The vision shows me my purpose. Every generation, Death chooses one soul to serve as Champion. Someone who died before their time, someone strong enough to handle existing in both worlds, someone who can be trusted with the responsibility of maintaining the balance.
And I'm it.
I have power I've never accessed. I can walk between worlds at will, pulling others with me if needed. I can see and speak with the dead, help guide lost souls to where they need to go. I can hold death at bay when it comes too soon, or call it forward when suffering has gone on long enough.
I have authority over wraiths, over spirits, over everything that exists between life and death.
The vision shows me more. Shows me what I could become if I fully embrace this role. Not just half-phased and translucent, but able to shift completely between solid and ethereal at will. Able to see the threads of life and death that connect every livingbeing. Able to sense when death is coming for someone, and whether it's natural or orchestrated.
I see myself standing at the veil itself, Death's cloak settling over my shoulders like a mantle of office. The gray realm spreading out before me, endless and eternal, and I'm not afraid of it anymore.
Because I'm not trapped there. I'm its guardian.
When the vision releases me, I'm crying. Not from sadness, but from understanding, from finally knowing what I am and what I've always been meant to be.
My death wasn't random. The vision showed me that too. Dmitri orchestrated it, but not for the reason I thought. He sent wraiths to attack the pool that day, targeting Skye. The Praestes potential must have already been forming in him, even then. But I got in the way. I saved Skye and died in his place, and in doing so, I fulfilled the potential Dmitri didn't even know I had.
But Death claimed me first. Reached across the veil and pulled me back before Dmitri could finish what he started.
I've been hiding ever since. Making myself small, suppressing my power, pretending to be just another wraith instead of what I really am. But I'm done with that now.
I'm done with that.
I find Skye immediately, needing to share this. He's in the common area with the others, all of them still processing their own revelations. When I walk in, they all turn to look at me, and I know my eyes must be glowing white again.
"I need to show you something," I say to Skye. "All of you."
Skye stands, concern written across his features. "What is it?"
Instead of answering, I take his hand and step sideways into death realm, pulling him with me.
The crossing is intimate in ways I didn't expect. Skye's hand in mine, his essence tangled with my death-touch, his living warmth pressed against my cold. In death realm, sensations aredifferent. Sharper and more intense than anything in the living world.
His gasp tells me he feels it too. The gray world of spirits spreads out around us, the silver veil shimmering between life and death, but I can tell he's not focused on the view. His pupils are blown wide, his breath coming faster, his grip on my hand tightening.
"Harlow." His voice is breathless. "Everything feels..."
"I know." I should be professional about this. Should be giving him the tour of my realm like I planned. But he's so warm against me, and I'm so cold, and the veil hums around us with ancient power that amplifies every sensation.
"Side effect of the realm," I manage. "Heightened awareness. Every point of contact becomes..."
"Intense," he finishes, and then he's pressing closer, his free hand coming up to cup the back of my neck. "Is it always like this for you? Feeling everything so strongly?"
"Yes." The word comes out rough. "But it's better with you here. Warmer."
His eyes soften. "You're always so cold. Even when you're holding me, I can feel you shivering."
"Comes with the territory."
"Let me warm you up."
He kisses me between worlds, and it's unlike anything we've shared before. The death realm amplifies every slide of his tongue against mine, every press of his body against my chest, every soft sound he makes when I pull him closer. I can feel his heartbeat through our tangled hands, strong and alive and so beautifully mortal.
"We should stop," I whisper against his mouth. "The others are waiting."
"They can wait." His hands slide under my shirt, palms flat against my cold skin. I shudder at the contact, at the warmthseeping into my frozen bones. "You spend so much time taking care of everyone else. Let me take care of you for once."
Here, in the space between life and death, with reality thin around us, I let myself take what he's offering. Let his warmth chase away the perpetual chill. Let his love remind me why I chose life over death four years ago.
