“We die.” I meet his gaze directly. “Probably messily. Definitely permanently.”
“And you still want to go.”
He already knows the answer. I give it to him anyway. “I want to stop running. I want to stop being hunted. And I want to see if the thing that’s been herding us for weeks is as invulnerable as it pretends to be.”
Tyr moves closer. One step. Two. He stops when his body nearly touches mine. I have to tilt my head back to hold his gaze. His heat reaches me, then the scent—winter and violence and dark spice that clings to his skin.
“You understand what you’re proposing.” His voice drops to a register that vibrates through my bones. “We walk into the kill zone. We face the Arbiter on ground it chose, at a time itchose, under conditions it created. We bet everything on finding a weakness that might not exist.”
“Yes.”
“And if we’re wrong, I can’t get you out. Can’t rescue you, can’t protect you, can’t do anything except die beside you.”
The words land heavily in the space between us. Die beside you. Not, I’ll keep you safe, or Trust me to handle it. He’s not making promises he can’t keep. He’s offering the only thing he can guarantee—if we go down, we go down together.
I reach out and grip his wrist, feeling the pulse hammering beneath my fingers. Faster than his stillness suggests. Faster than his control should allow.
“I’m not asking you to protect me,” I say quietly. “I’m asking you to follow me into a trap that might kill us both.”
His hand covers mine, pressing it harder against his body. Trapping it there like a promise made in flesh.
“Then lead.” The words come out like they’re torn from him. “And I’ll follow.”
We leavethe observatory as the sun breaks the horizon—a pale smear of light through the perpetual overcast. The divine lenses track our departure, their glow intensifying briefly before fading. Watching. Recording. Reporting.
Let them watch.
SIXTEEN
ZEPHYRA
The descent from the plateau is treacherous, ice-covered stone giving way to frozen scree that shifts unpredictably underfoot. Tyr moves ahead of me for the steepest sections, testing handholds, clearing unstable patches. Not leading—clearing the path so I can lead. The distinction matters more than it should.
“Twenty-three miles to the gate.” I check the patterns periodically, short bursts of the Auric Veil that cost less than sustained observation. “The terrain gets more corrupted as we approach. Divine influence increasing.”
“Constructs?”
“Likely. The Arbiter won’t let us walk in unopposed.”
“Good.” The word comes out with predatory satisfaction. “I’ve been wanting to kill more of its creations.”
I glance at him, caught off guard by the honesty of his violence. Most dragons hide their true nature behind civilized masks. Tyr wears his like armor.
“You enjoy it.” A statement, not an accusation.
Choice versus enforced order. The fundamental conflict we’ve been caught in since Caelreth.
I’ve always fought for truth. For the right to see clearly and refuse manipulation. But Tyr fights for the thing that makes truth matter—the ability to act on what you see. To choose differently from what power demands.
We’re not parallel causes. We’re complementary ones. His power creates the space; my sight fills it with meaning.
“The terrain’s leveling out.” I pull myself back to immediate concerns. “We should make good time across the basin.”
“And the convergence?”
I check the patterns. “Stronger. The options are already narrowing. Three viable paths became two about a mile back. Soon, it’ll be one.”
“Then we take the one.”
