Cassia managed a broken, bitter smile. “We all choose what we think will save us, Athena. I just ran out of choices.”
Athena watched as Roan moved closer.
His voice was low, unyielding, carrying the weight of a thousand years and the promise of a new age. “You chose wrong,” he said to Cassia.
He stepped forward his hand gripping Cassia’s neck, pulling her to her feet and, with mercy and finality, flicked his wrist, breaking her neck, ending her suffering. Cassia’s body slumped, her story closing not with a scream, but with silence. The pain of her loss—her mate, her power, her purpose—echoed through the web as every member of the Kingdom of Silk felt the sharp, final break.
Roan turned to the gathered crowd, his voice ringing out: “This is the fate of anyone who harms what is mine. My mate. My people. My world. The era of cruelty ends here. The era of power without mercy is over. We are bound together—by blood, by magic, by the will of the Creator. Anyone who dares to betray that bond will share Cassia’s fate.”
The hall was silent save for the ragged breathing of the assembled shifters and spiders. The web was broken—but the future, for the first time in an age, burned bright and clean ahead.
Athena’s eyes shimmered with tears she would never shed in public. “It is finished,” she whispered. “Let us build something better from the ruins.”
“There is still Dax to deal with,” Aurelius pointed out, ever the pragmatic ruler. “We do not know exactly what his role was in all of this, but it is important we find him.”
“We will,” Athena said, letting her mate see the certainty in her eyes. “But for this moment, we will just breathe. Just be.”
She looked on as Roan, Maddie, and Lyric stood together, the web of fate was rewoven—tighter, brighter, and, for the first time, truly just.
Chapter Sixteen
“The greatest crowns are forged in fire. The truest kings are called from the ashes of their own destruction. The first shall be last and the last shall be first. Grace will come to those who have deserved death, and they will bow before their Creator in thanks and declare Him holy. There is no greater love than the love He has for His creation. You only need to accept it.” ~ Nico
The world was quieter on the edge of the Kingdom of Chaos. Nico felt it in his bones, the hush that blanketed the desert on the edge of the strips of light. The wild air was sharp with the memory of storms. The four of them—Nico, Raphael, Callon, and Gage—moved in silence, their footfalls muffled on red earth, each lost in thoughts that weighed more than armor. There was no army at their backs. No banners, no fanfare. Only the certainty that what they were about to do would change everything. Visata had made that clear.
The memory of the Creator’s summons still prickled along Nico’s skin, as if the words had woven themselves into his verysoul. He remembered the way Visata’s presence had filled the same plane they were currently sitting in, just before they were about to take off–not with blinding light, but with a peace so profound it bordered on awe.
“Only you four will go,” Visata had said, his gaze sweeping over the group, seeing not their scars but the stories behind them. He’d sent the others on their way, and none had argued against the Creator’s will. Then, Visata had looked at Nico, his eyes blazing into his soul. “You have been wronged by the Kingdom of Chaos most deeply. The reckoning is yours to deliver. And these allies will assist you. I am dealing with the other treacherous ones.”
Nico had bristled, not at the weight of the task, but at the silence that followed. The kingdom had always been ruled by strength—a line of cunning, ruthless kings, each more brutal than the last. Wolfgang had no heir; Chaos would be left leaderless, a viper with its head cut off.
He’d found his voice, rough with skepticism. “Who will take the throne? There is no one left with royal blood. Who will lead them out of this darkness?”
Visata’s smile had been gentle, the kind that upends the world. “An unlikely warrior has been prepared. One who knows the cost of pride and the price of mercy.”
Callon had frowned. “Who?”
Visata’s gaze had locked with Nico’s, ancient and fathomless, and in that heartbeat Nico felt destiny descend—not as a gentle calling, but as a force that pressed against his soul with the gravity of mountains. “This shaman, who has remained steadfast even when shadows threaten to consume all hope,” Visata had intoned, his voice ringing with the certainty of prophecy. “You will be king. I will lift you from the ashes of betrayal and pain, shaping you into the unexpected ruler this fractured kingdom needs. Upon your shoulders will rest the burden—and the honor—of guiding Chaos into healing. And at your side, as your equal and your strength, will be Akira, your queen.”
The room had spun, the impossible made real. Nico had opened his mouth to protest, but Visata’s words pinned him.
Akira had turned to Nico and had whispered. “What’s happening? Is this real?”
Visata had continued, his gaze on Nico, “You have been broken and remade. You learned humility through fire and loss. It is not the perfect I call to leadership, but those who have known ruin and chosen love over vengeance. The world does not need another unyielding tyrant—it needs a king who remembers what it is to kneel.”
Nico had noticed the tears in Akira’s eyes, her pride for her mate evident on her face. But behind her smile, she’d hid other emotions from the group. Nico, however, had felt them through their bond. She was excited, terrified, and, mostly, incredulous, and he couldn’t wait to celebrate with her.
Raphael, eyes wide with disbelief, had asked, “And who will replace him as a shaman?”
Visata’s gaze had turned to him, warm as sunlight on winter stone. “You, Raphael. And your mate, Miryam. You will be the shaman of Chaos.”
Raphael had choked, his shoulders trembled with trepidation. “Me? I—my past?—”
Visata had smiled, sorrow and joy mingling in his eyes. “I choose the lowly, the forgotten, the broken. I raise up those who have fallen, so they might lift others in turn. My kingdom is not built on the backs of the proud, but on the hearts of those who know grace.”
The words had carved themselves into Nico’s heart, filling places he hadn’t known were empty. All his life, he had fought—against enemies, against fate, against himself. Never had he imagined that the greatest battle would be to accept love, toaccept forgiveness, to accept the throne not as a reward, but as a sacred trust.
Now, as the four of them approached the ruined keep, hidden in the red desert of Nevada, where Wolfgang and his mate waited, Nico felt the weight of that calling settle onto his shoulders. It was heavier than any crown, yet it did not crush him. It steadied him.
