His eyes meet mine.
And they're...peaceful.
Not resigned or defeated or accepting in the way that suggests surrender. Genuinely peaceful, carrying the particular calm of someone who has seen their future and found it acceptable. Whatever fate awaits him on the other side of this farewell, he's made his peace with it.
The realization should comfort me.
It doesn't.
"But you deserve life," I whisper, fighting against emotions that surge through me with force that threatens to shatter whatever composure I've managed to maintain. Tears burn behind my eyes—tears I'm not sure this dreamscape will allow me to shed, tears that feel insufficient to express the magnitude of what I'm feeling. "You deserve toexist, Gabriel. Not as partof me, not as a shadow in someone else's consciousness—asyourself. Independent and whole andalive."
His chuckle carries affection that makes my chest ache.
"The wicked never die," he says, and there's something almost playful beneath the exhaustion in his voice. "So sorry to burst your bubble, sis, but I wouldn't accept death so easily."
I try to smile.
The expression doesn't quite form—too much sadness weighing down its edges, too much anxiety about whether he truly means the words or whether he's simply trying to ease the inevitable separation. Gabriel has always been protective in his own way, always willing to carry burdens he shouldn't have to bear if it meant sparing others pain.
What if he's lying?
What if he knows he's fading and this is his way of ensuring I don't destroy myself trying to prevent the inevitable?
What if this is the last time I'll ever see his face, hear his voice, feel his hand in mine?
He squeezes my fingers, the pressure grounding in ways I desperately need.
"I mean it, Gwenievere."
His voice has shifted—gone is the playful deflection, replaced by something raw and honest and impossible to dismiss as mere comfort.
"I have something... or I guesssomeoneto live for."
The words land with weight that makes me blink.
Someone.
He has someone.
"We're not going to disperse into nothing," he continues, silver eyes holding mine with intensity that demands belief. "We're safe... on the other side. And we'll join the allies there embarking on their journey."
My mind races through implications I'm only beginning to grasp.
The other side.
Allies.
A journey.
The pieces click together with the particular satisfaction of a puzzle finally revealing its complete picture.
"Death...shire?" The name emerges as question and realization combined, my eyes widening as understanding floods through me. "Deathshire Academy?"
I've heard whispers of the place—rumors and legends and half-truths that circulate through the supernatural world like coins through merchants' hands. A sister institution to Wicked Academy, though the details of their connection have always been murky, obscured by the same shadows that hide so much of our parents' legacy.
But if Gabriel is going there...
If there are allies waiting...
