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In his silence, Kyer’s aura lightened. “‘I wish I’d done something different.’ That’s all I heard. Which doesn’t sound like the man I’ve come to know in the legends.”

Draven’s mouth parted, a chill twisting up his spine. “Legends?”

“Yes, legends. I do know my Cera is clear. But don’t worry. They’re only stories muddied by the passing of time. There’s little truth left in them, but I’m hoping you can help me distinguish what’s the truth, and what’s a lie.” Kyer hummed, contemplative. “There’s one that says you went completely mad after absorbing the Wraith, and your attack on Valen wasn’t of sound mind. Or how about the one where you were thinking clearly, but knew you’d be stronger with every piece of the Guardian, so you struck Caine down in hopes you’d be Valen’s sole heir. Or the one—”

“Enough!”

The fear surrounding everyone in the room flickered to varying degrees of intensity. Draven was standing, though he didn’t remember exerting the energy to do so. The Serpent slithered under his skin, reminding him of what it was capable of.

Draven sucked in a long breath, forcing it down. “What gives you the right to speak to me like that?”

Kyer stared up at him, indifferent. “This is more like the man I expected to find.”

Draven took a step, stumbling and catching himself on the wall next to him. Maude shuffled behind Kyer, reaching for something on her hip. He ignored her, heaving angry, confused breaths.

How long have I been down here?

The question pushed against his quivering lips, but Draven couldn’t bring himself to ask. All of this was merely a day behind him, wasn’t it? He was twenty-four years old, twenty-five if he accounted for the time Valen estimated it would take to gather all of the Dusk Flares. He couldn’t be older than that, certainly not the centuries that “legends” implied.

His throat clenched, his body threatening to collapse again.

It was too much, too fast.

“What do you say we narrow it down together?” Kyer clicked his tongue. “I don’t think that last one’s true. What about that first one? Were you of sound mind? I find it hard to believe with four Flares crammed into your body.”

“Three,” Draven breathed, steadying his head on his forearm. “There were three.”

Kyer paused before saying, “Let me guess. The Wraith was the missing one?”

Draven’s attention snapped away from trying to keep himself conscious to Kyer, whose aura was now a pleasant yellow. “How did you know that?”

Kyer’s grin widened. “Valen made sure his people believed you’d stolen all three of the Dusk Flares. I had to do a little digging to learn that wasn’t true.”

The Wraith—the most dangerous of all the dark gods. Its Imordial, Keara Evelian, started the Reapers’ War to end Valen’s expansion into Eocera. She was the entire reason Valen insisted he take the Serpent and the Gnaw first. It was the only way he could defeat her.

Was she the reason he failed? Why he attacked his family? Why he couldn’t remember?

Kyer knew the answer, and he was enjoying taunting Draven with it.

“Tell me what you know.”

Kyer’s blithe attitude fell away. “I only know so much. You have what I’m missing.”

Bracing himself against the wall, Draven approached again, taking two steps this time.

Kyer finally stood, backing away. “I need you to think.”

“I’m trying. I—”

“You were so close, weren’t you? What stopped you?”

“I don’t know!”

Draven balled his hand and slammed it against the wall. The strength behind it was inhuman. Rough concrete cracked under his fist, sending several shattered pieces to the floor. Kyer and his companions froze, all bleeding deep, scared green.

Draven stared at his hand still pressed to the wall. A flash of emerald light broke from his skin, washing away the pain from the impact.

Look how strong you’ve become. The ghost of Valen’s smooth voice drifted through his mind. Kill him. He disrespected you. Allow his soul passage back to its domain, but his body is a waste.