Ascension by S.T. Gibson: Gothic Desire, Divine Obsession
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There are books you simply read. And then there are the ones that feel like stepping into a summoning circle, where power hums, boundaries blur, and nothing stays buried for long. Ascension by bestselling author S.T. Gibson is that kind of book. It opens with the illusion of peace. A man with everything: title, power, a witch wife at his side, and a love that once felt impossible.
But peace doesn’t last in stories born from ambition, especially not when secret societies thrive on blood oaths and whispered betrayals. As hell plays its quiet game, and hearts play tug with devotion and desire, the question isn’t what Rhys will lose. It’s what he’ll give up willingly. Consider this your sign if you’ve been watching this series rise in your Goodreads feed or circling the name “Rhys” in book club chats. Keep reading. Let’s talk about the greatest demon in this story — and why it might just be the one wearing the crown.
Title: Ascension (Summoner’s Circle, 2)
Author: S.T. Gibson
Publisher: Angry Robot
Genre: Fantasy, Romance, LGBTQ+
Release Date: July 8, 2025
Pages: 400
Star Rating: 4.5 stars
Spice Rating: 2 chili peppers
Ascension Is a Dark Sermon I’ll Never Forget
Since the moment I turned the final page of Evocation, Ascension has been on my most anticipated list for 2025. That book was a perfect storm. A trifecta of demonology, desire, and devotion, wrapped in a slow-burning tension that felt sacred. The connection between David and Rhys was so deep and consuming that I found myself scanning every page for their next interaction, hungry for the ache only they could deliver.
Ascension was no different.
From the opening, I searched for David. For Moira. For the fragile intimacy between the three of them that had once felt untouchable. But this time, the love was warped by pressure, tested by ambition, and pushed into new corners of vulnerability. I didn’t just watch Rhys unravel — I felt it. The weight of becoming everything to everyone. The cost of power dressed as protection. The fear of being known and the greater fear of being abandoned when you finally are.
S.T. Gibson doesn’t just write characters — she writes emotional cartography. In Ascension, every interaction is a recalibration of trust. Every relationship feels alive, shifting under the tension of open love, buried fears, and the quiet, constant ache of wanting too much. There’s no villain here (well, there is, and while I usually root for the villain, I hated him). Just people loving each other as hard as they can while carrying wounds too old to name. And maybe that’s what makes this book so powerful — it doesn’t offer resolution. It offers reflection. It says: This is what love looks like when it’s honest, and this is what happens when it breaks.
” I might be able to work some magic to make this go away.”
There’s a quiet confidence to the way Gibson paces this book. Like she trusts you to sit in the stillness, to feel the ache in the silences between spells and confrontations. Ascension isn’t a fast book, but it’s never slow. It moves like a ritual: deliberate, layered, intimate. Every scene feels intentionally placed, like a sigil etched in blood, not for shock, but for meaning. There’s no wasted motion. No false urgency. Instead, Gibson gives us tension that simmers low and steady, allowing grief, longing, and betrayal to take up space. You don’t flip through this book looking for the next plot point. Linger. You listen for what isn’t said.
Her prose leans lyrical without slipping into indulgence — it’s measured, restrained, and emotionally potent. There’s a rhythm to her language that mirrors the internal spirals of the characters, especially Rhys. The way he rationalizes, avoids, seduces, and self-destructs — all of it is mirrored in the writing. It’s not just beautiful. It’s intentional. Form matching function. Sentence structure reflecting soul structure. The way Gibson allows language to bend under emotional pressure made me feel like I was watching something sacred crack — slowly, gloriously, inevitably.
“What battles are you fighting, boy? What aid do you require?”
A quick detour before we continue.
I have to say something about Odd Spirits, the prequel that sits quietly before the storm of Evocation. I read it after falling headfirst into the world of Rhys and David, and in that order, Odd Spirits felt more like a flicker than a flame. It gave context, yes. It gave Moira a kind of soft permanence in Rhys’ past. But compared to the burning intensity of the main series, it felt slight — more of a whisper than a roar.
If I’d read it first, as it was intended, I think it would have grounded me more in the emotional foundation between Rhys and Moira. But after Evocation, where the tension between Rhys and David reshapes the very air they breathe, Odd Spirits felt like returning to a version of the story that had already outgrown itself. It’s not essential reading, but it’s tender; for some, that may be enough.
Now, back to your regularly scheduled review.
“Eligos manifestus,” he ordered.
More than anything, it’s rare that I fall for an entire cast this hard. Still, in Ascension, every main character felt like a favorite — each one carved from longing, layered with contradictions, and written with such emotional precision it’s hard to imagine choosing just one. And yet, David stands a little taller in my heart. There’s something about him — a magnetism that feels effortless but deeply earned. Maybe it’s the Aristarkhov legacy pulsing through his veins, maybe it’s the quiet power of someone who’s always ten steps ahead, even when the room hasn’t caught up. Whatever it is, David doesn’t just draw you in — he holds you there. He commands every scene with a kind of feral grace, the kind that makes you lean in and wonder if he’s about to bless you or ruin you. Maybe both.
Then there’s Moira — the emotional anchor in a sea of chaos. She isn’t just a witch wife. She’s the gravity holding this triangle together, sacred in her strength, heartbreaking in her selflessness. You feel her choices before you understand them, and her love runs deep enough to let the people she cherishes break her a little, as long as it means they’ll stay whole.
“And if you want to fight over me, fine, just make sure you make a big public scene about it, that would be hot.”
And Rhys. Sweet, spiraling Rhys. The high priest who still doesn’t believe he’s worthy of worship. There’s such a quiet tragedy to how he carries love, like it’s both his greatest blessing and his deepest fear. He doesn’t stand outside their love story. He is the story. The way he doubts, desires, and destroys — it’s maddening and magnetic all at once. He thinks he’s on the outskirts of their affection, but what he doesn’t see is that everything bends toward him. He’s the fire they keep circling, hoping it won’t burn them again.
But as much as Ascension swept me away, it’s not without its imperfections. Despite being hinted at, there’s a plot thread that never fully materializes in the way I expected. A question from Evocation that I thought would take center stage here instead lingers in the background, almost forgotten, leaving me with a lingering sense that something was missing. It’s not necessarily a flaw, but it’s a thread left dangling, one that could have provided a deeper emotional connection to Rhys’ journey.
This doesn’t take away from the story itself, but there was a subtle sense that I wasn’t being told everything, and for a book so steeped in secrets, that feels both frustrating and, oddly, fitting. Ultimately, the unanswered question only fuels the mystery. And while I know that in the realm of plot we still have time (Rhys has until his 30th birthday), I can’t help but wonder what could have been if it had been given a bit more weight. More time to explore options. As it stands, I wonder how Saint will do book three without it feeling like it’s rushing to wrap up the original storyline.
“Love for Rhys was a practice, very much like a prayer, something to be done every day, with quiet consistency and attention to detail.”
Ascension is more than a sequel — it’s a reckoning—a slow, spiraling descent into power, love, and the price of both. St. Gibson doesn’t just write fantasy — she writes through it, letting the magic serve the emotional arc, not the other way around. This book doesn’t just play tug-of-war between heaven and hell — it plays tug on your heart, patience, and trust. Rhys, Moira, and David anchor the series with raw intimacy, ambition, and heartbreak, and their dynamic left me breathless. It’s easy to see why readers rate this author so highly on Goodreads and why her books continue to climb every published fantasy romance list with the kind of quiet, devastating force that stays with you.
Whether you’re a long-time Gibson reader or just now stepping into the Secret Society at the heart of this world, this read offers a glimpse into the mind of a summoner walking the thin edge between devotion and destruction. I’ll be thinking about this book, these characters, and that final page for a long time — and rating it accordingly. The greatest demon in Ascension isn’t summoned with salt and sigils — it’s the one Rhys carries inside him. And that’s what makes this series unforgettable.
Make sure you grab Ascension from your local indie bookstore on July 8th.
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