54. The Final Battle
THE FINAL BATTLE
TALIA
Every faerie story ends the same. The villain faces justice. The hero is rewarded. We repeat these stories because we need a world that makes sense, even if it’s fiction. Especially then.
Talia was living out a faerie story. That was all she could think about as she scanned the ruined chamber and watched Elanwei emerge from the rubble. It was time for the final battle. At the end of the epic quest, the small band of heroes faced off against the monster.
All ten pillars had cracked, jutting from the floor like jagged teeth. Smoke curled. Bits of plaster crashed from the ceiling. The stage was perfectly set.
At her right stood Riven, her fae protector, blades drawn. To her left, Dawn had transformed into a real-life dragon. And here Talia was, the scholar caught in the middle of the fantasy she’d spent her life studying.
The thrill was tempered by the void at her shoulder. Lore had stood just behind her in every fight that mattered. He might have been dangerous and manipulative, but his support had steadied her, lending her more strength than she realized.
And Holloway—gods, Holloway. She didn’t want to think about him, but she couldn’t stop. The look in his eyes as white flame overtook him had shattered her heart.
Why did they betray her? And what was she supposed to do without them?
The rustle of silk pulled her focus. Elanwei stepped forward, a magic blade cradled in her hands. Her steps were slow and deliberate. The hum of her weapon filled the chamber.
“I bet you hate that,” Elanwei said, her gaze cutting to Dawn. “Being the kind of monster you spent centuries hunting. A little hypocritical, don’t you think, monster slayer?”
Dawn hissed, and Talia couldn’t get over the fact that she was a dragon.
Elanwei smiled faintly. “You could have stayed,” she went on. “She could have gone free if you had joined me instead. But you ran. Now you come back just to end her life? Some mate you are.”
She swished her sword idly in broad arcs as she closed the distance. Her smirk widened.
“And you.” She turned to Riven, her tone going soft and poisonous. “You know what I realized, oathbreaker? Centuries too late, but I got there. Betraying me was the most interesting thing you’ve ever done. You’re boring.”
Her gaze slid to Talia, gleaming with malice. “Are you not bored yet, darling? The broody protector act gets old. Trust me.”
Heat flared across Talia’s cheeks. This wasn’t how she’d pictured this moment. She glanced at Riven. He grimaced but said nothing.
Elanwei raised her blade. Light bled down its edge, painting the cracked marble with jagged shadows. “That annoying little priest did his job well. The three of you have all the power I need, I just need to get you into your collars.”
Talia’s pulse surged in her ears. Riven shifted his weight, coiled to move. Dawn crouched low, wings mantling wide. The tableau felt timeless, like a tapestry in her grandmother’s hall. The hero, the dragon, the villain. Ready for the final clash.
Elanwei lunged, blade raised—
—and the dragon moved first.
Dawn was breathtaking. Scales shimmered pink and violet, every plate refracting the light. Her fangs curved past her lips as she tipped her head to the side, waiting, almost playful.
Every story Talia had studied culminated in a balanced confrontation. Good versus evil, the past versus the future. This fight didn’t go quite that way.
Dawn’s jaws snapped shut on Elanwei’s shoulder with a sickening crunch, shredding silk and flesh.
The sound echoed wetly. Elanwei screamed, eyes wide, arms flailing as blood sprayed across marble.
She was still alive when Dawn wrenched sideways and bit down again, cracking her spine in her jaws.
Talia flinched back, too shocked to scream.
The dragon lifted her head with a violent jerk, the princess’s body dangling like a rag doll.
Then, with predator’s ease, she snapped her neck back.
The corpse slid down her throat in one smooth motion.
Muscles rippled along her neck as she swallowed, and she spat a ragged scrap of fabric onto the floor.
It was so suddenly quiet, Talia could hear her own breathing.
Blood dripped. A piece of silk floated to the ground. Elanwei’s silver circlet rolled and came to rest with a hollow clink, her abandoned sword guttering out beside it. Talia stared. Her mind couldn’t reconcile what she’d just seen.
Riven exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck, Dawn. You can’t just eat people.”
Dawn’s tongue flicked across her teeth, catching a smear of red. “It shut her up, though.” The reptilian voice echoed through the chamber, deep and rasping, but with Dawn’s familiar lilt.
The absurdity and horror cracked something in Talia. A laugh burst out before she could stop it, ringing off blood-spattered marble. The faerie-story illusion was shattered—no speeches, no duel, no epic victory. Just the crunch of bone and a self-satisfied dragon licking her teeth.
Maybe that was the point. Dawn had never cared about prophecies or patterns. She’d always made her own way. She didn’t even read; of course, she improvised the endings. What would that feel like?
Talia had spent her entire life twisting herself to fit expectations. To play a role. She suddenly, desperately, wanted what Dawn had. To write her own story.
The chamber was quiet. No army of fluxborn rushed in. No more walls collapsed. When they cracked the door open, the halls beyond were coated in a thick layer of dust and ash. Elanwei’s illusion had shattered.
Dawn’s scales shimmered, her bones folded inward, and in a rush of light she looked human again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She was maddeningly pleased with herself, bouncing on the balls of her bare feet.
“Well.” She grinned, manic and bright. “We won. The bad guys are gone. Who wants to raid the castle?”
“Baths,” Riven muttered. “Food. Beds. In that order.”
Talia’s gaze drifted to the place where Lore and Holloway had been standing when the flames consumed them. There was nothing there. Not ash, not scorch marks. Just empty stone. She’d seen Holloway’s despair in the courtyard earlier. She should have done more for him, but it was too late now.
Were they dead? Transformed? Ascended to godhood like Lore had craved? She didn’t know, and maybe she never would.