Cassius has taken the mantle of leadership when Gwenievere cannot—not through force or manipulation, but through simple competence. He makes decisions that serve the group. He thinks beyond his own desires. He protects rather than possesses.
He's giving king vibes,I admit privately,while I feel more like a knight who would never leave her kneeling side.
And oddly enough, as of now, that's enough.
It's only a bonus that I get to love her in my way—fierce and territorial and burning with devotion that would level kingdoms if she asked it of me.
"I get our curiosity about all of this," Cassius says, his voice carrying the particular resonance of shadow magic woven through vocal cords. His tendrils continue their protective dance around the room, some extending toward Gwenievere's chamber with obvious protective intent, others tracking Prince Yoshiro's position with equally obvious hostility. "And we're going to have this conversation one way or another before we can tackle this final rollercoaster."
He pauses, silver eyes finding each of ours in turn.
"But I don't like having this conversation without her," he continues, "especially if she's the key to all of this."
She's always been the key.
The center around which we all orbit.
The gravity that holds this impossible constellation together.
Zeke nods agreement, frost receding slightly from his fingertips as he accepts Cassius's reasoning. Mortimer's dragon fire dims to ember-glow, scholarly patience reasserting itself over draconic impulse.
I don't see the need to argue.
Cassius is right—whatever decisions we make, whatever truths we uncover, they should involve Gwenievere. This is herlife, her fate, her bond mates. Speaking for her in her absence feels wrong in ways that transcend simple courtesy.
Damien crosses his arms, crimson cloak shifting around scarred shoulders, but his voice carries legitimate concern rather than argumentative challenge.
"Can we at least know why Nikolai is so exhausted?" He gestures toward where the fae lies curled on a bench, still unconscious, still bearing the particular pallor of magical depletion. "And where's that boy version of Gwenievere?"
"Gabriel and Nikki," Cassius corrects, tone carrying the faint edge of someone tired of their companions' imprecise language.
Professor Eternalis nods, accepting the question as valid despite her earlier stated preference for waiting.
"The spell that pulled your souls not only did that," she explains, "but created bodies for the alter halves."
The words take a moment to process.
Created bodies.
Gabriel and Nikki—the counterparts who have shared existence with Gwenievere and Nikolai respectively—now have their own physical forms.
"Meaning," she continues, "Gwenievere as of now is her full state as she would have been if they weren't merged together by Elena's trickery. The same uniqueness applied to Nikolai and Nikki. The spellwork used on them—which may have been in the hands of their father, the King—was undone temporarily."
Temporarily.
The word stands out like blood against snow.
Not permanently. Not definitively. Just... temporarily.
Which means this separation might not last.
We might be racing against a clock we can't see toward a deadline we don't understand.
"As to where they are," Professor Eternalis adds, "I'm uncertain, though I see no worry in their absence."
Mortimer's scholarly instincts surface through his concern. "She's not worried because Gwenievere and Nikolai are alive?"
It's a logical leap—if the professor shows no concern for Gabriel and Nikki's location, perhaps it's because she can sense their counterparts' vitality, can feel through some ancient magic that the separated halves haven't ceased to exist.
