Scared. I was scared. Terror gnawed at my bones and made my blood ice-cold as I read restlessly through the pile of books the king had sent to the White Realm previous to the meeting he'd called for.

It had been a little more than an hour since we entered Siltheres's world and took our seat on white, cushioned chairs circling the large, crescent-shaped table made of solid white like it had sprung from the ground itself. It was positioned so the crevice faced Siltheres and Téors-the latter had joined him immediately after leaving my side-allowing them to sit with ease, the bird perched on the apex of one of my dragon's wings.

Father had brought old and crumbling books-most likely to be from the humongous yet secret library the castle hosted deep down under what common eyes could see and magically charmed to show itself to limited persons-while Leon had brought papers after papers of studies and researches and ancient, wicked spells. References and comparaisons and first lead to know what to seek in the Book of Astazan.

Half of those studies, if not more, bore Estelle's scent even after all those years like they had never been touched since then. And since we were all settled, we took on exploring the myriad of information, having said nothing ever since we left Carter.

The silence tortured me even more.

Ramos knew about that cursed prophecy but he did nothing to speak of it or to reproach me for not having told him earlier. But I saw his glances, subtle as they were, flickering to me every now and then. Glances filled with pain; a pain so similar to my father's, to the one still carved in his emerald eyes now tired and weary and not joyful like they had been the night before. The ball felt so far now, like it had been a week away or even a month, and not a mere, single night.

Leon didn't make a sound ever since entering the throne room, and I didn't know if it was because of what he had found in the studies, what had happened in the meeting, or if it was anything related to how he'd found Carter and me, holding hard to each other, faces so close we could feel warm breaths blowing against our skin. A part of me thought it was better to leave it to oblivion, to not ask about that darkness that tinted his eyes. Not now, at least, even when I knew that anger building in him wasn't directed at me. Or the Cardelyon Lord.

Leon had stared at Carter for one long and hard moment before the latter vanished, and there was nothing in that stare that was dark and unholy; the Shadow knew what I felt for Carter and how much I considered him to be the brother I'd never had.

I gingerly flipped the page I just finished, going through a tome that could have been as old as this world was, not daring a stare at the Book of Astazan opened in the middle of the table, waiting to be ordered.

And what I read through that book, what I horror I discovered about Apocalys and the Red War, made me wonder if finishing Ardoria and turning it to nothingness eight millennia ago would have been more merciful than going through another war again. Through one that was undoubtedly more chaotic and disastrous than the first ever was.

The shadowy images painted to represent the rogue god, even when mere smudges of ink, made my bones weak. Siltheres and Téors's stared at them, the thoughts running through their minds, told me enough of that.

Apocalys was terror and death and nightmares and everything dark given form and power. He was the ending, the weapon that would cleave this world and render it to ash. He was the power that would rebuild it after destruction to be solely his, where the other Gods would be nothing but forgotten whispers served to praise him and his strength.

I wanted to vomit, wanted to disappear from existence and become utterly nothing. Death was something little to pay for victory, so little it made me wonder if my soul was ever this powerful to face him.

I was ready to die if it meant saving everyone I loved, but now, I doubted greatly being able to last in that battlefield against the God of Darkness, even more when it came to the thought of defeating him.

My eyes only stopped running from line to line as I leaned back in my chair and rolled my shoulders, taking in a deep, loud breath. The last thing I read, that bit of information, played in my mind. I turned to my beasts, eyes running over their mighty auras.

"This book says Apocalys has stolen powers from the Five Gods,'' I voiced, finger pointing to the book. They didn't even lean closer to read it or make sure of what was written.

''He was God of Judgment,'' explained Siltheres. "He decided which souls had been good and which had not. When the soul is judged, it is stripped from its gifts and rendered powerless. The gifts used to disappear and vanish at first like they should, but then Apocalys started collecting them even before reclaiming a right to bless like the others.'' He leaned forward, body bending until his head was lying on the table, the furniture surprisingly holding its weight.

"It was as though he had planned for war before the Gods had refused his claims. And all that power that accumulated through all those millennia preceding our birth''-a tilt of a head to the phoenix-''he forged it into his own ichor. It was not weak or feeble. It was so strong and immense the Five struggled against their own powers. This is why there are born demons capable of wielding elementals, as the Gods would never gift any of his kind."

No one said anything, not even the fire flickering in Siltheres's crevice, or the one forming Téors's plumage, seemed to emanate no sound.

We'd read so much, learned so much about how the war had been and what had happened that this wasn't the most shocking thing we discovered.

There had been texts about how Apocalys had converted himself, about how he fought and what creatures he'd killed, about how he created a lineage of his own to worship him and spread chaos in his favor. But there had been nothing about how he killed her, the Goddess that created the beasts in front of me.

There had been some chapters about her, speaking of how powerful and beautiful and deadly she was. Some even talked about the throne Aether had started crafting for her before war and how it was never finished, remaining half-forged right next to his. Yet nothing about what her name could give of power and strength to a mortal soul bearing it.

"Have you fought in the war?" asked Leon, his voice void of everything. No emotions. Nothing. Empty after so much of horrors.

"No," replied Téors. "We were still very young when blood has been shed and Mother"-a beat of silence-"had refused sending us to our doom." Another silence. "We were kept in heaven, guarding the Thrones. We watched friends-beasts and warriors and angels-dying as they defended with us the Source of Life."

Another silence, but this one was pained, reflecting the pain that grew each day over so many, many years.

The phoenix's voice was nothing more than a whisper as he continued, "We heard her scream and felt her pain as she died even when we couldn't see her. All that we could see was how her powers erupted across the world and shattered so much of Apocalys's forces and a rather big part of his powers. Her throne, unfinished and empty, stopped shining at that moment."

"Those waves of power," added the Dragon of the Gods, "were what gave Leander the chance of victory. He would have been incapable of defeating Apocalys, even if it was putting him asleep."

Ramos massaged the bridge of his nose. "Leander with all his mighty powers could have done nothing if faced by Apocalys."

It was a conclusion more than a question, but he still looked at the creatures in front of us, waiting for affirmation.

The silence that greeted back told enough.

"Gods," whispered Father, body going slack in his chair. His eyes diverted to me, seeing through my thoughts and fears. "Do we stand any chance at winning?"

Siltheres stared at my king for one long heartbeat, that fire seeming to grow hotter and wilder with each breath.

"Thy blood runs strong, and thou know this. Thou have tested your powers before and know just how deadly they are. Thou and thy wife bore tremendous gifts from the skies, each soul as powerful as Leander himself." His eyes darted to me. "Thy daughter is stronger. Stronger than thee, stronger than Blake, and as strong as Apocalys."

His eyes locked with mine and I felt my heart stop as he breathed, "And only the Gods who have forged her know that she may be stronger than him."

Yes, death was so little a price to pay for all that strength and magic.

"How have my flesh and bones not crumbled under the weight of those powers then?" I asked, closing the book and leaning my elbows on the table.

"Thou have unlocked nothing but a drop, Celestia. There is much, much more than what you allow yourself to wield."

And then it ticked, somehow, the realization of how I would die.

"I will have to grasp that strength, won't I? I will fight with more power than this world should know about. And if I am fast and smart enough, I'll kill him before my body is rendered to ashes and cinders by the sheer pressure of that strength."

There was pain and remorse and fear in those eyes as both spoke in one voice, "Yes."

Ramos's gasp was more of a cry, his chest heaving so fast I could almost hear how hard his heart was beating. Fear and pain were raw on his face. Leon was paler than death, fingers clutching the table so hard it dented beneath the force. Father had one hand over his eyes, brows furrowed deeply in pain, a tear streaking down his left cheek. More followed in silence.

Ramos had once warned me back in the days where life was so much easier at the Norm that too much power could be my very own end. Little did he knew at the time this was going to be the very reason of my death. Maybe if he'd known, he would have lied and told me it wouldn't hurt. That this death wouldn't tear bones and flesh and skin, wouldn't rip the soul slowly and agonizingly.

I knew he would have let me believe in a swift, merciful death so I didn't fear the outcome.

I was glad he didn't. Glad I knew what to expect on that battlefield where I would stand for the last time. Where I would fight and kill and wreck until the very last drop of the tremendous magic I owned.

When I turned to stare at the three males in my company, I saw the pain in their souls. I wasn't gone yet and there were so many aches. My heart shattered. And I begged again and again and again that there would be no

tears after I would leave, that they would not grief my soul, that they would forget that love only so they could protect their own hearts.

I would still beg and chant that one thing over and over as I would face Apocalys and end him one time and for all. And myself with him.

"That light," Father said, his voice cracking as he took in deep breaths. For a moment, I wondered if that parental love I wished for all those years was nothing more than a curse. Wondered if it would have been better if he hadn't watched over me all those years, knew me and loved me so much in the past years. If it would have been easier if we were mere strangers. If that irrational love that coursed in me as hard as the pure one in him didn't exist.

He took a deep breath before he continued, "After the storm, there was a light that was bright and alive, unlike the weakness of the sun as it dies. It means something, it has to. I felt it in my bones the moment rain died."

Téors's flames dimmed. But I said, before any of them could, "He spoke to me."

All eyes turned to me. Shock was little to describe what was in those stares and the faces that seemed to only go whiter by the moment. Even my beasts had gone rigid, completely oblivious to what their High Lord had done.

"When you left," I urged, glancing at my father then at nothing in particularly. "It was short, but that voice, that power within it, it felt familiar yet strange. But I knew it in my bones, too, to whom it belonged.

"What has his Highness said?"

I didn't meet Siltheres's eyes, nor my father's, or anyone's for the matter, as I recited those words by memory, a chill running through every inch of me.

There is no rancor.

There is no wrath.

His heart shall be cared for,

And light shall guide your path.

No one made a move to talk about the first three verses. They might as well have utterly forgotten them as they listened to the last line.

''Death is darkness, Celestia,'' commented Téors. "It is a world of nothingness for the souls who are not judged. This is why they are forced into trials, so they can find their paths. But this light, this beast does not know what it refers to. There is a light that guides thy soul through life and then, there is another one that leads thee to your eternal home shall heavens be the reward."

It led nowhere, that piece of knowledge. And for a moment, there was another silence, but it was heavier than any before. And I felt it, that holy power surging again as Siltheres and Téors shared one hard stare. They were messengers of the Gods, one their wisest creation still rising fully from millennial old slumber, the other a bridge between life and death. A flicker of light and strength in darkness.

And when they finally turned to us, they spoke as one, "There is another way. Many, in fact. But none are guaranteed to be enough, none capable of truly saving thee. There is hope in doing so, yet it is too feeble to grasp to, to little to stand on its own. And it comes to you, to choose in going through this gamble, in following that light, knowing that failure will cost time and strength better served on fighting ground."

"We will take the risk," declared Father instantly. "There must be one who is more likely to work than any other."

"There is, one that grants sure salvation.'' Siltheres was staring at me, chartreuse eyes boring into my emerald ones. "And it is the Lord's least favorite one. He wills rather to shatter it from existence and guide you through every remaining ones than watch it happen, but he leaves it to you to choose should you be ready to pay for one way that saves you no matter what happens."

"What is it?" urged Ramos, leaning against the table, face bleached from colors.

Siltheres didn't reply, not to them at least. I felt the caress of thoughts against my mind as his voice echoed,

"Two mighty souls forged from one same hand,

They whose powers yours can withstand,

Shall unite through well and dire for one last stand."

The prophecy made no sense, not until images came flooding in my mind that were so dark and terrifying my heart threatened to stop.

They were forged from the hands of the Goddess whose name I bore, both bound by oaths to me. Their souls, their powers were a mirror to mine. And yet, not enough alone, needing a third soul to fulfill that mortality that should be given by will like Leander had given himself to free his world from darkness.

But it was not death waiting in the end of that sacrifice, no. It was nothingness. It was oblivion. It was turning to nothing, leaving only to never return, not in this world or any other.

It was to be forgotten from life itself and not only from thoughts and memories.

I screamed, my hands clutching my throat as each breath became heavier, each heartbeat harder as I watched. There was blood and gore and death, and then, two mighty and enormous figures slowly turning to light, immortal souls turning to dust. And then there was a shadow of a body I could not see nor recognize.

The pain intensified and I felt the strings of those vows around my heart tightening in one swift movement before loosening, channeling the whispers of pain the three souls should have to go through. There was to be more. So much more as it wasn't only death that waited in the end of that path, but utter nothingness.

I screamed again and again, jerking in the seat that felt like it belonged to a world that was not there. And then, the screams that echoed in my mind were not mine. But hers.

The scream that left her as she died, the ones that wrecked Apocalys enough to weaken him. They grew louder as the bonds became lose and nothing but a mere brush of power against my soul.

My hands dug in my throat trying to lift that weight stuck at the top of my lungs, tears streaming down my face, chest heaving so hard, body trashing so hard I momentarily felt that I had fallen from my chair, back flat against cold earth.

No no no no no

I would die each day, each hour, each minute to prevent this. I would go through that pain alone if it meant making sure they went back to the heavens they belonged to instead of being nothing but a broken memory.

I was ready to die so I would not pay with anymore blood and souls that deserved to see a better world.

No--Aether above. Never.

I forced myself out of that vision, body shuddering hard against stiff ground as my eyes slowly focused back.

At first I saw watery splash of colors stark against the white before everything gradually cleared. Father, Ramos, and Leon were kneeling next to me, hands grasping me hard, shaking me, lips moving and urging me to respond.

Only when I could feel enough strength in me did I turn my head to the side, observing through tears as they stood, faces calm and completely willing to go through this to let me live. Never, never, never. I would never allow it.

I knew they would die with me, and knew a bit more they were glad to not live a life without my presence in it. I knew they would sacrifice everything for the woman who held the pride of their Mother's name. But even if it meant trashing in hell, or even going through the pain of turning to nothing, I would go through it just to assure they went back to their homes far up there.

"No," I breathed when I stopped sobbing, feeling my father's strong arm lifting me up and into his embrace. He reached his chair and sat, arms tight around me.

It was then I became conscious of the blood dripping down my throat, feeling its warmth under the nails I'd dug in my own flesh from the exacting pain.

Then seek and I shall guide you.

This time, the voice was soother than before, gentler, warmer. It made the shakiness of my bones stop, made the ragged breaths calm and even. It took the pain away and I found myself straightening in my father's grasp as his muscles shifted, turning my attention like all of them to the table.