"Yes," Professor Eternalis confirms, "in a way. But with the chalice's magic, I don't know to what degree their souls are reliant on one another now that they're separated."
To what degree their souls are reliant.
Meaning Gwenievere's survival might depend on Gabriel's.
While Nikolai's existence might be tied to Nikki's in ways we can't measure or monitor.
We have new variables in an equation that was already impossibly complex.
"The reason why Nikolai and even Gwenievere are exhausted," she continues, "is that their magic supplies have adapted to having the surplus of additional energy reserves from their soul counterparts."
I look at Nikolai's unconscious form with new understanding.
The fae has been operating with half a soul for gods know how long—his magic reserves bolstered by Nikki's presence, his power supplemented by his counterpart's energy. Now, suddenly separated, he's essentially running on empty while his body tries to remember how to function independently.
No wonder he looks like death warmed over.
He's been cut in half while still alive.
Zeke nods slowly, processing the information with the particular thoroughness of someone accustomed to analyzing threats.
"So now they both have to get used to not having those anymore," he says, frost crackling along his words as histemperature continues to drop. "But why are their magic signatures stronger than before?"
It's a good question.
Despite the obvious depletion, despite the visible exhaustion, both Gwenievere and Nikolai are radiating power at levels we've never sensed from them previously. The incantations crawling across Gwenievere's skin burn brighter than they ever have. Nikolai's fae magic—usually a subtle thing, more sensed than seen—pulses visibly even in his unconscious state.
"Because the counterparts were like a shield," Professor Eternalis explains, "preventing most from seeing their full potential. Good hiding technique, but now they both will have to adapt to their new array of power."
A shield.
Gabriel and Nikki weren't just sharing existence—they were actively dampening their hosts' magical signatures.
Hiding them.
Protecting them from detection by enemies who might target such obvious power.
"Also," she adds, her tone taking on warning undertones, "any energies that have been hiding will start to bleed out. So in Nikolai's case, his fae traits will start to show a lot more now once he's rested."
I think of the fae prince I've come to know—beautiful and mercurial, yes, but largely human-passing in his appearance and mannerisms. The idea of those traits intensifying, of his fae nature becoming more prominent and visible, carries implications I'm not sure any of us are prepared for.
Fae are dangerous.
Not just in power, but in nature.
The more fae Nikolai becomes, the less predictable he might be.
"What about Gwenievere?" I ask, the question escaping before I can stop it.
My concern for her transcends pride or caution or any of the masks I usually wear. She is the center of my existence now—has been since the first moment her silver eyes met mine and something inside me recognized something inside her.
Mine.
Ours.
The woman I would burn worlds to protect.
Professor Eternalis's expression softens slightly—not with pity, but with something closer to understanding.
