One minute. Sixty seconds to decide the fate of his sister and his world. Valerius's projected image remained perfectly still, his eyes cold and patient, the face of pure, unyielding order. In his mind, the Singer's voice was a raging fire, a tempest of righteous fury.
"He lies, Unraveler!" her thoughts crashed against his. "The Weavers do not seal, they imprison! They will use the child's blood to build my cage stronger and then cast you aside! He offers you only silence and chains! Help me, and I will give you justice!"
James felt like he was being torn in two. Valerius's logic was a cold, perfect prison. The Singer's rage was a wildfire that would burn everything to the ground. He looked at Sophia, her face pale and still, and then at Nyx, her glowing eyes filled with a fierce, unwavering belief in him. Her hand was still in his, a single, warm point of stability in a world gone mad.
"His song is a perfect cage," Nyx's whisper echoed his thoughts. "Her song is a burning fire. Both will destroy you." She squeezed his hand. "You need your own song, James."
Her words cut through the noise. She was right. He had been trying to choose between two terrible options, two songs of destruction. But his power wasn't about choosing; it was about breaking the rules of the choice itself. He couldn't destroy the cage or feed the fire. But maybe… maybe he could silence the noise that fueled them both.
He found his third option.
"Thirty seconds," Valerius's voice announced, chillingly calm.
James ignored him. He ignored the Singer's frantic, furious pleas. He closed his eyes and turned his full, undivided attention back to the violet thread of power connecting Sophia to the crystal prison. He was done suppressing it. Now, he would perform a different kind of surgery.
His power had always been a blunt instrument, a way to break and erase. But guided by Nyx's steady presence, he tried something new. He didn't try to snap the thread. He reached into it with his senses, feeling not just the raw power, but its texture, its notes, its story. He could feel the pure, ancient connection between the Singer and her descendant, a bond of blood and love. But woven through it, corrupting it, was the harsh, rigid static of the Weavers' Great Pattern—the poison that had turned a lullaby into a curse.
That was his target.
He focused his will, not as a hammer, but as a surgeon's knife. He began to unravel not the thread itself, but only the corruption within it. He pulled at the strands of cold logic, the threads of petrification, the knots of pain caused by centuries of twisted magic.
The psychic feedback was excruciating. He felt the Singer's centuries of loneliness, her impotent fury, and the slow poisoning of her intent, all flowing through him. The strain was a thousand times worse than just damming the flow. Black spots danced in his vision, and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He was unraveling not just magic, but the concepts of sorrow and time, and the effort was tearing him apart from the inside out.
But as he pulled the poison free, something miraculous happened.
The effect on Sophia was immediate. The ghastly, stone-grey color began to recede from her neck and arm, retreating like a tide. The violet veins under her skin faded, replaced by the healthy, warm flush of life. She was not just being stabilized; she was being healed.
At the same time, the Singer's song began to change. As James purged the Weaver's corrupting influence, the furious, dissonant rage in her mind softened. The harsh notes of vengeance faded, leaving behind a pure, clear melody of immense sadness and profound love. The angry red light of the spire softened, shifting back to violet, and then to a gentle, silver luminescence, like pure moonlight.
"Ten seconds," Valerius's voice stated, but the certainty in it was gone. Through the projection, James could see the Warden's eyes widen in disbelief. What he was witnessing was impossible, a miracle that defied every law of his ordered world. The plague was not being contained; it was being purified.
With one final, agonized push, James unraveled the last thread of the Weavers' poison. The connection between Sophia and the Singer was still there, but it was now a clean, shimmering cord of silver light, a bond of bloodline, not a conduit of a curse.
Sophia took a deep, shuddering breath, the first clear breath she had taken in years.
The angry demigod in the crystal was gone, replaced by the serene, powerful, and sorrowful gaze of the First Singer.
Valerius's minute was up, but he stood silent, utterly confounded.
Having poured every last ounce of his will and life force into his impossible task, James's strength finally gave out. The world dissolved into a painless, floating darkness. His hand slipped from Nyx's as he collapsed to the crystalline floor, unconscious.
The battle of wills was over. A fragile silence settled over the chamber. Nyx, alone and breathing hard, immediately moved to stand protectively over the bodies of James and his sister. She raised her head, her glowing eyes defiant, as she faced the two beings left in the room: the newly purified, ancient demigod in the crystal, and the cold, calculating Warden of Luminar, whose next move was now a complete and terrifying mystery.