Chapter 51
Chapter
Fifty-One
My steps were calculated, quick. I was in a rush, and there was little time to wait.
The threat of urgency that swelled in my chest was one I was familiar with, yet it felt entirely foreign to me. I was in a part of the palace I didn’t recognize. Where the walls had been made to emulate the sea in other parts of the palace, here, everything looked void of life.
My steps echoed against a floor that appeared to be made of a silverish gray substance, one that I had never seen before. The sounds that radiated from it were eager, impatient, as if it too grew tired of how long this march truly was.
The walls and ceiling were lined with indents, carved, but with what I remained unsure. A cool breeze blew in from the cutouts where the windows should have been. But there was no glass, only hollowed out niches.
Where am I?
My hand jetted out, running itself along it. Except, it didn’t appear to be my hand at all. The arm and hand were long, slender, the nails painted a deep orange.
Slowing, I approached two doors that were guarded by two sentries. Each with a spear, but where its tip should have been, darkness swirled.
“Move aside,” I said in a voice that wasn’t my own. There was no push back, no argument. The two men simply bowed before moving aside.
The doors flew open on a phantom wind, and behind them stood a throne room.
It was the largest single room I had ever seen. Both sides were open to the elements. No windows to see from, only niches similar to that of the hallway. Where the ceiling should have been, there was only darkness, cackling sounds, a storm was brewing.
My pace was slower, measured. I was where I was meant to be… at least, part of me was.
At the very back of the room on an elevated dais, there sat a throne. Made of deep purples, blacks, grays, continually going in and out of focus. As if I was only allowed to look upon it for seconds at a time. With each step closer, it flickered more and more into focus.
At its base, smoke and mist swirled together, blinding and choking if one got too close.
“It took you long enough to get here.”
Pausing my stride, I stopped to look at my hand, as if I had all the time in the world. The orange of my nails pulsed as if alive. Extending each of my fingers and releasing a slow exhale, I replied, “I came as soon as I received your message.”
My voice was not my own, and I could sense that as much as I was bound to say those things, I didn’t feel them. Not truly. Obligation, loyalty, the feelings were there, but they were buried deep below a sense of rage, entitlement, pain.
“Did you look into the sky this evening?” A voice as cold as ice, yet warm as the sun on the hottest day of summer, boomed from the throne, yet I saw no one.
Clasping my hands behind my back, I resumed my steps forward. Each intentional, slower, as if I knew not to make any sudden movements. This was a hunt, and as much as I wanted to be in control, I knew I was the prey.
I knew I had looked up to the sky that night. I had seen what lay there, and I knew its significance. They had found each other. We had found each other.
“It won’t be long now.”
The voice rang out, fractured and fleeting, slipping in and out of the air like a whispered command carried on an unsteady breeze. It was neither loud nor soft, neither deep nor high—it simply was, a sound that existed outside the boundaries of certainty.
On the throne, the figure shifted. Not in the way a person might adjust themselves, but in a way that defied reason.
Their body unraveled and rewove itself in an endless, seamless cycle, flickering from one identity to another, never settling.
One moment, a woman with silver-threaded hair and deep-set eyes gazed down, her expression unreadable.
The next, a man with broad shoulders and an ageless face took her place, only for a child, no older than ten, to emerge in a breath, their bare feet barely touching the floor.
Their skin darkened, then paled, features reshaping, morphing between the sharp angles of a warrior and the soft curves of a scholar.
It was as though no singular form could contain them—no gender, no age, no race could define them.
They were all things at once, slipping through shapes like water through open fingers.
And yet, the weight of their presence was inescapable, pressing down on the room like a truth too vast to comprehend.
“Go get the others,” they said again, their voice echoing with the remnants of every shape they had been and every shape they would become.
Despite every instinct in my body telling me to fight, urging me on, screaming as though the fibers of my body, my soul were burning alive, I bowed in supplication before raising and turning on my heels. Making my way towards the exit.
I hadn’t seen them on the way in, but now, with each step closer to the exit, the mirrors lining the far wall revealed what had been done to me.
My hair, once familiar, was now a cascading storm of deep, curling hues—the colors of the mountains of Hadash.
My eyes, no longer my own, gleamed like molten gold, the exact shade of the sun slipping behind the peaks of the Eternal Court.
An illusion, a corruption, or something worse—I didn’t know.
But the unfamiliar reflection coiled unease around my ribs.
“One final thing before you go.”
The voice slithered through my thoughts, coiling around them like a vice, yanking me back from the horror of my altered form. The command struck before I could brace for it.
“I want Fury brought to me.”
The words hit like iron, and before I could think, I let them slip—too fast, too sharp, too defiant.
“I have no idea where that bitch is,” I spat, reckless, foolish.
The moment the words left my lips, agony took hold.
An unseen force gripped me with more power than anything I had ever encountered—crushing, suffocating.
My knees slammed into the floor, my hands wrenched behind my back.
The stone was ice against my cheek, every breath harder to take than the last. I could do nothing but listen as footsteps—slow, unhurried—echoed in the cavernous space.
Each one deliberate. Each one, a reminder of my helplessness.
Run. Run. Run.
My instincts screamed, but my body betrayed me, held in place by something far greater than fear.
And then—closer. A presence loomed, its breath skimming the back of my neck, seeping into me like poison, like decay, unraveling every tether to joy or warmth.
I was hollowed out in its wake, left as nothing but a vessel, an empty husk stripped of everything that made me, me.
“You will do as I ask.”
The voice was neither cruel nor kind. It simply was—absolute, inescapable.
“I will not remind you again.”
I wanted to look. To see the thing that had the power to do this to me. But before I could lift my head, the weight of its hold shattered. I gasped, hands clawing at my throat as I stumbled back onto my heels. I’m still alive. Still alive. But the voice still echoed inside me. Not my own.
I rose unsteadily, gripping the handle of the massive doors.
“Giaxia,” it called out, voice smooth, knowing. “You will not disappoint me again.”
Ice threaded through my veins, and I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palm. Steady. Breathe. I forced my shoulders back, swallowing the acrid taste of my own helplessness.
“I will return with her soon.”
I didn’t wait for permission to leave. Couldn’t stomach another second in their presence.
The doors groaned as I wrenched them open and slipped through, sealing the horrors behind me. The two sentinels stood motionless outside—watching, waiting, as if they hadn’t heard a single thing.
But I had no use for obstacles. Not anymore.
A flick of my wrist, a whisper of power—stalagmites burst from the ground, piercing through them before they could react. They slumped, lifeless.
I rolled back my shoulders as I marched my way down the corridor that had once been my home, and was now my prison.
Dusk and Dawn had been reunited. And Fury had been summoned. The days of peace were over.
The final war had begun.