Chapter 16 #2
As odd as it is to think, this version of him? It makes sense to me. I understand it.
Perhaps that is the driving force behind my actions.
I reach for his free hand and lace my fingers through his, squeezing tightly, wrapping my other hand around the base of his wrist. Then, when his eyes snap to mine, an indent wedged deep between his brows, I quietly hold his gaze and attempt to remind him of the brighter things humanity can offer—our connectedness.
Our ability to stand with another, holding their hand and sharing their pain without words.
We remain frozen like that for a few heartbeats. Until I release his hand and recede a step, the moment washing away as if it never happened.
I refocus on the information at hand. “Who or what is the wolf with glowing eyes, and why did they curse you with immortality?”
“I…” He stops, biting down forcefully and flexing his jaw, seeming to debate something as he glances at Astralis’s golden statue.
“The gods are bitter and childish,” he mutters finally, appearing to take his answer in a different direction.
“And all you need to know is they revel in their twisted sense of justice.”
“So you’ve seen the gods?”
Casimir scoffs a bitter laugh. “Seen them. Spoke with them. Fought them. They are like jealous mortal children who’ve been given immeasurable power.”
“They sound lovely.”
He glances at me, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smirk. “They are positively dreadful.”
I huff a quiet laugh, reaching for the phantom length of my hair.
One would think I would have gotten used to the change by now, but my mindless fingers still reach for it, just as they constantly reach for an ice necklace that is no longer there.
Though, the shortened length has grown on me.
Easier to wash. Less weight. Lower maintenance.
The thought of my new look has me turning over my forearms, inspecting the scars littering my left arm.
I study my wielder’s mark twining beautifully along my right arm next.
Then, I press my fingertips gently to the scars marring the side of my jaw where my eye is now permanently weaved with silver.
Ghosts of my own atrocity flash through my mind, haunting me, reminding me that we need not fear monsters; most already live within us.
“Casimir…” My voice a near-silent whisper as the final words of the prophecy echo through me like a death sentence.
But a promise, I can give: another shall come.
One who is defined by a name both two and one, born from the ashes of what the raven desired most, yet never found.
And when they awaken—chosen by the Cycle to harbor the greatest power of all—the ashes of one great war will stir, giving way to another, and the Chosen will decide the fate of kingdoms, just as the raven himself had.
“Yes, Lyra?” His soft voice is so at odds with the cruelty I frequently have to remind myself he has displayed.
“What does the prophecy mean?” I glance up and meet his questioning gaze, only then realizing my fingers are still touching the scars on my cheek.
“I mean” —I drop my fingers from my face— “what is my part in all this? What does the Cycle want with me? Why did it choose me to harbor this power?” Emotion betrays me, forcing a tremor into my voice.
He is silent for a long moment, his eyes remaining glued to mine as he seems to truly give my question considerable thought.
“Truthfully, there are some factors at play that not even I am aware of. Though I can tell you this: what has been bestowed upon you will come with considerable weight, difficult choices, and a chance to change this world. I cannot tell you what those choices will be—if only prophecies were so specific—but I can say you have a pivotal role to play in what’s coming, Lyra, and there is no running from it nor hiding from what the Cycle has imparted on you.
And while I also cannot say why you specifically were chosen, I can ask you an equally important question, which is: why not you? ”
I glide my jaw side-to-side. “Because I am no one of importance. I am nothing special. Have no remarkable qualities. I’m just… a former servant girl looking for a free life. That’s all.”
“You are a fighter who has been given a gift far greater than she can even imagine at this moment.” He takes a step toward me. “It’s time you discover your worth, Lyra.”
My bottom lip quivers. I pinch it between my teeth to steady it, ignoring his last sentence and choosing to unpack the hollow ache I feel at his words later, when I am alone.
“It doesn’t feel like a gift,” I counter instead, the words soft in my throat.
“If that prophecy is true, I am to decide the fate of kingdoms while some cryptic, great war erupts within them. And I—I…”
Casimir takes another step and gently wraps his fingers around my elbows.
“I am not going to let another great war plague the lands.” He says the words so sternly, I almost want to believe him.
“One great war is enough, and I will not see another in my lifetime. Not as long as I have a family to protect.”
“How?” I ask. “What can be done?”
He releases my arms and recedes a step. “I’ve already told you my plan.”
I furrow my brows, the night I let myself into his room replaying through my memory. “Destroying the Cycle? That is your plan? What does—what does that even truly accomplish?”
“To be clear,” he muses, his spine straightening into its tighter posture and his shoulders rolling back. He clasps his hands behind his back. “My plan is not only to destroy the Cycle; that is merely a component of it.”
“Oh, well I apologize for not understanding the full scope of your grand plan. Especially while you have been so forthcoming with everything.”
He watches me for a few, silent seconds.
“Alright, Lyra. You want to know the entirety of my plan? Well, here it is: I will destroy the Cycle, thus eradicating magic and freeing my people from their madness, abolishing the root of the classist system that has infected the heart of this world. Then, to ensure an era of true peace can flourish after magic has disappeared—to cement the rise of a new system based on merit, inherent talents, hard work, and dedication—I will then eliminate the entire class of people that stomped their boots on the necks of the hungry to ensure their grips on power were never questioned. After that, I will murder a god. And then, hopefully, after that, I will finally die.”
My tongue is immobile in my mouth. My brain spins with so many different thoughts, I’m unable to simply pull on one. I think of Draven. Think of Kiran. Hell, even Finlay—they all flash through my mind, their Houses erupting in flames as Casimir spears his magic through their chests.
Nausea roils in my stomach at the thought.
Because perhaps the most frightening, looming fact of all is that he has the power to do it—to simply eradicate an entire class of people if he wanted to.
And even if I have full faith in Draven’s ability to defend himself and hold his own against Casimir, not even he could defend so many at once.
“What you’re proposing is not going to soothe war from these lands—it is going to incite it.
” A ball of twisting emotions tangles in my chest. “Not to mention, mass genocide of an entire class is never the answer, and it’s not going to prevent the prophesied war from happening.
How does eliminating an entire noble class carve a path for this new, better age you speak of?
Your new world is built on bones and painted with blood. ”
“As is all change.” Casimir retreats a step from me. Then another. And another. Until he is again at the center of the sprawling room, temple—whatever the hell this place should actually be called—and returns his gaze to the sky. “Were you there for the first Great War?”
Both the alarming calmness in his tone and the question itself take me aback. “No,” I answer, my brows wrinkled. “Obviously not.”
“Exactly. You know nothing of war. Of the vile, repugnant evil it brings out in humanity. I was not only a Crowned Prince during the Great War; I was a commander on the battlefield. I do not fault you for never experiencing the savagery of a war-torn land—in fact, I celebrate it—but do not stand here and speak to me like I do not know what I am talking about whilst you do.”
“Murder is not the answer,” I push. “And your sense of revenge, justice—whatever you want to call it. It should not cost hundreds—thousands—of lives. What good is change if the cost of it is the very evil you claim to fight against?”
He whirls around, anger clouding his eyes.
“Yet murder is justified under the terms of war every single time. Those lives lost are nothing more than a necessary means to an end, right? A catalyst for the desired change of kingdoms. How is what I’m proposing any different?
” He scoffs, his upper lip curling. “The murders of hundreds—thousands, as you say—are suddenly digestible when it is in the name of kings. Done under the guise of sovereignty. Stolen under the protection of Her Majesty, Justice herself.”
“No,” I argue, shaking my head against what he’s saying. “That isn’t… I…I…” I struggle for words—for an argument. Nothing comes to my aid.