same with the Shrine Maidens."
Oizys exhaled slowly, her fingers drumming a restless rhythm on her knee. "You’re betting Fathomi’s own rules against itself. But your soul—adrift like that—what anchors it? How do we not lose you in the cracks?"
Kivas met her gaze squarely, the warmth in her voice a deliberate counter to gravity. "I ran a simulation before calling this meeting. Small-scale, but telling."
A soft rustle broke the tension—Kivas reaching back with a subtle flick of her wrist, her draconic wings parting just enough to reveal what she’d concealed.
In her palm materialized a small, fluffy orb of white fur, no larger than a fist, its surface shimmering with an inner glow like fresh snow under moonlight. The critter blinked up at them with oversized, curious eyes, a tiny tail flicking as it nestled against Kivas’ fingers.
She’d masked it with a veil of divinity the whole meeting, a quiet safeguard now unveiled.
Fymnhendyr’s eyes lit first, a genuine smile softening her features as she leaned in. "Ah. It has a Well of the Soul. Faint, but genuine—Fathomi’s mark."
Kivas set it gently on the table’s edge, where it wobbled for a moment before scampering forward with surprising determination, paws pattering softly until it reached Kivas’s hand.
It clambered up her arm, settling on her shoulder like it belonged there, nuzzling against her neck with a contented chirr.
Kivas’s hand rose instinctively, stroking its fur with a tenderness that belied the topic. "When I shaped the artificial soul, Fathomi reacted fast—welcomed it as native-born, started mending a vessel around it, using the soul’s structure as a blueprint.
"But I felt the pull, Fathomi dragging it toward manifestation, somewhere distant on the surface, a random cradle in the expanse."
She paused, her fingers stilling on the critter’s back as it purred softly. "I countered—tugged it back, like a priest prepping revival on a fresh corpse. Pulled the soul into stability, then built the vessel myself.
"In a sense, I mimicked what Fathomi was about to do. And here it is, born without a single rejection from the world."
Samael watched the exchange, her expression easing into quiet understanding, the pieces slotting into place. "So that’s the bridge... We craft an artificial vessel for your severed soul—something tailored, stable. Then a priest can mend the bond, placing the soul into it."
"Precisely," Kivas confirmed, her voice gaining a thread of relief. "The severance creates the gap, but in the end, Fathomi will sees a complete entity—mortal Kivas, no Avatar strings attached, while also deeming that the Living Deity is still there because of the Divine Portfolio."
Oizys leaned back, her violet eyes flicking between Kivas and the critter, distress etching her features like a fresh wound. "This... this sounds safer than the first plan. Less reckless. You’re not exiling yourself to the wilds, endless ascension hanging over you like a storm, havoc drawing every scavenger in Fathomi’s gutters. No betting on Vaingall’s future strength or some rival faction stumbling into a win."
Oizys rubbed her temples, the wariness bleeding through. "The first one’s a gamble— you out there, half-risen, conscious but trapped, factions clawing at the edges while we scramble to catch up. Hoping we evolve fast enough to reel you in, or that outsiders blunder into subduing you without shattering the board. This second one? It’s steps, not a leap."
Samael nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on the critter as it batted playfully at a loose strand of Kivas’s silver hair. "Fair point. But Kivas—anything else in your arsenal? Plans beyond these two?"
Kivas shook her head, her hand still absently petting the furball, which had begun to doze lightly against her. "I do. Or well, I did."
"I can assume that those plans have been thrown to the bin," Samale pointed out.
Fymnhendyr, who had been uncharacteristically silent through the unraveling, finally stirred, her voice emerging with that resonant timbre, steady and unyielding as an ancient current. "The second plan’s feasible—the severance itself, the whole act of it. It slots right into Fathomi’s rules without snapping the seams.
"But the risk boils down to that binding phase, when the severed soul hooks into the artificial body. If anything disrupts it—a glitch in the mend, Fathomi catching the paradox mid-pull—it’ll yank hard. Drag your soul away and rebirth it in some fresh vessel brand new, scattered across the expanse.
"No say in where or how; just gone, out of reach." Fymnhendyr chuckled. "That’s why the binding of the soul to the new vessel is the part with the most risk."
Oizys’s eyes sharpened, the distress in her posture easing into something firmer, more grounded, as resolve flickered through her like a gathering spark. "If you’ve vetted it like that, Fymnhendyr—laid out the safety nets and the one real snag—then it’s not some half-baked plan anymore. It’s steps we can follow now."
"You put a lot of faith on her," Kivas casually commented.
The weight of her words drew their gazes as one to Samael, the air thickening with that quiet expectancy, each of them holding space for her verdict—the wisest, the Endless One, who potentially possess the most wisdom and experience amongst all of the people in this room—except Fymnhendyr.
She met their eyes without flinching, her draconic gaze lingering on Kivas for a beat longer, then shifting to the little critter still nestled on her shoulder, its fluffy form rising and falling with tiny, even breaths.
Instead of plunging into the mechanics, Samael tilted her head toward it, her voice dipping into something softer, almost whimsical, cutting the tension like an unexpected breeze.
"That little one’s got a name yet?"
Kivas blinked, the surprise hitting her mid-breath, a soft laugh escaping before she could catch it—the sound light, unguarded, pulling the critter awake with a sleepy chirr as it nuzzled closer.
Her smile followed, warm and unforced, easing the lines of strain from her face. "It does, yeah. Clicked into place the second Fathomi stamped that Well of the Soul on it. But the vessel’s still too green, can’t really shape words with its immature vessel. It’ll share when it’s ready, in its own time."
"Does it not adhere to Fathomi’s rule of time-related entropy-less vessel?" Oizys asked.
"It does not, because I made the vessel," Kivas answered with a grin. "Unlike every inhabitant of Fathomi, this wee small, fuzzy ball can grow and matures."
Samael’s expression cracked open then, a real smile breaking through—rare, unguarded, the kind that softened the edges of her horns and made her wings settle easy. "Good, then that will be our target...
"No matter what happens, you must not die and reset the timeline before this little one can tell its name to us."
The shift landed like a shared ignition, confidence blooming quiet but sure through the group. Oizys’s shoulders dropped the last of their tension as she nodded, sharp and ready. Fymnhendyr’s serene poise deepened with a subtle incline of her head, approval etched in her smile.
The air hummed lighter, possibilities coiling into something solid, tangible—and Kivas felt it too, the knot in her chest unraveling under the warmth of their alignment, her own resolve steadying like a flame finding clean air.
Kivas’s gaze swept over them, her smile opening full, gratitude threading through it simple and deep. "Thank you. All of you."