“Give me a minute. I’m working on one.”
His mouth twitches. Almost a smile.
I kiss him before I can talk myself out of it.
It’s brief — barely more than a brush, my hand catching his jaw for half a second before I pull back. Impulsive. Stupid. Completely worth it.
Malrik blinks. Once. Twice. His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes does.
“That wasn’t a joke,” he says quietly.
“No,” I manage. “It wasn’t.”
We stand there for a beat too long, the Royal Hall glowing blue around us, and I have no idea what my face is doing but it’s probably embarrassing.
And then I notice Darian.
He’s standing at the edge of the cavern, but he’s not where I left him. He’s closer now. Closer to the Royal Hall. Like something dragged him forward against his will.
His magic twitches at his fingertips — dark, uneasy. His whole body is tense, vibrating with something that looks a lot like fear.
He takes a step toward the hall. Stops. Takes another half-step. Stops again.
His eyes are fixed on the sigils. On the coronation scene. On the Valkyrie blessing the king.
On whatever truth is carved into those walls.
And then he turns away. Deliberately. Forcefully. Like it takes everything he has.
He retreats to the far side of the cavern, arms wrapped around himself, shoulders hunched.
I don’t understand it. But I clock it.
File that away for later. Probably important.
Kaia drifts toward one of the remaining dark tunnels.
She doesn’t seem to realize she’s doing it. Her shadows are guiding her — swirling around her ankles, nudging her forward, pulling her toward the passage like they know something she doesn’t.
Bob takes point, posture rigid. Walter floats alongside her, pulsing with that strange starlight.
Are there more Eds than before?
The moment she crosses the threshold, silver light explodes through the passage.
Winged figures. Valkyries carved in ice-lines, fierce and beautiful and ancient.
The carvings tell a story.
On the left wall — their rise. Valkyries in their glory, wings spread wide, shadows swirling at their feet. Leading armies. Blessing kings. Riding dragons. Standing at the center of everything, the axis around which the world turned.
On the right wall — their fall. A figure standing over them. Their homes crumbling. Wings broken. Shadows scattered. One by one, the Valkyries disappearing, until only emptiness remains.
And at the far end, where both walls meet—
A single figure. Standing alone. Wings folded. Shadows gathering at her feet.
The last one.
