“Don’t go,” I whisper, but it’s already gone.
My hand feels empty where it was. Cold.
I force myself to stand up, using the fountain’s edge for support. My legs shake like a newborn deer’s, and I have to concentrate to keep from falling over, but I manage it.
The sanctuary looks… different. Better. Like a castle that could weather any storm. The walls rise high and strong around us, watchtowers keeping silent vigil. The gates stand ready to welcome friends and repel enemies.
It looks like a place that could keep us safe. All of us.
Seth’s still gone. The fountain flows with its liquid light, beautiful and sad and permanent. Still proof of what happened, what I’m capable of.
But maybe… maybe if I can build things too, that counts for something.
Maybe I don’t have to be just the person who breaks everything.
The Ether curls around me like a protective cloak, warm and comforting. Still silver shot through with black, but it doesn’t feel wrong anymore. The black threads look like completion. Like the Ether needed both parts to be whole.
Like I need both parts to be whole.
I look up at the people gathered. The crowd is staring at all of it with expressions I can’t read—fear and wonder and something that might eventually become trust.
They’re still afraid of me. I can feel it. But they’re not running.
And maybe that’s enough to start with.
Maybe building something beautiful from the wreckage is enough.
That’s what I thought I was doing with my life after all.
The Ether hums softly around me, patient and waiting. Ready for whatever comes next.
I’m still afraid of it. Still afraid of what I might do. But for the first time since this all began, I’m not afraid of myself.
Not entirely anyway.
Chapter 27
Bree
Standing beside the fountain, I feel the weight of every eye on me.
The liquid light still glows beneath the surface, Seth’s memorial flowing in endless, beautiful loops. The fox is gone, faded back into shadow and memory, but its touch lingers on my palm. Around me, the crowd stays frozen—watching, waiting, trying to figure out what I am and what I might do next.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the fountain’s surface and feel something twist in my chest. My reflection looks different. Not transformed. Just… clearer. Like I’m finally seeing myself instead of the smaller version I’ve been carrying around for as long as I can remember.
The person looking back at me doesn’t seem like someone who would apologize for existing.
That darkness you fear in yourself? It’s power.
Ethos’s words echo in my mind—smooth as silk, and seductive in a way that does things to me I can’t think about right now. Something about it feels wrong, but they settle into place anyway.
The power to take what you want instead of waiting to be given scraps.
The whisper carries a hunger that I’m not used to, but I can’t bring myself to push it away.
I won’t beg for honesty anymore. I’m not waiting for them to decide I’m worthy of trust, of truth, of being treated like I matter.
Because I deserve all of those things.
