"You're drowning yourself in possibilities that haven't happened yet."
"They will happen." My voice cracked. "If I can even get us there, we march into the capital. Into a throne room where a creature from the Void waits to devour us. And all these people, Kaelen, your team, five hundred soldiers, they're the last spark of hope my people have left. Not me. I can't be what they say I am. I don't have it in me to be what prophecy says I am."
I turned to face him, letting him see the fear I’d been hiding.
"What if I'm not?" she whispered. "What if I'm just a girl who survived too long, and everyone dies because they believed in something that was never real?"
Daemon's jaw tightened. For a moment, he said nothing, simply watching me with an intensity that made me want to look away again. Then he shifted, angling his body toward me.
"Do you think Lyralei and Kaelen are idiots?"
The question caught me off guard. "What?"
"Kaelen. The warrior who's led this resistance for decades, who survived the Purges and kept these people safe and hidden while the kingdom hunted them. Do you think she's a fool who would throw five hundred lives away on blind faith?"
"No. But…"
"She knows exactly what we're walking into. So do Kane, Kael, and Zephyr. Every soldier preparing outside this tent understands the odds." Daemon's voice remained steady, grounding. "They're not following prophecy, Seris. They're choosing to fight because they've been enslaved, hunted, and murdered for generations. Because they're tired of hiding while a tyrant rules. Because your mother gave them hope that change was possible, and you carry that legacy forward."
"I didn't ask for this." The words came out sharper than intended. "I didn't choose to be born into a prophecy with impossible expectations. I just want, "
I stopped, breath catching.
"What do you want?"
The gentleness in his question undid something inside me. I closed my eyes, searching for truth beneath the fear.
"I want to stop being afraid. I want to sleep without nightmares of everyone I've lost. I want to look at tomorrow and see possibility instead of death." My voice dropped to barely a whisper. "I want to believe that choosing to fight means something more than just delaying the inevitable, and that there is a place for joy in this world."
"It does." Daemon's hand found mine, fingers intertwining. "The resistance existed before you. They've been fighting this war for years. But they've been surviving, not winning. Defending, not reclaiming. You give them a chance to end this, not because the prophecy demands it, but because you have power the king can't match and knowledge Lyralei gave you."
"Knowledge I barely understand. Power I can barely control."
"Two weeks ago, you couldn't touch the Veil without it consuming you. Now you can draw from the forest, manipulate distance, and reflect magic back at its source." His thumb traced circles against my palm. "You're not the same girl who burned inBlackstone's chamber. You're not even the same girl who arrived in Vaelthorne. You've become exactly what you need to be."
I opened my eyes, finding him watching me with something between hope and resignation. "And what if it's not enough?"
"Then we die trying." Daemon said it simply. "I and everyone else outside would rather die than survive in a world with nothing to live for. We've sat around long enough. In three days, we enter that throne room. Either we destroy the Devourer and break the binding, or we don't walk out. Those are the only outcomes."
The truth settled between us, heavy and undeniable. No escape routes. No clever tricks. Just the brutal mathematics of survival against impossible odds.
"You're terrified," Daemon continued. "So am I. But fear doesn't make you weak. It makes you honest."
"Is that what your assassin training taught you?"
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "My training taught me to suppress fear until it became background noise. You taught me to feel it, and choose anyway."
I studied his face. Sharp angles. Dark eyes that had witnessed horrors most people couldn't imagine. A mouth that curved into rare smiles I had learned to treasure. Hands that shook on their own when a dagger wasn't in their grip.
He was dying. We both knew it. Even if my control slowed the progression, the binding to the Hollow Throne would kill him eventually unless we found a way to break it.
"Why?" The question emerged raw. "Why are you doing this? You could have stayed hidden. Built a life somewhere far from thrones and prophecies. Let the kingdom tear itself apart without you."
"I tried that." Daemon's hand tightened around mine. "Spent years telling myself revenge was pointless, that my father's sins weren't my responsibility. That I could carve out some fragmentof peace for a few years if I just walked far away." His gaze held mine. "My team and I left. We traveled east. Within a few days of our journey, we witnessed villages being burned and people being enslaved. We thought we would see less of the king's tyranny the farther we were from the throne. We were wrong. It didn't matter how far we went. We only found chaos. We would settle in a village, only to have to defend it from the king's forces."
He exhaled slowly.
"Eventually we realized we had to do something. There was no escaping this. So we began to gather intelligence. We learned about the prophecy, but that isn't why I'm here."
