he bruises on my throat, I realized, had healed the moment Aether's voice was no more, flesh sealing itself within instant. The blood smearing the gold of my top and edge of my cloak moved and trailed until it was snaking on the ground. There wasn't much, but the fiery crimson was stark against the white as the blood trailed to the dais.

The Mark inked under Siltheres's claws shimmered with light for a second or two before the blood seeped into it, leaving not a single trace.

The book's pages were still flicking and emanating golden dust as I pulled myself from my father's embrace, my legs surprisingly strong. I didn't wobble as I pulled my chair and sat again, the book sliding towards me like I was a magnet attracting it.

I didn’t reach for it, not as it still searched through pages and spells and secrets to what Aether wished to show me. Instead I stared at the holy creatures straight-facing me. They didn’t blink or flinch or shriek as they saw what would happen to them should I have agreed to that path. My heart felt heavy, more fissures spreading through it.

I didn't shriek or jump as Téors vanished from his perch and appeared no second later behind me, talons on my shoulders, wings tucking around me. I felt the words forming on the tip of his tongue, read through his mind, before he even spoke them.

"No.'' My voice was hoarse and raw as I repeated that answer, shoulders turning stiff as I held Siltheres's eyes.

'My—'

"No.'' Again.

Three souls. I wasn't worth three souls. Especially when two of them were immortal and old and wise. And that mortal heart and soul, that person who was willing to sacrifice himself just as much as I was willing to do it for the ones I loved--

I couldn't do that, couldn't be so selfish and bear the guilt that would torture me to death.

Siltheres's mighty form shrank, gowing smaller and smaller until he was a bit bigger than the normal size of one of his claws. He jumped onto the table and snaked his body around the right forearm leaning on the support.

And only so he wouldn't ask or beg for it again, I said, "One more time. Ask for this one more time and I will damn both of you and myself to a fate worse than this even if I have to fight Aether for it."

Everyone started, body going so hard and tense they could have been turning to stone. They didn't ask for what I saw, what the price was, didn't push me to agree. I thanked the heaven for that.

"Did you know," I added, "about Apocalys? Do you know what is going on with Carter? Do you know what real extent my magic has?"

It was that one-reply that shook me hard. "Yes." They were both fast to add, not waiting for me to continue. "We know many things that we can't speak of, some that are set in stone and bound to happen, some are in continuous relation to every single decision any soul in this world does. Some, we are free to speak about, some we have to wait for little before doing so. Others, we might wait until the end of our world and we still won't be able to tell thee."

"Carter," I pressed, "is one of the cases you can't speak about?''

"We fear so. Thou will know but not from us, only when the time comes."

Those words were so similar to what Sorcha had told me when I asked her about the nightmares and the light at the end of it that I knew better than to ask again and waste my breath.

"The traitor?"

"Thou are correct about his identity, this we can only say."

Straightforward, so straightforward. No beating around the bushes, no trying to dodge the question. Nothing but pure honesty.

I looked all the men around me in the eyes, and they nodded, focus turning to the book who had gone still at one point as Siltheres talked.

There were many pages, all written in what was far more ancient than the Old Tongue but I struggled no little as I started with our very first option.

And perhaps it was to make amends for keeping all those secrets that made Siltheres and Téors seat themselves on the table, went through every page, and closed the Book of Astazan.

I saw their auras glow, and just like that, they acquired all the knowledge written with care on those papers. Siltheres grew until he was the size of a fully grown cat and jumped to my lap, circling twice, stretching it wings, and sitting on all four. Téors shrank, going as small as a mouse and sat on the dragon's back.

It was then that I realized something. They were more than forged from the same hands. They were cut from one single fabric, molten and shaped from the same metal. So different but so alike; two different and unique species but with one soul. Brothers; they were brothers sent into different paths for eight thousand years, only meeting again once the prophecy claimed me back home.

Téors was the first to speak, "As much as mortals wish their words to be carried with precision, large amount of time never plays to their favors. This weakness will be the major key to play on."

Siltheres lifted his head, eyes running over the King and Court Leader and future Lord of Nevora then to me. ''The blade Blake stole that night under the volcano: the sword holding the last breath, wasn't taken only to try and stop you from recruiting the book.

''He needed the distraction to make you fall apart, but it wasn't the true aim. This sword had been plunged in Dearcious's flesh by one of Leander's companion; the magic on it—the drop of dark ichor that tainted it—still hasn't faded. Blake and Lysithea need it to wake Apocalys from his slumber. Because it was Leander who trapped Apocalys, and because he was Dearcious's brother, the blood--both of Leander's kin and of Apocalys's darkness--can lift the spell."

"How?" breathed Ramos, fingers in his beard.

"Through rituals and ceremony and sacrifices,'' cooed Téors. "There are many of them, some faster than others, some that will take long enough for us to prepare. But they all demand a cost."

I was about to ask about that cost, about what they would need to pay to bring back a weakened god. But realization hit me. And hard.

It took me one look at Leon, on how sick his face had turned, to understand that he remembered too. Nausea churned my guts and I knew I looked worse than the Shadow. So much worse that Father was about to jump from his seat, honeydew magic already igniting from his fingertips.

"Blake spoke of this once. Hinted it," whispered Leon, hands flat on one leather book. "He said that only one of them would come out victorious. He wants Lysithea dead. He needs her blood, and she needs his." Another realization seemed to dawn upon him. "There has been a rift, so small it almost couldn't be perceptible, in how the dark forces are moving, each trying to reach a certain aim. Both Blake and Lysithea are plotting each other's death. And we all know that Blake, being now confirmed that he is Dearcious's reincarnation, will not fail in ending her."

It was horror now that consumed the silence ever growing stronger each time we came into this realm.

It would be a mercy if Blake failed and Lysithea was the one to live. She was an easier opponent, weaker than a soul fed with darkness for eight thousand years.

"True," hissed Siltheres, slightly shifting in my lap. "They have been at each other's throat in this wicked game ever since thou set to travel the continents. There is one thing thou all must know: Apocalys has to rise. War has to exist so we can defeat him. It is only a matter of time."

"Can't we just kill him in his sleep and end with all of this?" Father looked like he was ready to tear Apocalys to shreds with his bare hands by his very own.

"No." The dragon's voice and tone left no space to argue. "It is not certain where his sleeping form is, always shifting, always leaving magic where it once was until there is a heavy scent of him everywhere. He has to rise to be killed."

"Then what is that option that we have?"

"Apocalys's slumber has been well planned. No matter how powerful he gets, he cannot wake by his own. He needs a trigger, someone to pull on the chains. But the charm says that the one who wakes him up has, even if limited, a grip of control over him. If thou wake him"—all eyes turned to me—"thou will hold a piece of him in thine hands. He can fight it and ignore it, but it helps so that the powers drawn are not fully thine. Thou will have to use astronomical strength, yes, but he will burn more."

"It is the same gamble then," I commented, fingers brushing cool scales and then hot feathers, "depending on weather I play it smart and fast or no. It is just that I have one more secret card up my sleeve."

"Indeed."

"And how are supposed to wake him if not only the sword is not with us, but everything needed for the ritual?" Father's patience and hope were wearing thin.

Téors answered that, "The blade isn't what is needed to actually wake him up. Not at all. Be it Lysithea or her son who dies, the heart must be stabbed with that steel so the spell can work. The methods they have been seeking are under one name in between many. They have chosen that path because they have everything but the last spell. That is why they are waiting to slit each other. The blood needs to be as fresh as possible, the warmer the better.

"If we can make sure to retrieve the sword before they succeed, we will have a stronger chance in waking Apocalys."

"And how so?" all of what I read and learned was storming in my mind as I proceeded every word.

"We," Siltheres declared, "know what the other rituals are; the one that do not need any of the objects they have. But two rituals can't happen at once, thus the need to stop them. And once we do, we will already have the ceremony planned, gaining time as they will have to look for anything else."

"And does it happen that you have anything to do with what sort of ritual they discovered yet? About that weakness they are unaware of?"

"Us, no. But the Gods have been at work for quite a long time this beast wouldn't leave it to chance."

"But," interjected Ramos, "How do we stop them? How do we get the sword back?"

"We have to infiltrate them."

Leon swore under his breath. So did everyone.

"And how do we do this?"

There was a sort of a smirk in the beasts' features as they stared at me. "There is a tribe of demons that has been mercilessly killed." They turned to my father. "When Sorcha and her husband have killed the last remaining one under your order. Lysithea was at rage to watch the strongest specie of demons ever bread to be reduced to myths and legends. But there was a reason for that wrath, something our Gods have made sure to make them believe through all those long years past Dearcious's death. Something that they are waiting and holding to hard to be their salvation, just like we did with thy daughter."

A pause, which what more for us to catch on that than for them to breathe.

"The difference is, our one is truth, theirs is a lie. And the utter reality between them is that that person is the same."

"What?" I wasn't sure how I was even still breathing.

"Thou will disguise yourself as one remaining soul from that tribe they expected their stronger commander to be born from." They turned their attention to Leon, then to me again, eyes darting between us. "Thou, both, will claim to be the last descendants of the Windreapers, now called the Fallen. Thou will say thee were kept in these dungeons, tortured and tested and kept silent from the world. Then, thou evaded when the castle was weak and the destiny that called thee was at its strongest.

"Thou will join them, will fight in the tournament held one week after you arrive, and succeed to become part of the royal guarding team; the group made of the strongest of soldiers that only changes once each year."

I breathed loudly, fiddling with my fingers. That was death, complete utter suicide.

"They have fed themselves with so many lies without knowing it that, with a bit of trickery and well played roles, they will believe thee. Thou be will sworn loyalty to death and be allowed to their darkest secrets, their plans, everything."

"We become spies, then," deduced Leon. "Your eyes inside their lines."

"Yes. Thou steel the sword and get out with as much secrets and plans as thou can. Thou will destroy them slowly, silently, and fatally so they will lose precious time rebuilding themselves. And already being there, you will be given runes to etch inside their palace where they will not realize it."

"Why for?"

"To slow them down, Princess. Those symbols will weaken them, drain them without even knowing it." There was delight in those voices as they explained how we would break them and make them pay. Delight for revenge.

"Changing appearance is easy enough," started Ramos, "but their scent will give them away. Not even Adeim's soot will cover them long enough."

"It won't be soot protecting them," hissed Siltheres. "The transformation will be radical and not only in shape and features. Even their powers will shift, some gifts inaccessible as long as they are under the spell. They will have to adopt darkness in their souls. And there are very little potions that can do this, and very little skilled witches who can master magic this dark. It wasn't by luck that we just have one in our lands."

"Her?" father snarled, hands fisting on the table. He turned to Ramos and Leon, "She is still alive?"

"Killing her was too risky," countered Ramos, face gaunt.

"If they wanted her in their homes they would have come back for her."

"They are using her as a spy and a way in and out. Ending her would have brought another war. The last one, partial as it was seven years ago, almost wiped us entirely from Arelesia."

Father's shoulders sagged and he ran fingers through his dark, blond hair. "There is no potion this dark that doesn't burn pure flesh upon contact, even if it is a drop."

"There is not,'' Téors spread his wings and landed on the closed Book, "but it wasn't for nothing that the key was hidden under the Eye that feeds Ardoria with water.'' He stared at both the Shadow and me. "What thou have brought with you is enough to help you control that potion and the poison in it. You will become demons in flesh and strength, only radical bonds will remain active. And unscented. Whatever thou need to deliver, it can be whispered through minds. Even thy capability to read minds will not cease as thy soul, underneath that costume, remains pure."

"And how do we make sure the witch does as we say? That she agrees and doesn't question us? Worse yet, turn us over."

They both stared into my eyes and I saw a plan so well formed, so well detailed, lies so perfectly crafted there was no way we wouldn't win this. They smiled. "Thou know now."

I did, and it was genius. Bribing her with something she most wished for, with a cure she spent decades looking for, and then caging her with a secret bond should she betray us. A bond that would kill her at the mere thought of blowing our cover. Perfect.

Suddenly, everything: every stop, every monster, every riddle we had faced in our quest, seemed fundamental and not only a work of fate and hazard.

"When do we leave then?''

We turned to Leon even as we didn't fail in noticing the fire burning in his ocean eyes. Eziara, his father lived there, betrayed his own family to be one of them. It was sure that they would run into each other. It was only my beasts' thoughts that told me that with the potion it would be not possible for Mealin to detect us that eased me a bit.

Nor Blake would be able, since the water was magical and enhanced like no other power on the face of this world. It only lost its strength when it surged out of a magical gate and into Ardoria.

"Four days from now, just the day after the Fawn Market. It would be a shame not being there. After thou leave, we will make the lies of escaping so that the traitor can report them to his master. We will tell everyone thou retreated north the continent to continue studying and training and arranging armies. Should the need rise, there will be us to shift into your skin to foul everyone around us."

I noted that the last part was mostly directed at me.

"Thou go seek the witch, continue on your way to a temple the Book orders you to enter, and then continue to the port eleven days precisely after you leave the castle. We will make sure there will be dark ships sailing to Eziara.''

I stared at my father, catching his eyes and the fire within. He held to that hope, had his fingers so tight around it like his entire existence was depending on it. It broke me hard and deep. The bitter part was seeing him so adamant on going through this when I had so little hope I would make it. I had too much to pay to be worth of my crown, too much to yet give, too much to fight for. Perhaps I hadn't fought enough to deserve seeing Ardoria bright and joyful like what glimpses I'd witnessed last night.

"Is going through all of this worth it?" I wanted him to deny my question, wanted him to forget that hope so he wouldn't shatter when I'd breathe my last if all we were to go through was not enough.

But it was Leon who answered, voice raw and hard and commanding in a way he'd never used with me before. "Yes."

I didn't meet his eyes, knowing all too well I would see what I saw in the garden, under the weeping willow. My heart wouldn't take it. The echo of our confession ringing painfully in me.

I would break him. And beyond repair. I would break all of them. I swallowed the pain tearing at my lungs.

Lazy gazes drifted from the faces around me to the dais to the landscape etched on the white to the brown and old leather securing the book. It was then that a question rose in me, something I never thought of asking, that never crossed my mind it was foolish in a way.

"Who is Astazan?"

The three men turned to me, auras quite curious for the first time that night. They, it appeared, had either not wondered about this or had not enough wits to ask it.

"Astazan was Celestia's angel,'' clarified Téors. "Her hands and eyes and lover. He was the one who wrote the bigger part of the tome under Aether's order and Leander finished it when he died. Astazan was forged by Aether to be her first guardian, shield and arrow, he watched and worked for her. He loved her beyond possible. He fell defending her; only threads of his bounder and memory are spread here and there, playing a role bigger than we can speak about."