Chapter Thirteen
Bellamy
S weat stung my eyes as I swung, my sword slicing through the neck of a particularly talented Air. She was brilliant, which meant she was absolutely lethal.
Every gust of wind or vortex of air had sent our soldiers flying, some of them being ripped to shreds in the process. Even worse, she was capable of slicing through bone, the speed of the air making it as sharp as a blade. When she reached for her throat, desperately trying to staunch the blood, all I could think was one thing: what a waste.
Diving, I barely dodged a chunk of rock. The move cost me precious seconds, forcing me to remain on the ground and roll away from a bubble of water that threatened to trap me. Stopping as my back hit the ground, I caught the water, fighting against the Element who still held control of it. In the end, I won, shoving it back at the crowd of gold-clad soldiers and freezing it when it hit their bodies.
So painfully wasteful. This battle—this war—brought nothing but death and destruction, and for what? I would not pretend like the power in my bones and the magic in my veins did not hum at the scent of death around me. My mind and heart knew better though. The potential and life being lost were not worth it.
With that thought at the forefront of my mind, I decided it was time to end the battle before any more of my demons fell. I stretched my hands out, black fire shooting in both directions and effectively cutting off the bulk of the charging enemy. For now.
“Fall back!” I shouted, the order echoing across the open valley, calling onto every element and taking out the gold-clad soldiers who remained on our side of the fire.
Damon did not need to be told twice, his sky-blue armor a beacon as he lifted his sword to the air. His shadows shot skyward. They swirled, mixing with the soft white clouds to form three rings—the edges just barely intertwined. With the sigil above us, the demons began their steady push back towards the rolling hills of green grass and vibrant pink trees. Damon remained by my side for a moment longer, spearing his shadows through the final two fae, before I gave him a slight nod. I watched as he ran towards our army, the soldiers reflecting the light in their silver armor while he seemed to blend with the sky in his blue.
As the fae began to spray water at and attempt to manipulate the fire blocking them, I took slow and measured breaths. So long, it had been so long since I allowed myself this freedom to release the so-called blessings within me. Among other things, it was a fine line to walk. Losing myself now to the high of retribution and death would not make me any more fit to guide us through this war, despite what the war council thought.
First to break through was a Water, his golden armor melting in some areas. He charged me, the scream that left his mouth a throaty and broken sound. Like many of the others, he was desperate. For vengeance, for safety, for a life outside of such gore. They were not evil creatures that fought their way to me. No, they were as innocent as the ones that ran for their lives behind me.
The next to break through was another Fire, her anger palpable even through the golden helmet that covered her face. Dropping the wall of flames, I took one final moment to beg Eternity, the gods, anything that would listen to help us stop this war.
Silence met me like an old friend, the constant reminder that there was nothing and no one that would save us from this mess.
My black armor lit up, the charcoal flames licking at the air around me and tasting the sweet tang of fear. I leaned my head back, taking in a decisive breath of fresh air. When my head snapped forward, I welcomed the rage that burned inside of me. This would end now, with no help from any higher power.
As the fae closed in on me, I was the god.
With a guttural roar, I thrust my hands into the air, immediately bringing them down and smashing them into the grass below my feet.
A great shudder racked through the valley as the Water approached me. He stopped, eyes wide through the opening in his helmet. They were a watery brown, similar to the mud to which he would soon return.
“You might want to run,” I said, unable to stop the smirk that lifted my cheek. There was no denying how good it felt as the magic and power simultaneously left my body.
The grass split then, sucking in screaming fae as they unknowingly ran to their deaths—to me. Geysers of molten rock flew up into the air, raining the mighty wrath of the Underworld down upon the golden soldiers. With as much control as I could manage, I willed it to continue forward, a river of destruction rushing at the fae as they ran for their lives.
Conjuring a sword of black flames, I quickly jumped to my feet and severed the head of the Water, ending him before the lava could. Then I was running too, my flames finding their mark in the holes between the golden plates protecting the fae.
When they realized I was coming, the Shifters took on new forms, their bodies reshaping themselves into far more dangerous creatures. With a twist of my finger, I built up a cyclone of air around me, reminding the world that I was the eye of the storm. I sent it careening towards a larger group, watching as it tore them to bloody pieces that scattered across the open valley.
Screams rang through the air, a melody of pain that left me dancing across the grass, every parry or thrust in time with the beat.
I was no hero. I had always known that. Perhaps it was better because, while a hero might spare them—might attempt to save those that were innocent, I would kill them all to secure Asher’s safety. Her future.
A final roar of fury left my lips as I threw my hands forward, fire catching at the tips of my fingers and scorching every inch of the land before me. The screams came to a crescendo, the armor doing nothing to stop the flames from burning them all alive—especially with the lava still at their backs. I hummed in time to the piercing wails, relishing in the way it felt to end those responsible for the deaths of my soldiers and civilians, despite knowing it was wrong.
Even the Waters and Fires were not fast enough, their power failing them in their final moments. What a sad thing, to discover that what makes you special, what you had been told your entire life made you better than any other being in existence, did nothing to save you in the end.
Slowly, I lowered my hands, my breath heavy and heart pounding. I had expended more than I should, and I felt that hollowness inside of my chest. Oh yes, I would pay for this later.
It was at that moment that a sharp pain pinched my side. I looked down, finding a dagger shoved through a small gap in my sparkling black armor.
Good aim.
Then everything went black.
***
Before Asher, I had always imagined myself dying alone on a battlefield. Sometimes, I had even wondered if it would come down to her and I facing off.
I had heard of her, the princess of the fae who could control minds. Adbeel and I had spent many years contemplating what exactly she was and how she had come to be.
Knowing what we did about her parents at the time, we had come to the conclusion that she was likely infused in a similar way I had been. A memory sparked at the thought.
“There is something sinister in that female’s veins,” Adbeel said, his brow furrowed as he read the latest report.
Princess Asher Daniox, The Manipulator, had killed four fae the week prior—two sets of couples who had decided to fraternize outside of their faction. What a selfish and wicked law, to restrict who one could find love in.
“We need to kill her, Adbeel. We cannot allow her to continue on. If we do, they will sic her on us one day, and when that time comes, the demons will not survive her.”
Just as my parents before me, I was without sympathy. I had begged and begged Adbeel to let me simply kill her, to end the fae’s poison before she became our own. She had been vulnerable, cooped up in that comfy palace. Yet he had refused time and time again. Zaib never would have wanted the demons to attack, he would argue, insisting that his late daughter’s desire for peace was anything but horrifyingly stupid.
Which it was. Zaib’s ridiculous wish to maintain the peace was what led to the death of her and her brother, Malcolm. Adbeel had fallen into a fit of rage at their demise, preparing his armies to sail and portal into Betovere. Readying for war.
It was in that time, with the loss of her son and daughter so fresh and that of her beloved subjects eminent, that Queen Solei broke. Adbeel had only told me the story once, the horrific details spared. But it was not hard to understand what led to her sudden death.
The last thing she had ever asked Adbeel was to end the violence, to stop the fighting—for Zaib.
And stop he did.
As he had held her limp body in his arms, his fit of grief and fury sending raw magic shooting into the air, Adbeel did the impossible. Some scholars believed her Moon magic and his Sun magic merged somehow, bursting free of them and surrounding the realm like a wall.
The Mist.
It was an extraordinary and unfathomable form of magic, one that nobody was capable of understanding, let alone replicating. More than that, it was a promise to his late wife, an apology to his dead son and daughter, and a gift to his living subjects.
No more war. No more loss. No more suffering.
Then he found me, wrath incarnate, a plague to a king who had lost so much. I was everything he had once been and everything he had fought to no longer be.
Which was why he had forbidden me from taking our armies to Betovere, convinced that nothing good would come from attacking. He feared the loss that came from action in the same way I feared the loss that came from inaction. We were at a stalemate, neither willing to budge.
The attack on Claud, a village that resided on a small hill above a sprawling valley, was my tipping point. No longer would I allow us to remain complacent, waiting for their attacks and simply fighting back. Defensive approaches were not working, not anymore.
I tore through Judson’s estate, glaring at each of the guards that attempted to stop me, a storm raining pure rage down upon the unsuspecting residents of Yentain. They all wore the signature silver of Eoforhild but with violet stitching rather than blue, signaling that they hailed from Andreia. The whole gods forsaken manor was the same violet color, to the point that it bordered on the gaudiness of the fae royals’ love for gold.
When I finally reached the meeting room, still clad in my bloody armor from that morning, I found Engle guarding the stupid purple doors. I attempted to sidestep him, not in the mood for whatever he had to say this time. Of course, he stepped with me, a smirk on his face.
I was not in the mood. After Noe had come back for me and brought me to Ranbir to be healed from the stab wound to my side, I could do nothing but simmer in my rage like a pot ready to boil over.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“You look quite worn out today, Bellamy,” he said, his laugh loud as he once again blocked my way.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“What? No comment or retort? Is poor Belly angry that his little pet is not with him?” Ah, Revanche must have told him about Asher.
I let loose a sigh of annoyance when he backed into the doors, pressing himself to the wood and concealing the silver handles. I was not in the right frame of mind for this verbal sparring. Nor was I ever in a good enough place mentally to be near Engle for more than a few moments at a time.
Henry, Engle, and I had all grown up together. Henry as the Lady of Kratos’ son, Engle as the Lord of Andreia’s son, and myself as the crown prince of Eoforhild were all pushed into friendship from youth. I was the youngest, Henry a few decades older than me and Engle about a century older than him. From the moment I had mastered my power, around nineteen years after my birth, we had been trained and taught together.
For a while, it was fine. Things had been smooth, and we really did all get along well enough. There were many good memories from those early years. So many that I had struggled with the idea of not being his friend when I realized he no longer even liked me. Not only was I a rather angry and hateful thing, but by the time I reached half a century, I had grown in power immensely. I was a force of nature, someone most feared but many still revered. At the center of attention in every circumstance, was me.
Engle did not like that.
“Move,” I said between clenched teeth, trying to remain calm while my magic and power fought to escape me.
Killing him would be so easy, like smearing an insect across the ground or wiping a spill from a table. He was a pest— a poisonous one. Like his father and sister, Engle was power-hungry and manipulative, which was a danger to any monarch.
I wanted to smash his face into a rock.
“Oh, the big bad Bellamy told me to move. I am shaking in my boots. Please, My Prince, do not harm me.” His tone was mocking, both hands reaching up to rest on his cheeks in false fear.
For a moment, I wondered what life would have been like if Engle had not been so competitive. Would he be one of my captains too? Would he be at my side instead of in my way, prepared to yell at our superiors—our fathers? Perhaps I could still appeal to that side of him.
“Engle, this is ridiculous. We have the same desire—to keep the demons safe from the enemy. I need to get into that room so that I can protect Eoforhild. Please, let me pass,” I said, my tone soft and friendly.
Long gone was the violent and uncontrolled Bellamy. I was different now. Not only for myself and my realm but for Asher. She deserved better than a maniac with a taste for blood. Today was a misstep, but a reasonable one. We needed to fight back, and I had. Even so, I could be civil with this demon, my once comrade.
“You know what? You are right. We should all be putting feuds and discomfort aside to rid ourselves of the enemy,” Engle said, a small smile lifting his cheeks.
I nodded with a smile of my own, eager to simply move on from the petty rivalry. When I breathed a sigh of relief and attempted to step forward, Engle moved with me, that smile morphing into a wicked thing. He reached out, grabbing onto my arm and digging his fingers into my flesh. I froze, forcing myself not to move. If I did, all I would do was kill the fucker.
Engle leaned in, his lips nearly grazing my pointed ears, the very things that marked me as so clearly other.
“ You are the enemy, fae filth. Do not for a moment believe that we accept you—that we want you—as our prince. Do not for a moment believe that we will not revolt the instant Adbeel puts his obsidian crown upon your wretched head. One day, you will get what is coming to you. When that day comes, know that it will be me who rips your heart from your chest.”
Breathe in. Breathe out.
It meant nothing. He meant nothing. They had accepted me. Most of them, that was. I was enough. I had to be enough.
“And Revanche told me about that fae princess of yours. She sounded quite ravishing. Fear not, I will take good care of her when you return to the gods, My Prince. ”
What happened next was a blur. One second Engle was beside me, his foul breath in my ear and fingers wrapped around my arm. Then the next, the Moon was on the ground, my fists pounding into his face over and over and over again.
The thuds of my knuckles connecting to his skull and then his skull smashing into the marble below rang through the violet hall—the beat of war.
“Come for me. Just try it. I will burn every last one of you to dust,” I said between punches, Engle’s blood staining the velvet purple tunic he wore. It splashed up, hitting my cheeks and my obsidian armor and mixing with the filthy fae blood he so despised.
I paused, wanting to make sure that he heard every word I said. Wanting to relish in the way they tasted coming from my lips. Engle did not open his eyes, both of them bloody and swollen, but I knew that he was listening. I ran my finger across one of his ears, slowly tracing the curve of it, then I leaned in, letting my breath hit his skin in the same way his had hit mine.
“Know this. If you touch a single hair on Asher’s head, I will peel off your nails and feed them to you. After, I will cut your limbs off one by one with a rusted and dull knife. When you are begging for death and the loss of blood is slowly driving you mad, I will have my filthy fae Healer seal your wounds and nail you to your hideous violet door. Then, just to remind you which of us is stronger—which of us matters more —I will place that obsidian crown atop my head and carve her name into your fucking chest.”
Just as I finished my threat, the doors behind us swung open. I turned, glaring up at King Adbeel and Lord Judson and taking in their faces full of stunned horror. With all the grace of a crowned prince, I stood, dusting off the bloody shoulders of my armor.
“Remember who you are, Engle, for there are many who would kill to remind you.” At that, I pivoted and marched into the meeting room.
So much for no longer being violent and uncontrolled.
Behind me, I heard Judson’s voice raise to a shout, his dramatics exhausting.
“Are you going to let that psychopath get away with this, Adbeel? He is out of control, a danger to the realm! Look at my son’s face!”
With very little care for Judson or Engle’s feelings, I dropped myself into one of the violet seats, the relief of the heavily cushioned chair pulling a groan from my lips. At least Judson’s tackiness did not prevent comfort.
“The male is fine. He should not start what he cannot finish,” Adbeel said with a sigh. I laughed, loud and unencumbered, knowing it would help little. “Now, take him to see a medic.”
I heard the loud huff of anger that came from Judson then the sound of Adbeel reentering the meeting room. Looking over my shoulder, I watched Adbeel begin to close the door, stopping just before it clicked shut.
He leaned out, his voice quiet and lethal, the younger version of the demon king coming out to play. “You too ought to remember your place, Lord Judson. That tongue better recall how to say My King or, perhaps, it should be removed.”
This time, I stifled my laugh as Adbeel slammed the door shut, rattling the paintings on the walls.
“He started it,” I said, smiling up at the male who raised me.
Adbeel Ayad was not a young male, but he was a formidable one. He stood tall, the two of us about eye-to-eye when next to one another. Where my skin was pale as ivory, his was a deep brown, kissed by the sun and wrinkling softly at his dark eyes and full mouth. His beard was neatly trimmed, sculpted to end an inch or so below his chin. Thick mahogany curls graced the top of his head, just short enough to not touch his shoulders. Built like any warrior and as graceful as any monarch, Adbeel was everything a realm could wish for in a ruler.
Those nearly black eyes were the same color as every member of the Ayad line, the portraits of his late family showing that the color had indeed passed on to the younglings he had hoped would rule. Life had not been kind to this king though, and instead a blue-eyed fae would take over his realm.
It was with that thought at the forefront of my mind that I noticed just how tired Adbeel looked. Which meant little grace for his “psychotic” ward. Bracing myself for the scolding of a lifetime, I straightened my back and squared my shoulders.
“Must we do this again, Bell? For so long, you have found outlets for that fire inside of you, and now after decades of peace, you decide to return to your horrid ways?” he said.
Oh, how I loathed that tone—one of a disappointed father speaking to a son, to a youngling. Despite never once calling me son, he had always treated me like one. Praise and punishment, teaching and guiding, it had all fallen onto Adbeel. Unfortunately for him, I was not a fan of being parented.
“You heard what he said. Whispers do not hide words from demon ears. Was I supposed to simply allow him to say those things about me? About her?” I asked, just as tired as he was.
Adbeel took in my disheveled appearance. I pictured the crusted blood, bruised cheek, and dented armor that he was seeing now. In comparison to his black form-fitting top and light blue vest, I must have looked a mess.
I hoped the velvet below me stained.
The king pulled out the chair beside me, sitting down with stiff limbs. An argument was brewing, and we both knew it. The only question left was who would break first.
After minutes passed in silence, Adbeel decided he would.
“Why her, Bellamy? There are so many females in Eoforhild, Revanche aside. We already deal with the demons dismissing your title, taking a fae bride will not help you any. She does not belong here, and protecting her will bring war to our doorstep.” He reached out, grabbing onto one of my hands and squeezing softly. The words made me tense, but the gesture calmed me, a painful contrast.
“If Solei had been fae, would you let the world tell you that she was unworthy of your hand?” I asked, doing my best to appeal to his emotions rather than allow my own to take over.
He ripped his hand away, standing up so quickly that the table shook. As he began to pace, I thought over what I could say that would convince him to allow us to bring the fight to Betovere when he was so intent on the opposite.
“You know I would have fought tooth and nail to keep her at my side, no matter what blood ran through her veins. Still, you are facing a predicament that is the fault of yourself. I told you that we were to leave her be, yet you went and stole her from our oldest enemies. Then, you bed her and expect the demons of your realm to bow down at her feet? This future you see, one which revolves around a female with something so clearly wicked in her veins, is not realistic. We must think like rulers, not like horny soldiers!”
With each sentence, his voice grew louder, reaching a shout so brash that I could hear the pattering of feet as servants and residents ran from the sound of their angry king. Tragic, the fear that he held over the demons but did not use. Such power with so little desire to utilize it. Monarchs should not rule over their realm without justice and kindness, but too much of such a sweet thing would rot the teeth.
“This visit is not about Asher or her right to be here. I came to talk about Betovere. They attempted to lay siege on Claud. We lost thirty-four civilians and twelve soldiers, as well as the village itself. Ninety-one demons remain wounded, most receiving treatment in the surrounding cities and villages. You have to see that we cannot remain on the defense, Adbeel. It is killing us to do so.”
Adbeel stopped, his shoulders tensing at my words. That was only one attack. The others had left even more wounded, even more dead. So many lost forever because we were not willing to take control of the inevitable war.
“You act as if I am not doing everything I can to protect the realm!” Adbeel’s shouts were punctuated with the raise of his hands, cutting through the air as if to silence any doubts within his own mind. “I have set up wards. I have widened The Mist. I am here in Andreia to make sure the Lords and Ladies are prepared for anything that might come their way. Everything that can be done—that should be done—is occurring as we speak. I am handling it in the only way that I can.”
“No, you are not! We sit back and allow innocents to die for our crimes, Adbeel! An entire village of fae that I promised sanctuary and a good life are gone. Mia rained the Underworld down upon them. My fae, my friends, my family. They bleed and suffer because we are not showing the Mounbetton’s that the demons should be feared rather than spit on.” My jaw strained and my head pounded as I spoke—the words barelling into my mind as if they hoped to end me with brute force. “Let me take my army to The Capital. Let me lay waste to the gold palace that saw the death of your son and daughter. Let me do this, not only for the realm or for you but for me. I deserve vengeance. I deserve their blood!”
“You deserve nothing, foolish male! Those fae who you will slaughter in order to get to the parents who abandoned you are just as innocent as the demons who cower in your presence! This war will not win you the crown you are so desperate to earn nor will it heal your broken soul. Accept that sometimes violence is not the answer. Understand that attacking now means only more death. We will strengthen our defenses, deploy our units across the realm, and remain vigilant. Send Noe to Betovere. Have her find and eliminate the traitor. That I will allow. That we can do. What we will not do is portal into a hostile area and send our subjects to the slaughter so that you can get what you think you are owed!”
Anger vibrated through me, my body shaking so viciously that my teeth chattered and my stomach churned. He would never understand what it meant to be unloved, but what I could not accept was that he did not clearly see how much loss we would suffer if we chose his route. The plan he laid out would buy us time, but only so much. Death would still wash over Eoforhild, and I refused to sit by and let it.
I smacked the table, the purple wood burning beneath my touch. With a finger in his face and fury in my eyes, I looked at the demon king, knowing that my next words would be my last to him for the foreseeable future.
“You will regret this when your lakes run red and your sky rains embers.”
Then, I portaled away, the force of time and space threatening to rip apart my body in the same way Adbeel had shredded my heart.
I appeared in an all-too-familiar room, the walls black and floors red. A bed in the center that was big enough to fit my entire family—the one I had found and formed on my own. On the desk to my right were vials and plants and papers full of healing remedies. To my left sat a vanity, cosmetics, and jewelry neatly organized on top of the shiny black marble. She had always found a way to make even her clutter appear beautiful, decorating the world with her joy and love and life. It seemed so horribly dull now, like her Sun magic had stolen light from us all when it returned to Stella in the Above—or wherever demons truly went to rest.
With trembling fingers, I picked up one of the gold bracelets that I had given her for Star Festival one year. The diamonds on it still sparkled, gleaming in the fading light from the window and casting rainbows onto the ceiling. I saw the tear splash against the black vanity before I realized that I was crying.
As if the first tear had brought the dam crashing down, I fell into a fit of sobs. With a resounding thud, my knees hit the ground, legs giving out. Suddenly I was fully shaking, not from anger but from sorrow. Clinging to the bracelet, I let the rest of my body hit the floor, my forehead against the cold marble.
“I miss you,” I whispered, speaking to no one and nothing but the dust in the air of my dead friend’s chambers. “Ranbir is a mess. He has been hiding away in the infirmary in Pike, not speaking other than when required. He does not eat or sleep, does not smile. You left, and you took him with you. I think you took a small part of all of us.”
Silence enveloped me, as heavy as the world that rested upon our shoulders—mine and Asher’s. No answer would come.
“She tried to kill herself. You died, and we broke, and she thought us all better off without her. You died, and we were not ready to say goodbye. You died, Nona. I need you, but you are gone. You died.”
Winona died, and more would fall if we did not do something.
My resolve was building, or perhaps it was crumbling. They felt so similar these days. Before I could marinate in the sadness, I felt the tug that told me someone had touched an item I had laced with my essence. I stilled, waiting for the feeling to go away, the pull ceasing and telling me whoever it was had let go. There were so few things that I had allowed my trace to remain on, which meant that this was likely Asher.
She had not responded after I sent her a note last night. Her communication was stilted, often full of hidden pain and rage. Henry was quick to fill me in on how she was doing, but we both knew she was skilled at masking how she felt. If she looked sad, then that meant she was slowly dying inside—the pain eating her alive.
I sensed her let go and immediately called onto my shadows to fetch the pencil and paper, the feeling of relief at expelling more of that poisonous magic lasting mere seconds. I opened my hand just in time for those shadows to turn solid, the pencil dropping into my palm.
Hastily, eagerly, I opened up the note. Chuckling at her words despite myself, I quickly scribbled back a response and sent it her way. Pocketing Winona’s bracelet, I stood once more, the tears still slowly crawling down my cheeks.
“I will take care of him—of all of us—just like you did. I will seek retribution for what they did to you, and I will find a way to make the world bright once more. Rest knowing our family will have joy again someday.”
With a final pat to her vanity, I left Ranbir and Winona’s chambers in Haven, portaling to the space another fallen friend had once held.
Pino’s chambers were a disaster, cloth and paper and needles spread over every surface. The mess reminded me of the visions he had once shown me, a cyclone of so much happening at once. My chest tightened at the sight of the journal on his desk, still open to a drawing of a female shaped much like Ash, her curves decorated in what could only be described as liquid obsidian—the black accented with flecks of silver and gold. The gown was low-cut and form-fitting, dragging at least three feet behind. It was sleeveless, a cape-like piece of fabric attached to the back to trail behind the wearer in the same way the train did.
A smile lifted my cheeks. She would have looked beautiful in it—the same female who currently wrote to me, the feel of her holding the pencil sending a tingling sensation from the tips of my fingers to my toes.
Gently, I picked up the journal, skipping back to the last marked page. It was a large chunk of writing, looking as if it had been scribbled in a rush.
Your magic is a force, a strength previously unheard of and ever-reaching. As you find the light and dark, you shall see that they will guide you if you dare heed their call. When you do, a prince you will lose, a prince you will gain, and a king you will hold. And when the moon paints the sky red, retribution will light fire to the realms. As promised by the true queen who defied her false destiny, when two worlds collide and history repeats, from it will come the salvation. From it, love will defeat vengeance. But, if you fear what you do not know or do not understand, you might find yourself dead before you have even lived. And so the world will fall not far behind. No matter the choice you make, your reign will be the end.
I read it once, twice, three times before I truly understood it.
His prophecy, the one that had made Asher realize she had not been in the Fire Lands so long ago. This was not just for designing and doodling, this was also the place he recorded his prophecies and visions.
Just then, Asher let go, finished writing her response. I called onto it, snatching it from the shadows. I read her note then the prophecy then her note once more before tucking it into the journal.
Adbeel was wrong.
I deserved the chance to make this world better for Asher.