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“I’ve decided I’m more of a Samson, actually.”

Even if this arm looked like it belonged to Hercules.

Wrought of a material Fenrir couldn’t identify, it mimicked his anatomy in proportion—if his anatomy included armor. Gilded from shoulder to gauntlet, a pauldron curved with a graceful domed arc over a bicep plated in a way that allowed the elbow free range, the forearm carefully wrought from a series of interlocking panels that could twist like any real arm, while the gauntlet-like hand boasted the finest craftsmanship of all.

Fenrir touched the fingers and let out a shaky breath. “Bastion, it’s beautiful.”

Bastion beamed. “I’m relieved you think so. I’m aware our former wielder of shadows is not particularly keen on my amalgams.”

Fenrir thought of Orpheus’ little Netherflame-powered beetle, then of his deeply rooted love for Achates, and returned Bastion’s smile. “Something tells me he’ll be fine.” He ran his hand up the to the shoulder, palm gliding over the smooth plates. “When can you attach it?”

“As soon as you wish.”

Fenrir stared at where his hand sat atop the prosthetic—skin against metal. Real against…an upgrade. One he would accept for himself, as he would so much else going forward. The start of a new era for him, one not defined by the dreams of those around him.

“Tonight, then.”

Across the room, Vera sucked in a breath.

“I’ll go prepare.”

Bastion wrapped the arm and left, closing the door quietly, dusk a golden fire that spilled through the room in long shadows. Shadows Orpheus too must stand amongst, wherever he may be.

I’m coming, Fenrir thought. Just hold out a little longer, Fifi.

“Fenrir.” Vera’s voice was smaller than Fenrir had ever heard it.

He turned to face her head on. “I’ve made up my mind, Mum. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

For some reason that caused Vera to stiffen, her eyes locked on his as if seeing him for the first time. When her cold gaze slipped away, Fenrir felt strangely unmoored. Like the fight they were about to have just blew off over some great, unknown sea.

Vera sagged into her chair, hair catching the sun in a burning halo. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” He didn’t need to explain himself to her, but he did so anyway, for maybe the first time in both their lives. “I’ve spent my whole life playing by other people’s rules. Lore’s, Red’s…even yours.” Vera didn’t flinch but Fenrir watched her chest snag on a breath. “No one’s forced me. I’ve chosen to follow, but…it’s time I decide for myself what is best for me, rather than trying to live up to everyone else’s expectations. I can’t be everyone’s hero, Mum. And if I have to choose, we both know what that choice will be.”

“You would still make it at the risk of losing everything you’ve helped build here?”

Yes, he would. But…

“Mum, I didn’t build this.” He hadn’t. Not really. Lore had started it, Red had wrangled it into something worthwhile, and Orpheus…Orpheus had saved it all from utter doom. Fenrir had simply been lucky enough to help them along the way.

Maybe that was the true definition of a hero—helping those who were doing the real work, rather than leading. Because a good leader couldn’t please everyone, and Fenrir was tired of trying to please anyone at all.

Later, Fenrir walked to Bastion’s operatory alone, and he took note of how the palace functioned around him: all the well-rutted routines that put food on the tables and hot water in the pipes and the scent of freshly baked bread into the halls every morning; the electricity that hummed from a grid a hundred miles away, powered by oil dredged up from somewhere far below their feet, by their ancestor’s technology Red had rediscovered, and Fenrir decided that despite all he’d done to help all these things come to be, he was only one man, and the palace—the Empire—the world would be just fine without him, after he did this one last thing.

Save Orpheus.

Chapter XXXV

Blood Magic

He lurched through Sanctuary’s hallways, cane clicking boldly in the quiet.

Where is it? He shoved open a door which looked familiar, identical to all the others he’d checked. Inside, shadows waited, the table the same but the layout of the room all wrong. Shelves where there should be windows. Windows where there should be shelves.

He slammed the door shut, moved onto the next one.

Encountered the same.