Add death to light and shadow, and fitting them together feels impossible. Light wants to shine and protect. Shadow wants to hide and guard. Death wants to remake everything. Three core forces, all pulling in different directions, each one able to rewrite reality its own way.
I can feel myself tearing apart. Am I Nyssa Vale the slayer, or the cosmic light force? The human who picked duty over desire, or the shadow that keeps secrets safe? The woman who fights to save the innocent, or the power of endings itself? Panic hits when I realise: I’m all of them, and none of them. Something brand-new, without a name.
These powers aren’t just flowing through me, they’re rewriting me from the inside out. My memories are blurring. Mortals’ worries seem tiny next to cosmic duty. Who cares about Rynna’s safety when I could expose every suffering soul? Who cares about personal happiness when I could lock down every beautiful mystery? Who cares about choice when I could perfect everything?
“Tabitha,” I gasp, voice cracking. “I can’t—it’s too much.”
“You can,” she says, stepping forward even as raw energies flicker around me. “But not alone. You need order. Structure. A framework to hold the chaos.”
She spreads her hands, and instead of wild power, I feel neat, precise patterns: order magic. Like cosmic bureaucracy, it turns endless possibilities into something I can actually manage.
Her order magic wraps around me like scaffolding around a building. It doesn’t control the light, shadow, or death inside me, but makes room for all three to exist without tearing each other apart.
With Tabitha’s help, I finally get what real authority is. It’s not smashing everything with force. It’s building systems where different powers can work side by side. Light shows truth. Shadow protects what matters. Death guides transformation. Order keeps them from fighting.
I feel the three settle into place. Light becomes my clear sight and the gift of sharing it. Shadow becomes my shield for what needs hiding. Death becomes my tool for letting go and moving on. Holding all these forces together is me—Nyssa Vale—a woman who still chooses love over power, duty over ease, and sacrifice over self-preservation.
Reality acknowledges the balance.
But it’s still a huge strain. I sense cracks in the order magic. My human mind feels stretched almost to breaking. Then the Judge’s voice cuts in. “Well done. You’ve shown you can hold absolute authority without losing yourself. You can integrate opposing forces so they serve, not dominate.”
The three powers fade but leave their essence in me, now bonded by order and human will. “However,” the Judge adds, “this framework is fragile. It needs constant upkeep. Are you ready for that burden?”
I look at Tabitha, exhausted but steady, and feel the balance inside me. “I’m ready,” I say, even if I’m not completely sure I mean it.
“Then the trial is complete,” the Judge declares. “Authority is restored. Remember: power without wisdom is tyranny;wisdom without compassion is cruelty; both without humility is damnation. This is just the beginning.”
We’re pulled back toward normal reality, but I feel changed. Tabitha gives me a smile. The trial is over, but the real work of living with this power, keeping my humanity while carrying divine forces, is only starting.
Chapter 37
Dreven
The silence in the cottage is heavy enough to crush a lesser god. Dastian paces a trench into the rug, red sparks flying from his fingertips every time he turns. Voren stands by the window, watching the unnatural stillness of the rain. I stand perfectly still in the centre of the room, but my shadows writhe along the floorboards, agitated and seeking a target.
I hate this. I hate that she went alone. I hate that a woman in a beige coat simply removed her from my protection with a wave of a pen.
The air pressure drops suddenly. My ears pop.
“She’s back,” Dastian says, stopping mid-stride.
The space in front of the fireplace distorts. It doesn’t tear; it folds. Nyssa steps out of the distortion, with Tabitha right on her heels.
I stride forward, my need to touch her overriding my restraint. “Nyssa.”
She looks at me, and I stop.
It isn’t fear that halts me. It is recognition. The shadows in the corners of the room detach themselves from the walls and slide toward her. They pool around her boots, not menacing, but submissive. She glows with a faint, terrifying luminescence thatmakes looking directly at her difficult. The crown is no longer just a braided thing in her soul; I can feel its weight pressing against the atmosphere of the room.
“Dreven,” she says. Her voice sounds different. Heavier. It carries a resonance that vibrates in my chest.
“You passed,” I state, scanning her for injuries.
“I passed,” she agrees. She blinks, and the terrifying radiance dims, leaving just the woman I want to both strangle and kiss. She looks exhausted.
I reach out and grip her upper arms. She feels solid. The coldness of the trial clings to her hoodie, but beneath it, she holds a heat that my shadows shy away from.
“Are you hurt?” I demand.
