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And that’s infinitely more terrifying, because I don’t understand why.

The space between Sterling and Agnar distorts, water condensing from the air itself to form a familiar figure. Rivlan materializes in his translucent, watery form.

Agnar leaps back a pace, reaching for a weapon he no longer holds. “You could warn a man…”

Sterling’s expression remains neutral, but his tension is palpable. His magic is a living, breathing entity, edging toward me in case we need to merge. “What’s happened?”

Rivlan tilts his head thoughtfully, his watery form catching the light in ways that create prisms across his features. “Nothing that concerns you directly. But the gods, all of us, have been reminded of certain truths.”

The cryptic response does nothing to ease the knot of suspicion in my chest. “Truths about what?”

“Time.” Rivlan’s form ripples, the motion reminiscent of a shrug, though far more fluid. “Beginnings. And endings.”

At these words, the other gods shift uneasily, their perfect forms glimmering as if they’re struggling to maintain coherence. Even Zeru’s starlight flickers.

“The Gods of Time.” Bastian leans close to my ear, his voice tinged with academic fascination despite our dire circumstances. “I’m betting they met with the Chronimūrti.”

I have no idea who he’s talking about.

So I just nod as if that makes sense.

Rivlan gives him a strained smile, an expression that somehow manages to be both approving and wary. Then he pivots to face the stands, where thousands of spectators remain frozen in various states of shock, confusion, and dawning hope. “The war is over. The harvesting of mortal devotion ends. Mortals and gods are both essential parts of the tapestry. We do not hunt each other.”

Ziva steps away from the line of deities. She closes her obsidian eyes and bows her head.

I find myself inclining my own head, my body responding before my mind can catch up. Between us is everything left unsaid. Her choice to ally with Zeru, my rebellion against divine authority, the moment she turned against her own kind to fight beside us.

Head still down, she whispers up to me. “I never would have harmed you. Or the dragons.”

I nod again, throat too dry for words, heart too full of contradictory emotions.

Somehow, I believe her.

Strange, after everything, but I do.

The goddess who chose me as her faction’s champion, who gifted me with fire magic stronger than any other in generations, would not have destroyed me even at Zeru’s command. “Allegiances shift. I know something about that.”

All too much.

How many times had I fought Sterling, only to fall in love with him? How fiercely did I hate the royalty of Tirene, only to become their queen?

Loyalties change.

Circumstances demand it.

“Yes. They do.” A complex mixture of regret and respect laces her tone. She is an ancient, powerful being, yet in this moment, she looks almost vulnerable. A goddess who chose a side and must live with the consequences, just as I have.

“Be well, Lark Axton.” Her form is already beginning to unravel at the edges. “Fire Queen.”

Before I can respond to the new title, she dissolves into pure flame, the heat of her passing washing over me like a desert wind. A single ember lingers for a moment, suspended in air, before drifting upward to join the phoenixes in their aerial dance.

My skin tingles with the aftereffects of divine presence.

I’ve barely taken a breath when darkness pools at my feet, rising in sinuous tendrils to form another figure. Nyc, Goddess of Night, is so dark I can only discern the edges of her matronly form and the motion of her arms as they cross over her ample chest.

“You’ve grown.” There’s maternal pride in her voice. The words feel heavy, significant in ways I can’t fully grasp. Her unseen eyes assess me, not as a queen or a champion, but as something more fundamental.

“We all have.” I think of Sterling, Bastian, Agnar, Leesa. All of us forced to become more than we were by circumstances beyond our control.