Moireth appears with the wolves, Delilah, and Luciara behind her. "Seldom does destiny give us the path that is well trodden, we must often forge our way through."
Luciara rolls her eyes as Delilah carries her up the stairs. "Let's be finished with this, Delilah and I need a vacation." The wolf makes a huffing sound as if she's laughing.
We reached the final floor.
My legs ached. My breath came ragged, and my clothes clung to me. My jacket was long gone, and I was sweating in this long sleeve shirt. No one elsefared better, except for Moireth and Caspian who were catching each other up on how many they'd killed. The six werewolves fanned out like sentinels, two of them limping, favoring broken limbs that refused to heal fast enough. Chronomir was as still as marble, his eyes burning gold. Rose crouched beside him, still in her jaguar form, her coat streaked with blood and starlight. Moireth’s daggers dripped void-black ichor, and Caspian had a gash on his forehead, but he still grinned like this was all a game.
Athanasius stood at my side, silent. His hand hovered near mine, not quite touching.
And then, as the top floor opened before us, we saw him.
The mage stood with his back to us, his staff in one hand, the other hanging at his side, fingers relaxed. The air around him shimmered, reality bending gently, almost lovingly. As though it knew him. As though itbelongedto him.
He turned neatly on the ball of his foot, his neat black boots shining. “Hello,” he said, like we’d just bumped into each other at a party. He winked at me.
Athanasius growled, low and primal. “You’re the last of your kind, mage. Give it up.”
The mage sighs and finally looks around, not even bothering to hide his boredom. “Dramatic as always.” Then his eyes slide back to me, and he smiles again. “I’m Ambrose Koschei, and you—well, I already know who you are, Ione Phaedra Davis. I didn’t expect Athanasius to choose someone so beautiful. A surprising decision.”
“Choose?” I echo, confused. The word felt too heavy, too… final.
His grin sharpens. “Didn’t you feel it? The pull of the box? The ring? He was calling to you. Nudging. Pushing. A little whisper here and there.” He lifts a shoulder. “You were the one who opened it, of course. Free will and all that. Sort of.”
“That’s enough,” Moireth cuts in, voice like steel. “You’re telling half-truths again, Ambrose. It washerchoice. No one forced her to open the box or wear the ring.”
Ambrose doesn't even look at them. “Was it a real choice, or just the illusion of one?” He takes a few steps forward, the staff clacking softly against the floor. “I get it. You want to be free. All of you. But look around—humanity is betteroff like this. Safe. Controlled. No more disasters every time one of you throws a tantrum. No more avatars sacrificed for the whim of a god who doesn’t like the weather.”
The world tilts. Literally.
The ground shudders, and the roomfolds.Walls twisting into impossible angles, and creatures spill out of jagged tears in the air—void-born things that defy reason.
One is all jaggedicefrom the waist down, dragging a tail of frost that hisses where it touches the ground, its torso made of charredstoneand flickeringflames,twisting out of a cracked ribcage like a living furnace. Another had eyes scattered across its body like constellations, limbs made of spiraling obsidian tendrils, each burning with inner fire. They shriek in voices like broken glass.
The roomerupts.The werewolves lunge. Moireth dances into the fray. Rose roars and tears into one of the creatures with fang and fury.
Ambrose barely lifts his hand—and Athanasius is dragged toward a pinprick in space, a growing singularity that twists light and time around it like water down a drain.
“No!” I scream, but Ambrose’s attention is already back on me.
“You want the truth?” he asks, gentle now. “The real reason we locked them away? It wasn’t just power. It was pride. Arrogance. The way they looked down on humans.” He paces toward me as the battle rages behind him. “Not enough worship? Floods. A bad day? Plague. Death and destruction on awhim.How many realms have crumbled because of them?”
Moireth’s voice comes sharp behind me. “That’s not true anymore. Maybe once. Maybe when we were young. But welearned.Just like humans.”
Ambrose doesn't stop. “A toddler throwing a tantrum is an annoyance. A primordial doing it? That’s genocide. So they ‘settled.’ They ‘chose’ avatars. People who didn’t ask for it. Athanasius—death incarnate—he’s the worst of all.Who wouldchooseto beenslavedtodeath?”
“I’m not enslaved,” I say, through clenched teeth.
His eyes sparkle. “Are you sure?” Why does doubt begin to eat away at me. Slowly, I push it away. No, everything I have done is because I wanted to. Because…I love him.
Ambrose extends his hand to me. “Let me show you. With power over the void, I can take you back. Let yousee.The truth, Ione.”
Chronomir’s voice rings out. “He lies.Only I hold that power. And the past isneverto be touched.”
I look down at Caspian’s dagger. Still sheathed at my hip.
My breath slows. I'm supposed to do one thing. One thing only.
I take Ambrose’s hand.
