The acolyte beside me is sweating. “Master?”
“It is done,” I say. “Masielle’s knowledge is mine. The forges will not be hidden from me much longer.”
“And the Lords?” he asks.
Ah, the Lords.
Fire, Water, Air, and Earth.
They think themselves pillars holding up a collapsing sky.
They do not yet see the cracks in their own foundations.
“Oh, they are moving even now,” I say lightly. “Rushing to staunch every wound while leaving their hearts exposed. Dagan broods at The Barrow with the Crown sulking in his vault. Alaric agonizes over his pregnant little viyella. Thorne snarls at anyone who looks at his mate. Kael pretends he is not terrified of losing the one soft thing he’s ever allowed himself to hold.”
I smile.
“All that power,” I murmur. “Fractured. Divided. Distracted by their precious bonds.”
“You’re not… frightened of them?” the acolyte asks.
“They should be frightened of me,” I correct, and the cliff groans in agreement. “They cling to their roles—guardians, rulers, shepherds—without ever asking who built the pen.”
“But you have asked,” he breathes.
“Yes,” I say. “And I have my answer. The multiverse will not stop taking. It will never stop needing more hope, more dreams, more Nightfall. So I will do what the Prime was too weak to do.”
I turn from the cliff at last, the wind whipping my cloak around me like the wings I once envied in others and now wear in my own way.
“I will break the Crown. I will unmake the leash. I will gather every last thread of power this realm wastes and weave it into something for us.”
“Just for Nightfall?” he whispers.
“Why not?” I arch a brow. “We have been generous for eons. Let the other worlds learn despair. Let them feel what it is like to choke on their own nightmares without our hands at their throats, forcing them back down.”
The acolyte swallows.
“That sounds… cruel.”
“Cruel?” I laugh again. “Cruel is burning children for a purpose they didn’t choose. Cruel is telling a realm it exists only to support others. I am not cruel, little one. I am correct.”
The earth shudders beneath us again—more distant this time. Somewhere, Dagan has felt the strike at Stone’s Edge. Somewhere, the Lords are gathering, their mates at their sides, their stupid, soft, dangerous bonds flaring bright.
Good.
Let them come.
Let them throw all their strength at me.
I will take it.
I will take everything.
And when it is done, when the Crown lies in my hands and the last thread between Nightfall and the multiverse is severed, they will finally understand:
I was never their villain.
I was their liberation.
