The air above the sands shimmered with the aftershock of the Labyrinth's collapse. Dust danced like ash in the sun's dying light, and the cracked Eye of Varethos in Kael's hand glowed faintly, responding to the silent pulse of the Threnody Shard nestled at his chest.
Selan had never seen Kael so quiet.
He didn't speak as they made their way through the shattered desert, nor when they reached the ravine that once housed a fortress of the resistance. His steps were purposeful but heavy, as if every stride pulled him deeper into the gravity of something inevitable.
"You're bleeding," she said finally, her voice tentative, almost lost to the wind.
"I always am," he replied.
It wasn't a complaint.
They arrived at a clearing—a long-forgotten shrine that predated both Crown and Creed. Statues of stone-faced gods watched them from broken pillars, moss-covered and blind. It was here Kael stopped, turned, and looked at the horizon.
"The Crown marches. Three days. Less, if they push their warbeasts," he said.
Selan narrowed her eyes. "And what's your plan? Just walk into their camp with your shiny artifact and end it all?"
Kael gave a dry chuckle. "Something like that. The Threnody doesn't kill armies. It ends truths. Histories. Gods. Songs of power. The moment I play it… there's no going back."
"You'll die."
"I already did. Back in Asael's Vigil. This is just what's left."
Selan stepped in front of him, furious. "Don't you dare pull that martyr's nonsense. You want revenge? Fine. But don't pretend it's justice."
Kael looked away. "I'm not pretending."
Suddenly, the air shifted. A ripple of mana echoed through the stones, and Kael turned just in time to intercept the dagger aimed at his throat. It hovered inches from his skin, caught in a web of blood magic.
The assassin dropped her illusion—a Crown blade-dancer, face masked in porcelain, eyes glowing with sanctified fury.
Kael flung the dagger back with enough force to split stone. The blade-dancer dodged, leapt into the air, and hurled twin chakrams.
Selan cast a barrier of voidflame. Kael stepped forward, scythe uncoiling from his back in a crimson arc.
He vanished.
Reappeared mid-air.
The scythe tore through one of the chakrams mid-flight, rebounded, and slammed into the dancer's side. Bone cracked. Blood sprayed. She flipped backward, landed badly, and rolled into a crouch.
Kael landed beside her.
"Tell your queen," he said coldly, "I'm bringing her song's last note."
She lunged.
He was faster.
The scythe took her head.
Silence followed.
Selan didn't flinch. She walked to Kael's side. "There'll be more."
"I hope so."
That night, Kael dreamed.
The Eye, though cracked, pulled him into visions like a moth into flame.
He saw the girl from his childhood—laughing under the stars, her voice humming lullabies to quiet his fears. He saw Gaelus, broken and proud, handing him a relic with a trembling hand. He saw the future, again and again, shattering and reforming with every breath.
In one, he died screaming. In another, he died silent.
In none did he live.
The Eye pulsed a final image: Selan, older, alone, standing at a grave that had no name.
He woke with blood on his lips and tears in his eyes.
Selan was already up, tending to their supplies, humming a tune that didn't belong to this world.
"You're humming her song," Kael said.
Selan didn't turn. "I remember things I shouldn't. From your visions. From the Eye. It's leaking. Bleeding into me."
Kael didn't reply.
The third day arrived with fire.
The Crown's host stretched across the horizon like a sea of iron and flame. Warbeasts roared. Cataphracts lined up in blinding silver. Inquisitors chanted from bone altars mounted atop siege engines.
Kael and Selan stood alone on a dune.
"They'll see us," Selan muttered.
"They already do."
In the distance, horns blew. A single rider detached from the host—hooded, armored, marked by the royal sigil.
Kael stepped forward to meet them.
The rider removed her helm.
Queen Ilyra.
Her face was as cold as prophecy.
"You've killed my champions. Burned my cities. Defiled holy ground," she said.
Kael's voice was steady. "And I'm not done."
Ilyra studied him. "You carry the Shard. The last note of the First Choir. Do you think you're the only one who's heard it sing?"
Kael raised the scythe. "I don't need it to sing. I only need it to scream."
The queen raised a hand.
And the army began to move.
Kael turned to Selan. "Run."
"No."
"Selan—"
"If you're going to die," she said, "then so am I."
Kael smiled. "That's the dumbest thing you've ever said."
"Then it's perfect for us."
The Threnody Shard hummed in his chest.
Kael lifted his scythe, wove blood through air, and began to chant.
The sky darkened.
The Eye split further.
The Shard screamed.
And the final war began.