I step to his side, hand finding his. Together, we watch as Goh’Vak bows head.
He is beaten—but alive.
We return to the compound at dusk. Aebon’s suit is stained; his honor renewed. I walk alongside.
He squeezes my hand—thanks unsaid. I feel it ignite across my veins.
Inside, I address Sec Council before Aebon speaks.
“Goh’Vak will live. He yielded—not out of fear but respect for legacy. A lesson—not brutality, but tempered justice.”
Bruna nods. Others murmur assent.
Then Aebon speaks. “Let this be clear—those who build with me find sanctuary. Those who seek ruin find reckoning. We are stronger.”
He glances at me—corner of his mouth curves with pride. I return his gaze, fierce calm.
In that moment, we are a unit: builder and blade, law and war—scion of Reaper rule and architect of new order.
The challenge came from blood.
I stand at the edge of the balcony, the night wrapping around me like a cloak of tension, the city’s neon heartbeat distant beneath us. Aria's voice reaches me through the glass door. Soft, urgent. I turn to see her illuminated by the penthouse glow—eyes full of pleading, lips trembling ever so slightly.
“You don’t need to prove anything to anyone,” she says, her voice broken luminous, like a candle flame in the wind. “You’ve shown them. You’ve shown us. Showedme.Don’t—” She steps forward, but I raise a hand, halting her. The breeze whips at her hair, but she doesn’t retract.
I want to take her in my arms and seal the world out. But there's something cruel lodged in my chest—a knot of responsibility, an ache planted decades ago by a brother who vowed to rule through ruin. I was never just fighting for Aebon Rexx—I fight for what he built. And God help me, if I don’t keep showing strength, our empire—the justice he reshaped—will fracture under lazy assumptions of mercy.
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Let me go with you,” she whispers.
I blink. My gut clenches. Every instinct screamsno. But I don’t yield. Not yet.
“I need you here,” I say. Voice low, steady, but raw. I step forward and hold her face in my hands. Her skin’s warmth, the trembling of her cheek under my thumb—it’s more preciousthan any legacy. I close my eyes momentarily, breathing in her smell: cedar, a trace of lavender, the lingering sweetness of wine.
She swallows. “Please.”
I force a tight smile. “Please, trust me.”
Our breaths mingle. I lean in, pressing lips to hers with excruciating slowness—as if this is the last time we’ll truly touch. Her lips part against mine. I taste longing, fear, love. I pull back a fraction, my forehead resting against hers.
“If I die,” I say, voice thick as nightfall, “take it all. Run it better than I ever did.”
I trace a finger down her jawline, memorize every curve. Tears spill—salt and truth. “Protect what we built. Protectme—the memory of me. I trust you. I believe in you.”
Her breath hitches. She forces a nod, lips trembling. “I will.”
With that silent promise, I push away, re-centering. My heart aches with each step back toward duty. She doesn’t follow. I can’t bear the sight of her watching me go, but I lift my chin—something unbreakable coiling in my chest.
“I always come back,” I promise, voice fierce. But she’s already turned away, fingers grazing the balcony rail. The neon pulse behind her forms a halo of defiance and fear.
I leave the balcony, descending the steps into the war room’s hushed violet glow.
The Inner Council waits—Bruna, Haarvik, Loran—bodies taut, hopeful, anxious.
I stand at the helm.
“Goh’Vak has fallen back,” I inform them. “But Nar’Vosk remnants will challenge this. They test us through rumor and fear.”
Bruna nods. “And the Nine?”
