Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ava sat up with a gasp, clutching Book against her chest like a shield against the world.
She was sitting in the grass in the park where she had attempted to summon the Morrigan, Serrik kneeling beside her with concern written across his features.
The bronze raven statue on its tall pedestal lay next to her, a giant dent in it from when it had hit the ground.
Serrik’s hands hovered over her, not quite touching, as if he were afraid he might shatter her.
“Ava! Are you injured? What—” He went silent as he stared at the tome in her hands.
“You were unconscious for nearly an hour, and now you return with that…I take it you were at least somewhat successful.”
“I fucking hate her.” She groaned. Her entire body ached as if she’d been in a car accident.
Her head was pounding and she could taste blood in her mouth.
But somehow, miraculously, she didn’t have any serious injuries.
Probably by benefit of being the Weaver and not being human anymore.
Having a statue of that size dropped on her head would have killed her otherwise.
Book felt warm in her hands. And somehow heavier than before. Placing it in her lap, she ran her hand over the rusted iron latches. Frowning, she knew it was no longer locked to her. And sure enough, she simply…flicked them open, one at a time. It wasn’t Serrik’s creation anymore.
It was hers.
Serrik sat back on his heels, sensing the same thing.
The pages were no longer blank, either. Every page was filled with the First Language or jagged diagrams that moved and shifted when she wasn’t looking directly at them. Illustrations that showed creatures that were beautiful and nightmarish and…familiar. No, more than that. That were family.
“I…” Her throat was raw from screaming. “I know what I have to do. What we—what Abigail and Alex and I have to do…what we’ve always had to do to fix things…once and for all.”
He was silent for a long moment. “And?”
Looking up at him, she could barely see him through the tears at first. She wiped them away on her sleeve, sniffling.
The knowledge the Morrigan had forced into her head was still burning away at her like acid.
Every detail of what was to come, every terrible step of the process—every price that would be paid.
You would have made a great dad, Serrik.
In some weird, fucked up way.
You really would.
“I know what it’s going to cost us.”
Serrik's expression grew very still, his golden eyes searching her face. “Tell me.”
“Not here.” She struggled to her feet, clutching Book like a lifeline.
Her legs were shaky, and she had to lean against one of the twisted trees for support.
“We need to get back to the others. They need to know what they're choosing.
They need to understand what we're asking them to do. And we need to find Alex.”
“Ava." Serrik caught her arm gently as she swayed. “What did you see? What did the Morrigan show you?”
She looked at him—really looked at him—seeing him with the new knowledge burning in her mind. In a few hours, she might be saying goodbye to him forever. In a few hours, she might be watching him fade away into nothing more than memory and regret.
“I asked the bitch to tell me what was going on, and well, she showed me. I saw the truth.” She sniffled. “All of it. What we’ll become when we separate the worlds. What you’ll have to do to save the worlds from Valroy.”
“And?”
“And it's worse than any of us imagined.” She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, trying to pull herself together. “But I also saw what happens if we don’t. If we fail.”
“Which is?”
“Everything dies. Everyone. Human, fae, dream, nightmare—all of it gets consumed when the realities finally tear each other apart. And not just here, either. Everywhere. Every realm. We cause a cascade that just…consumes everything. Valroy gets what he wanted and more.” She looked back toward the direction of the opera house, where their friends were waiting for answers she desperately didn't want to give them.
“When the Morrigan created the fae, she needed to create something that would hold their bloodthirsty natures in check. Keep them from destroying each other or the humans. At first, she tried to split the thrones. Unseelie and Seelie. But they were never peaceful. So she tried other methods. You were another attempt at that.”
“A failed one.”
Ava shrugged. Yeah. He was. But she didn’t need to confirm that for him. “Then she tried Valroy.”
“And then Abigail was a foil for that.”
“And then Alex.”
“And…now you.”
Ava gestured aimlessly at the chaos in front of her.
“And now I have to…we have to…all of us have to suffer, because the other option is—is so much worse.” When Serrik went to embrace her, she stepped away.
She couldn’t. She just couldn’t. It was too overwhelming right now. She shook her head. “I’m sorry…”
“I understand. Come. Let us speak with the others.”
The walk back to the opera house passed in silence.
Her mind reeled with the knowledge the Morrigan had forced upon her, with the terrible clarity of understanding exactly what lay ahead.
The weight of the book in her hands seemed to grow heavier with each step, as if the knowledge contained within was physically pulling her down.
Inside its pages lay the complete instructions for the ritual that would save three worlds and damn three women.
She found herself looking at everything differently now. The children playing in the merged reality, their parents going about their daily routines as if the world hadn't fundamentally changed—as if all of it was just…well? A dream.
The smoke rising from the horizon from where Valroy’s war upon the humans who were awake and knowledgeable to their situation, fighting for survival, who were somehow worse off.
Ignorance truly was bliss.
All of it was borrowed time that would end in cosmic catastrophe if she didn't act.
But acting meant sacrificing three lives to save billions.
Acting meant watching Abigail fade away into the Web until nothing remained but an echo of who she had been.
Acting meant condemning Alex to become part of the foundation of Tir n’Aill, her consciousness slowly dissolving into the eternal forest. And acting meant giving up her own humanity, piece by piece, year by year, until she became something cold and distant and utterly alone.
By the time they reached the building, she had made her decision.
She would tell them everything.
Every terrible detail, every horrific consequence, every price that would be paid.
And then she would let them choose their own fate, even if it meant watching everything burn.
Because if there was one thing the Morrigan's forced enlightenment had taught her, it was that knowledge—terrible, unwanted knowledge—was still better than blind ignorance.
Even when that knowledge felt like it was tearing her soul apart.
Even when that knowledge meant saying goodbye to the only man she had ever loved.
When they returned to the opera house, everyone was gathered in the main theater.
The space felt different now—charged with tension and the weight of approaching doom.
Abigail sat on the front lip of the center of the stage.
Nos and Ibin sat in the front row, their expressions grim.
Bitty hovered near Lysander, who was pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his tail swishing with nervous energy.
All conversation stopped when Ava and Serrik entered.
“Well?” Abigail's voice carried across the theater. “What did you learn?”
Yeah. The Queen already knew. Ava would bet dollars to donuts that the Morrigan had shown Abigail the same fucking thing. Maybe just not so dramatically. But Abigail probably hadn’t cussed her out, so…y’know. There was that.
Ava walked slowly down the aisle, Book clutched to her chest. Every step felt like walking to her own execution. When she reached the stage, she climbed the steps and stood facing the others, feeling the weight of their expectations pressing down on her.
Nos groaned. “Not that thing again.”
“I can separate the worlds now.” Ava’s jaw ticked. “I know how.”
Relief flickered across several faces, but Ava held up a hand before anyone could speak. “But the price is expensive. And it isn’t just mine to pay.” She swallowed hard. “Or Abigail’s.”
She opened Book, its pages now filled with diagrams and text that seemed to writhe with their own life.
The knowledge burned in her mind as she began to explain.
“Three anchorpoints. One for each reality. Alex for Tir n'Aill, Abigail for the Web, and me for Earth.” She did her best to keep her voice steady, trying to mirror Serrik’s coldness as if she were reading from a textbook rather than describing the end of their lives.
“We become the living foundations that hold the worlds apart.”
“That doesn't sound so terrible,” Bitty said hopefully. “Like—like guardians, right?”
Ava's heart broke a little at the hope in the tiny Seelie’s voice. “Not guardians, Bitty. Anchors. We don't guard the worlds—we become part of them. Permanently.”
She looked directly at Abigail as she continued.
“The process is gradual. Over months, then years, then centuries, we’d…
lose pieces of ourselves. Our memories would fade.
Our personalities will dissolve. Our sentience will bleed away until there's nothing left but our function. We’ll become forces without thought or feeling.
Alex will become the eternal forest, her consciousness scattered among every tree and root until there's no ‘Alex’ left to remember what it was like to be ‘Alex.’ Abigail will become part of the prison of the Web itself, her essence woven into its structure until she's nothing more than the space between dreams.”
Abigail's face had gone pale, but she nodded slowly. “And you?”