The dam stops cracking.
The glow fades.
The ancient runes, shattered by Caspian’s assault, reform under the entity’s will. Not exactly as they were, but better. Stronger. Adapted to modern stress instead of ancient design.
Caspian’s ritual collapses. His power, vast as it is, can’t compete with what we’ve become. Can’t overcome fusion when he’s still functioning as individual.
The dam holds.
The valley is safe.
Thousands live who should have died.
And the entity begins to understand something that Zara and Torin couldn’t—that this existence, beautiful as it is, cannot last. That identity matters. That love requires two people to be meaningful. That unity is transcendent but individuality is necessary.
We must separate.
Separation is agony.
Worse than the Oubliette. Worse than every wound combined. Like taking a soul and tearing it in half, creating division where wholeness existed.
The entity resists. Why separate when unity is so complete? Why return to limited consciousness when unlimited awareness is available? Why be less when we could be more?
But somewhere in the merged consciousness, Zara’s voice whispers: Because Torin needs to be Torin. And I need to be me. And our love means nothing if we don’t choose it as individuals.
Torin’s voice agrees: Because I want to look at you and see you. Not experience you from the inside. I want you separate so I can love you properly.
The entity accepts this truth. Begins the painful process of division.
Memories sort themselves. These belong to her. These to him. These to both—shared now, permanent connections that will last beyond separation.
Sensations split. His pain returns to his body alone. Her exhaustion settles into her bones specifically. The wings become solely hers again. The gills exclusively his.
Consciousness divides. Thoughts that were singular become dual. Awareness that was unified fragments into two perspectives.
And finally, horribly, wonderfully—they are separate again.
Zara collapses in the water, gasping. Every nerve ending screams from the separation. It feels like losing half of herself. Like being whole and then being violently returned to a lesser state.
But she can think her own thoughts again. Can feel her own feelings without them being amplified by his. Can be Zara Stormwright, individual, unique, separate.
Torin catches her before she goes under. His arms feel foreign and familiar simultaneously. She knows these arms from the outside now and the inside. Knows how his muscles work. Knows the effort it takes him to hold her even when he’s exhausted.
Knows him completely and separately all at once.
“Did we—?” Her voice barely works.
“We did.” His response is rough with emotion. Relief. Pride. Grief for what they’ve lost and joy for what they’ve kept. “The dam’s safe. They’re safe.”
She looks up. The structure stands whole. Not perfect—she can see the fresh scars where lightning welded it, the subtle differences in the stone where magic rebuilt what Caspian destroyed. But standing. Solid. Safe.
On top of the dam, Caspian stares down at them. His expression is unreadable. Not rage. Not grief. Something else. Something that might be respect.
“Now we end this,” Torin says quietly.
Zara nods. Tests her lightning reserves. Still depleted, but not empty. Not anymore. The merger gave something back. Not full power. Enough.
“Can you fight?” she asks.
