In the days to follow, life on the island changed in ways both small and large.

The Chantry was no more. Their leadership was dead, their Chosen One had been vanquished, their Well had been destroyed, and the foundation upon which their religion was built had been demolished. The organization dissolved, and it was up to us to pick up the pieces.

The Chantry had caused our world great harm, but most of the people working for it had just wanted to help. Chantry warriors had kept people safe from raiders, after all. That had nothing to do with prophecy. So Gavin and Merill rounded up everyone who was willing to set aside the past and created a new order. Guardians dedicated to serving the people, bound to no higher authority than community and conscience.

They invited me to join, and Mal, but we declined.

The capital city was now free of ghosts, and Mal could still open the portal to it, but we left it alone. It was a relic from a different time, one that didn’t need to be revived. We had the island. The capital had been built for an empire, and the day of empire was past.

In our own halls, the Ossuary was now gray and empty. The ancestors, gone. The Council they elected, gone. For the first time, we had to face the prospect of true self-governance: not guided by ghosts, but by our own moral compasses and the beliefs of the living. It wouldn’t be easy, but we were adaptable. We could create a democracy that would last, one that might learn from the mistakes of empires and republics past.

Mal and Sam returned to life as it was before: a quaint cottage, a quiet existence, finding satisfaction in the little things. With time, the scars of battle would heal, and they could let fade the trauma they’d suffered at Gwyn’s hands. We could all let it fade, though I resolved to never forget.

As for me?

I went on a date.

When I returned to the Council’s stronghold, I was met by the dead.

Bloodied, broken corpses posed in macabre artistry. Twisted limbs, contorted faces, and caved-in rib cages. Meat and sinew and marrow splintered and scattered with gruesome playfulness. On the far wall, she had used someone’s blood to draw a smile.

Amid flayed skin and scarred bone, I saw faces that had once known names. Erin. Alex. Jamie. Broken like a child’s toys and left mangled as some sickening territory marker.

Gwyn.

Bile rose in my throat and I couldn’t stop it from dribbling out. I retched, and another stain marred the stronghold halls. I held one hand against the nearest wall for support.

Have to keep going. Have to end this.

I kept going. I wanted to run, to sprint past the carnage and close my eyes to it, but I was still too weak and weary. I walked and stumbled my way up through the stronghold, towards the Council. A body here, a ruin there. Death. It was so much more vivid when I knew the name of each corpse.

I slid the lantern shard into my pocket as I moved, wanting to keep it hidden from view. Gwyn couldn’t know I had it until I buried it in her throat.

I turned another corner, only a few more hallways to the Council, and I saw Morgan.

He was dead, but he didn’t look like the others. No skin was flayed, no bones were twisted, no flesh was toyed with. He just lay there with glassy eyes and a slit throat. On the ground next to him were two vials of Well water, both stoppered and full.

I stared at them, trying to make sense of the scene. Had Morgan kept a secret stash all this time? Or had Gwyn brought those vials with her and abandoned them? Did she give Morgan an easy death out of pity, or debt, or disdain?

I closed my eyes and breathed out. It didn’t matter.

I crushed the vials beneath my boot and let the waters of prophecy soak into the wooden floor. No more fate.

The stronghold was cold, and bleak, and in the distance I heard screams. Fainter, louder, shrieking. Suffering. Etched into every stone, seared into my memory.

There: the Council. The doors to their chamber were blown open, their thrones were cracked, and the three Council members cowered in terror beneath the wrath of the Betrayer.

Their masks were discarded, and for the first time I saw their faces. They were much more mundane than I expected. They looked just like people. Normal, vulnerable, terrified. They were bleeding and bruised.

Gwyn laughed coldly and waved her hand, sending a shockwave that threw all three to one side. I heard the cracking of bone and more screams, and I watched helplessly, paralyzed.

“You are pathetic. You are worthless. You are unfit to rule, and I should have done this a long time ago.” Malice dripped from her every word. “You can’t even fight back. You’re like mice, and I’m a hurricane.”

Capra’s voice was desperate and broken. “Please! Please, Gwyn, have mercy. You don’t have to do this.”

The Betrayer cocked her head. “But, I want to. I want to make you hurt. It’s a little something called revenge.”

Lupa croaked, “I took no action against you, I stood by you when you sought-”

Gwyn clenched her fist and Lupa started choking. “You took an opportunity, and then another, and then another. You’re a worm. A carrion bird. Don’t pretend you were ever on my side.”

She looked away from Lupa and curled her fingers at Ibis. Inky tendrils lashed out at the third Councilor and dragged her to Gwyn’s feet, where she lay and glared.

“And you, Ibis? You fought me at every turn. I’m eager to hear you beg. If it’s entertaining enough, I might let you live as my jester.”

Ibis spat, “Fuck you.”

Gwyn laughed, and her laughter rose higher and higher and more manic, and then she reached out and snapped Ibis’s neck. “Good answer.”

“Ibis!” The cry slipped from my lips before I could stop it, and I panicked. I threw myself behind the wreck of the chamber doors and hoped to escape Gwyn’s notice.

My hope was vain. “Was that a pretty little bird I heard, I heard? My, you’re quite the consistent creature, aren’t you?” Her voice, slithering and melodious, scraped against my skin.

I heard two more snaps, and the thuds of bodies hitting stone. I closed my eyes and choked back tears. Dead. Dead. Everyone’s dead.

“Come out, fair pet. I insist.”

Power in her voice, magic I could feel, so subtle but there, very much there. I lurched out from behind cover and stumbled into the Council chamber. I was breathing too fast and my pulse was too quick and my eyes were wide like coins.

Gwyn smiled at me, and touched my cheek, and her fingers were so wonderfully cold. Numbness spreading through me from the point of contact, relaxing me, stilling me. Her magic wrapping around me and sealing me in.

She kept smiling, and there was desire in her eyes. “Well now. Such courage to venture here alone and unarmed. You have a spine, precious. Perhaps I was too… dismissive. You might just make a lovely handmaiden, don’t you think? My herald, my champion, my breath of life.”

I couldn’t move, I could barely think. She was just there, and that eclipsed everything. She kept touching my face, and my hands, and every touch scattered my thoughts before they could form to fight off her infection.

“I’m going to kill everything, you see, and I might become very lonely. Nobody to worship me. Nobody to admire me as I burn worlds and devour the dead. I’m a social creature, and desperately vain. I need someone to keep me sane after I’ve scoured the cosmos of life. Can you do that? Can you entertain me?”

Her will, invading me. Her mind, trying to consume mine, trying to bend me to her wants. A command, insistent, pervading: say yes say yes say yes say yes.

I could see the dream she was crafting, the vision she wanted me to believe in. I could see a path to walk, an easy road. I would do everything she told me, and tell her how amazing she was, and she would let me live while she butchered everyone else. I would be happy, and numb, and alive.

In that moment, my hatred for Gwyneth doubled.

“Go fuck yourself, you arrogant bastard.”

I went to reach for the shard, but the moment I started talking she shoved me backwards and a wave of force sent me slamming into the nearest wall. I gasped and slumped against it, my whole body aching and the wind knocked out of me.

Gwyn started stalking towards me, her face contorted into an ugly, spiteful scowl. “I give you every chance, and this is how you repay me? This is how you treat me? You worthless, pitiful, disgusting wretch!”

She clenched her fists and seethed, but then she breathed out and smiled tightly.

“Enough posturing. I’ll figure out what to do with you after I become a god, okay? Okay, great.”

The Betrayer turned away from me, looked up at the Ossuary, and reached for it.

The Ossuary glowed brighter and faint tendrils of sparkling energy began to drift towards Gwyn’s outstretched hand. Greed, lust, and hatred flashed across her face, her eyes gleaming with spite and hunger in equal measure.

That’s when Vesta showed her face. The ancestor spirit materialized beneath the Ossuary in a flash of light. She crossed her arms and shook her head. “I suppose this was inevitable from the moment you walked into this chamber hungry for authority. Should I have given it to you, Gwyneth? Would the title of Chosen have sated your desires?”

Gwyn laughed, and her focus shifted. The flow of magic from the Ossuary slowed. “Of course not. You were right about me. I would have turned the Chantry into an army and destroyed this island from the inside. It’s in my nature. But exiling me? That was your truest mistake. Now, I’ll just destroy it from the outside, and everyone will die just the same.”

Vesta nodded. “We should have executed you. My resolve was weak, softened by age. I will not make that mistake again.” She pointed at Gwyn and from the Ossuary sprang a half dozen ghostly warriors. “Kill her.”

Gwyn grinned with manic glee and cackled as the ancestor guardians advanced on her.

They moved as a unit, shields raised and weapons ready, but at the last second Gwen vanished into a cloud of black mist and reappeared behind them. She shoved her hand into the back of one warrior and ripped out his heart in a single motion. She took a bite out of the glowing heart, tossed aside the remains, and licked her lips as she kicked the warrior’s disintegrating body out of her way.

The ghosts tried to get back in formation but Gwyn clenched a fist and dark tendrils flew out to strangulate three of them, lifting them into the air, constricting them, and then throwing them away. The other two charged and she glided around their attacks, giggling and making unnecessary flourishes. There was a moment where they were separate from each other and she leapt into action. She lunged for the nearest warrior and bit down on his neck, sinking in her teeth before tossing her head back and ripping out a chunk of spectral flesh.

She slurped down her stolen magic and breathed in the last of that warrior’s power, then shunted it outward at his partner in a bolt of darkness that tore through the other ghost’s form and tore it to shreds. There wasn’t a scratch on her, and she looked exhilarated by combat.

More ghostly warriors emerged from the Ossuary and engaged her, but I could see already that it was futile. They would slow her down, but they would break long before they could wear her down. She was engorged with magic and knew dark spells that Vesta had never heard of.

They would fall, and she would claim her prize, and Gwyneth would devour everything. I had to act. One chance. The fate of the universe decided on a coin flip. It was crazy enough I almost laughed.

I stumbled to my feet, gripped the lantern shard tightly, and sprinted at Gwyn. She was too distracted killing ghosts to see me coming until I was right in front of her. She frowned, her eyes flitted to my clenched hand, and then I plunged the shard into her throat.

Gwyn’s eyes went wide and she clawed at her neck frantically. All traces of the cold, brutal overlord were gone, replaced by a little girl scared to die. I pulled the makeshift knife out and stabbed her again, and again, and again again again again-

A hand on my throat, tightening. Her eyes, burning red. Her throat, bloody and mangled. She moved her lips and only strained sounds emerged. My vision was going blurry. The shard wasn’t in my hand anymore. I was dying.

Blue light surged and wrapped around us. A thousand grasping hands pulled Gwyn away from me and I fell to the ground with a meaty thump. I think something cracked.

Vesta, looking down at me, crouching to look me in the eyes. “Caligula and Nero: are they dead?”

Weakly, I nodded.

She smiled, and it wasn’t sad. “Then this is goodbye. Take care of them, will you? They should not have to carry the sins of the past.”

Vesta walked towards Gwyn. The vampire was bleeding black mist into the air, dark tendrils lashing out to strike at the ghosts swirling around her. Her neck was still a gaping gash, but her expression was one of determination, and fury.

Vesta bowed her head, and she faded away until only a single point of light remained. All the other ghosts did the same, and then more points of light emerged from the Ossuary, pouring out of it by the hundreds. Gwyn threw off her restraints and backed away, clawed hands raised defensively.

The points of light flew towards her. She blasted a few, threw others aside, but they kept coming. The first few reached her and poured into her neck wound. Realization hit her, and she turned to run but now they were all on her, thousands of ghosts flowing into the entry point I had created.

Blue light pulsed beneath her pale skin and spread to her fingertips. Her skin cracked, and fractured, and the light was white-hot. There was a blinding flash, a single desolate scream, and then the room was dark, the Ossuary was dark, and Gwyneth was gone.

I laughed, and cried, and the world fell away from me.

Outside, a storm was raging. A maelstrom of black clouds and white lightning churned over the city. At its center, a column of light descended to the ground below. It radiated energy, and I could feel that tug getting stronger. In the distance, flickers of light and wisps of cold translucence were dragged into the maelstrom and devoured.

A storm of souls. Every ghost in the city was being swallowed whole by the Betrayer.

We ran. Pains and aches had to be ignored, cautions thrown to the wind. We had once chance to stop Gwyn, or everything died. I picked up speed, and they matched my pace.

We raced over dignified bridges and through empty streets and underneath crumbling arches. The column of light drew closer and closer until it was almost blinding, but it still felt like we were going too slowly, like we were still too far away.

That gentle tug became an insistent pull, and then a fierce grip that I had to fight with every step. I could see the others suffering it with me, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed. The soul storm was strong, but we had to be stronger.

With a final mighty push we advanced, fighting the maelstrom’s power as if a real storm of wind and rain was fighting our every step. Then, all at once, it lapsed. We had crossed into the eye.

At the center of the maelstrom, the column of light shone down on a wide courtyard. A familiar courtyard: where Gwyn gave her speech. On that same rickety platform, the Betrayer stood with arms outstretched and eyes closed, basking in the storm’s power. Her old clothes were gone, replaced by imperial armor and a black cape. I saw Nero’s bracer, and a gleaming ring, and other trinkets across her person.

When we entered the courtyard, her eyes opened and she smiled. “I’ve been expecting you. Come to throw yourselves at my mercy and beg to serve me?”

I didn’t dignify that with words.

“No? Well, I wouldn’t have accepted anyways. I have no need for slaves. Not with all this power.” She laughed, and the storm overhead roiled, clouds shaking and lightning flashing in time with her movement.

I drew my blade and pointed it at the Betrayer. “We killed Caligula. You’re next.”

Gwyn breathed in, and I could see little pieces of soul-stuff drawn in, fragments of ghosts being devoured. She shook her head at me and grinned. “Caligula was old and weak. Dying, like the rest of this world. I assure you, I will not be so easy an opponent. My feast of souls is nearly complete. This city is but a husk… which leaves only you five standing in my way.”

Behind me, the clink of weapons being drawn and raised.

The Betrayer laughed again, and the storm churned. In one fluid motion she drew a sword hilt from her belt and raised it to the sky. Where a blade would be, nothing. And then lightning surged from the sky and danced along an invisible length, and it transformed into a sword of obsidian energy, like a piece of the night forged into a weapon.

Gwyn flourished her black blade and let the point rest against the platform.

“Let the games begin.”

I lunged at her the moment she drew her weapon. She laughed at me and parried my strike with ease.

“Poor Duncan. Always second-best.” Her gaze flitted to Mal. “Third-best, actually.”

Gwyn kicked me in the stomach and I fell away from her, groaning and aching. Gwyn took a step towards Mal and her greaves shimmered and pulsed, and then she was standing right in front of Mal with sword raised. Teleportation.

Mal rolled away from Gwyn’s crushing blow and the black blade scraped against stone. Mal came at Gwyn from the side and slashed, but Gwyn was too quick and swords clashed again. An arrow flew towards Gwyn, but the Betrayer barely grunted when it hit and splintered against her armor.

Mal and Gwyn engaged in a brutal duel, a back-and-forth of cuts and parries. Gwyn swung her sword down, Mal rolled out the way. Mal lunged, Gwyn parried. They moved so quickly I could barely keep up, and for the first time I really truly understood the skill gap between us. I was a warrior, but those two were masters of the blade.

Gwyn taunted her opponent. “If you’ve come for a title you’re too late. Shouldn’t have run away in the first place.”

Mal growled. “You’re right. I should have killed you instead.”

The Betrayer smirked. “And how will you do that without a weapon?”

She step-teleported again, flanking Mal, and swung her sword. Mal couldn’t dodge, so she raised her weapon to block it, but Gwyn’s black blade glowed with power and when it met steel it unleashed a keening cry and Mal’s sword shattered into pieces. The tip of the blade cut into Mal’s arm and she cried out in pain.

Gwyn twirled her blade with one hand and with the other she shoved Mal to the ground. Mal tried to get up but Gwyn’s boot came slamming down on her chest, pinning her. I heard bone crack. Gwyn pointed her sword at Sam, then at me, then at the twins. “Come on then. Who’s next?”

Gavin and Merill fired. Two arrows crashed into Gwyn’s gut and sank deep. But Gwyn didn’t show pain, just fury. She grabbed the arrows and with an immense effort ripped them out, along with bloody chunks and torn cloth. She threw them to the ground and pressed her free hand to the wound. The ring on her finger glowed green and the wound sealed itself. Not cleanly, not without leaving a scar, but in seconds her flesh was whole and she moved unhindered. She kicked Mal aside and stalked towards the twins.

Her eyes were full of hate as clenched her fists. “That. Doesn’t. WORK!” She screamed the last word and thunder tore through the air. Everything seemed blurry and disjointed, the buildings around us starting to crack and twist and contort. The walls of reality were fracturing.

The soul storm churned, thicker and darker and wilder. I could hear the ghosts now, their helpless shrieks and pitiful cries and wailing laments. They were all being sacrificed, devoured by the Betrayer. In minutes, the whole city would breathe its last and die.

Gavin and Merill were shaken, but they put away their bows and drew weapons. An axe for Gavin, a hammer for Merill. They advanced.

Gwyn just sneered. She raised her hand and Nero’s bracer began to glow with violet energy. She commanded, “Kneel before your new god,” and a wave of power erupted from her, washing over the battlefield.

I felt her will crashing against mine, assailing me, knocking me back down after I’d only just managed to recover. Mal was pushed back, and Sam, but Gavin and Merill were hit the hardest. Gavin gritted his teeth and stood in place, eyes shut, while Merill fell to her knees and clutched her head, crying out in pain. I saw her nose start to bleed, and her whole body tense.

Gwyn’s magic slithered over me with ceaseless venom. Her words echoed in my head, threatening to drive out all other thoughts. I could feel her desires and urges invading me, consuming me, conquering me. The Betrayer demanded total obedience, and it took everything I had to shake off her glamour.

Not everyone fared so well. Mal was down, but holding herself up like me. Sam was woozy but standing. But Gavin and Merill had both gotten worse. Merill’s cries had stopped and she just knelt there, head down. Gavin’s eyes were glassy, but his grip on the axe was tight.

Blindly, furiously, he stumbled towards Gwyn and swung. She easily sidestepped his strike, then cracked his wrist with the pommel of her blade. He cried out and she kicked out his legs, then kicked him in the head to shut him up.

“Is that your best? All of you?” A dagger came flying and buried itself in Gwyn’s arm. With a pained grunt she ripped it out and threw it aside. The knife came skittering in my direction and I weakly pulled it close to me. “No, one left.”

Gwyn smirked at Sam and her greaves activated again. In a single step she was a breath away from Sam, black blade already swinging. Sam raised another knife to defend but Gwyn took a step forward and pushed Sam back. Sam was on the defensive, desperate, and outmatched. She tried to sweep her leg at Gwyn but the Betrayer moved quicker and tripped Sam while she was moving.

Sam went tumbling to the ground with a cry and backed away from Gwyn, clumsily scrambling to her feet and grabbing for anything to defend herself with. She snatched up the lantern and raised it just as Gwyn’s blade was coming down, and a second too late I realized the Betrayer’s real target in that duel.

The lantern shattered, pieces of strange metal scattering across the battlefield. The central core glowed, and dimmed until it was a faint-blue shard. Our chief weapon against the echoes and ghosts, gone.

Sam looked at the broken lantern in horror and Gwyn punched her in the face. Sam went down.

I met Mal’s gaze and pointed my knife at the sword that had fallen from my grip at the start of the fight. She nodded slowly, not knowing my plan but trusting me all the same.

Gwyn twirled her blade about and took the time to continue mocking us. “All of you combined couldn’t stop me. I wonder, would things have been different if you hadn’t been such cowards? Could you have killed me then, back on the island? Maybe not. You don’t have the will.”

I concealed the dagger and stood up. My body ached, but I knew the others had it worse. I started walking towards the Betrayer.

She saw me coming and smirked. “Aw, little birdie still chirping? Don’t worry, I’ll clip those wings for you.”

I kept walking.

Gwyn pointed her blade at me, then let it dip to the ground and tilted her head. “You know, I still don’t get you. You’re such a freak. First you try to be the good little bitch who does what she’s told, then you run away with me, and then you run away from me and go back to those idiots. Make up your mind, dummy.”

Closer. Within reach. Only one chance. Keep her talking. “Yeah. Don’t know what I saw in you.”

She flipped her hair dramatically. “Rude. I’m attractive, I’m ambitious, I’m murderous, I’m everything you could want in a girlfriend. If you were prettier or more interesting we might have made a good couple. Perhaps it’s for the best. Now… drop the knife.”

Gwyn pointed her free hand – the one with bracer and ring – at me and unleashed another pulse of glamour. This time it was worse, so much worse. The whole of her attention was upon me, the vastness of her spite crushing me. My hand shook, every muscle in my body wailing at me to drop the knife, drop the knife, drop-

I screamed and lunged. Gwyn’s fury. A slash, and blood. The clink of metal against stone as the ring rolled away. Gwyn’s hand was a gory mess.

She glared at me balefully, but still managed to sneer. Then a sword erupted from her chest, impaling her, and the color drained from her face. She gaped, and twitched, and stilled.

Mal and I both breathed a long sigh, letting out the tension. It was over. We won. Gwyn was dead.

Then her body started to twitch.

AS Gwyn’s corpse thrashed, she unraveled. Her skin peeling at the fingertips, bone splintering and turning inward, blood seeping up veins and towards her heart. The body that was Gwyn became undone, and from within her wretched husk emerged living shadows.

Strands of night and tendrils of inky black malice reached out from within and wrapped around her fracturing form. Her smile was black, her eyes were glassy orbs, and her lips tore and ripped until every sharp tooth was visible.

The monstrosity stepped towards me and slid off Mal’s sword as if it wasn’t there. The creature fell to the ground, convulsing and twitching and making sounds that were a pale imitation of laughter. The shadows enveloped it, consumed it. Every artifact – the greaves, the blade, the bracer – glowed, dimmed, blackened, cracked, shattered.

A pool of gleaming tar slurped its way to the central podium, to the eye of the storm where all the souls above gathered and wailed. The ghosts of the dead city bled into that black mirror and gave up their everything.

The soul storm stilled. The lightning stopped. There was a vast emptiness, and a pervading silence. Above, the dark clouds lightened, and then rain began to fall.

The well of shadows churned and twisted, and it rose. Inky liquid solidifying, taking on new shape and paler color. Flesh, but not quite flesh. Clothing, or maybe armor, or neither, made of glistening black substance. Too thin, too lanky, too sharp. Too many teeth. And her eyes… a red so bright they were painful to look into.

Gwyneth slicked back her oily hair and smiled with teeth. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. I assure you, I’m much more dangerous.”

I lunged at her with dagger raised but her body was smoke and tar. I passed right through her and stumbled as wisps of black mist clung to me. She felt like a ghost, but she wasn’t cold or numb. Her presence was rot and aching hunger.

Then her too-pale hand was gripping my upper arm and I gasped, a sharp exhalation of intense pain. Her grip was iron, steel, stronger. Her rot tore my skin and seeped into my flesh until my whole right arm felt like an inflamed infection.

She laughed in my face, and though she produced no breath she still exuded a corpse-gut stench that rankled my nose and buckled my knees.

“All the magic of a warlock and all the invulnerability of a ghost. Caligula dreamed of this moment, but it was not her destiny. The Waters showed me her demise and I shed no tears, for her purpose has been served.”

I tried to push her away or free my arm, but it was useless. She was untouchable. Gwyn grabbed my other hand and held my wrists together, binding me. She smirked.

“You are doomed. Your people will die. Your world will crumble. This is the end. Do you not see the futility of your struggle?”

I spat at her, but even that did nothing. The tension drained from me all at once. My arms went limp and I hung my head. I wasn’t good enough. Not strong enough, not powerful enough. I was nothing.

Gwyn stroked my hair and I shivered. “Chin up, pet. You tried your best. It just wasn’t worth anything.”

She released my wrists and stepped away from me, gesturing to my four companions.

“To you brave warriors I offer the slightest of mercies: your lives. In moments I will destroy everything you love and kill everyone you know, but I will not return to this broken city. There is food to be gathered here, and shelter. Remain, and you may live many decades before succumbing to your own mortal frailty. Follow me, and I will enjoy ripping out your entrails. The choice is yours, champions.”

Gwyn finished her speech and seemed to forget about us entirely. Without another glance she swept away, gliding over the ground, practically flying towards her distant destination: the Gate.

When she was gone, I couldn’t look at my friends. I just stared at my wrists. I stared at the marks she had left: inky stains on dried skin and little cuts slowly starting to bleed. I cried. I couldn’t help myself: I sank to my knees and buried my face in my hands.

Stupid. So stupid. So worthless. I deserved this. They didn’t. My fault. All my fault. Their blood on my hands. Drowning in it.

I want to die. Would she let me?

A clacking sound broke my haze. Metal on stone. I looked up and wiped away my tears to see Mal on her hands and knees, scavenging for something.

She was picking up pieces of twisted metal and tossing them aside with angry grunts. “No, no, not that one. Ugh!” Then she found a shard that glowed gently. “Aha!”

At first my voice refused to come out, but after a few tries I forced, “What is that?”

Mal glanced over her shoulder at me and clambered to her feet. “Gwyn broke the lantern, but not all of it. In the vault I saw her handiwork was sloppy. Same here. She should be draining them after damaging the vessel, but apparently that doesn’t even occur to her.”

I tried to keep up, but failed. “What… what are you doing? What are you going to do with that?”

She looked at me like I was dumb. Familiar feeling. “I’m going to kill her.”

I gawped and mouthed, but I was too exhausted to come up with anything clever. “We can’t.”

“Yes, we can. The lantern worked on ghosts, and what she is now is basically just a ghost with some extra powers. Get a good enough hit with this thing and you’ll do serious damage. I’m going to stick it in her throat.” Hatred burned in her eyes. Malice, vengeance, fury.

I coughed and hacked and tried to get to my feet, but my legs didn’t respond. “How? How do you know it will work?”

Mal clenched her fists and snapped at me, “We have to try something! She’s going to kill them! She almost killed us! Look at our friends.” She pointed to Gavin, unconscious, and Merill, catatonic, and Sam, groaning. “She hurt the people I care about. She will not get away with that.”

I shook my head. “We can’t win. Gwyn is too strong. We were doomed from the start. We should just give up and accept her mercy.”

“Give up? What is wrong with you?” She glared at me with withering scorn and started to stomp in my direction, but then she stopped. She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “Wait a second.”

I sighed and slowly rolled on my side, looking away from her. “What’s the point, Mal? I lost. I’m worthless. She beat me. She was always stronger.”

More stomping, a deep breath, and then her hands were on the collar of my shirt and she was pulling me to my feet so fast I almost choked. Her face was close to mine, and her breath smelled pleasant. She said, “Sorry about this.”

Then pain surged through my body and I yelped. Her magic gave me a few brief seconds of torturous agony, and then I felt a cloud lifting from me, a fog seeping out of my head. I realized all the things I’d just said and thought and they were disgusting.

I stared at her and she winced. “Sorry, Duncan. Quickest way.”

“What… was that?”

Mal scowled. “Parting gift from that bastard. She cast a spell on you: magically-induced despair. She’s a fucking creep, in addition to the whole genocide thing.”

I could feel lingering effects, whispers that clearly weren’t mine but had sounded like me just seconds ago. I tried my best to push them aside. “We need to kill her. Before she kills everyone.”

Mal nodded and cracked a grin. “Glad we’re on the same page. You with me?”

I looked past her and let my gaze sweep over the carnage. Three of our friends in critical condition. I eyed Mal. “One of us has to stay behind. You know that, right? They won’t survive without care, and we don’t have the time to do that before going after her.”

She knew. I could see it in her eyes. “You volunteering? You know a bit of first aid, right?”

I smiled sadly. “Help Sam. I’ll fix my mistake.”

I started walking away from her and she grabbed my arm. I winced and she let go, but her expression was intense. “Duncan. I need to know: are you doing this out of guilt, or because it’s the right thing to do?”

I laughed in the way that panicked people laugh. “Honestly? I don’t know. I just know I have to do this.”

There was a long pause, and then she nodded and placed the lantern shard in my hand. “Make it hurt.”

I said, “I will,” and ran through the city, following after the Betrayer.

Our descent through the palace was swift. Only a few echoes stood between us and the sealed door leading to the Well chamber. The earthen walls were constrictive and sharp, but familiar. I led my companions down through level after level, passing barricaded armories and lavish alcoves, until we reached the Well.

The doors were shattered, as expected. Mal pressed a hand to the door frame and nodded at me. “Gwyn.”

Inside was broken opulence and grandiose decay. The colored tiles were still bright and crisp, and the wall murals depicted scenes out of lost history, but the floor had been smashed by some great power, and the Waters of Prophecy had lost their opalescent glimmer.

I’d only ever seen the Well in drawings and Chantry sketches passed down from the founders. I could see the chamber as it had once been, glorious and gleaming. But the waters were murky and dark. Tiles around the edges of the pool were splintered, and through the murk I could see jutting shards of that same material on the bottom of the Well, exposing dirt and rock below.

I knelt by the edges of the Well and let the black waters pass between my fingers. I dared not drink from it.

Mal grimaced. “Inert. I can’t tell for how long, though.”

Gavin peered over the edge of the Well and frowned. “I can. Look at the Waters: they’re still absorbing into the earth and draining away. This was recent. Very recent. In a day this pool will be empty.”

Merill shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why would Gwyn destroy the Well? Why waste something she spent so much effort to get?”

I stood up. “Maybe she didn’t like what she saw. Doesn’t matter now. Prophecy has caused us enough trouble. We keep moving. We continue the hunt.”

“Where? What else could she want in the city?”

I let out a strained breath and dug through my memories of our time in the city. Of everything Gwyn had focused on. Everything she cared about. “Nero. The dead emperor. He humiliated her. Sometimes it almost felt like Gwyn cared more about getting revenge on Nero than reaching the Well. That’s where she would have gone next.”

We all spared one final moment to watch the Waters of Prophecy drain away, and then we began the climb up through the palace.

Going up, the palace halls were abandoned. No more echoes haunted them, and all the figures I’d seen in my previous trip were gone. Devoured, most likely.

Without even ghostly inhabitants, the palace began to truly resemble the shell it was, the specter of a dead empire. This place was a ruin, a wreck. There were tattered banners, and withering corpses, and there was silence.

The twin doors of the throne room were closed and intact, unlike most of the palace. I pushed them open without ceremony and stepped into Nero’s court.

All the dancers and guards and courtiers were gone. Every remnant of nobility had vanished. Every shadow of imperial glory, consumed. Only one figure remained: Nero, slumped on his throne, overlapping his rotted corpse.

“Ah,” he said, “guests. Are you here to finish me off? I’m afraid I won’t be much of a fight without my guards.” His voice wasn’t dreamy and distant, but rather tired and broken. He looked more whole than Strix, as if Gwyn had simply ignored him in her conquest of the palace.

I started walking towards him. “You look well. Relatively, at least. Seems Valerian took care of your sycophants for you.”

“Oh yes, she made short work of my court. Lapdogs, all of them. They were no match for the warlock and her teacher.”

I stopped. “Teacher? So Caligula is with her?”

Nero let out a long sigh and glared at me. “Why are you here? What do you want? I am defeated. My empire has been taken from me. Everything I did was for nothing. Let an old man wither away in peace.”

I laughed with disbelief. “Everything you did? You killed your own people! You massacred this world because you were afraid of losing power. You don’t deserve peace. Everything that has happened is your fault.”

“Yes… it is my fault. My fault for letting your degenerate progenitors survive. For letting them run away from their problems. My fault for not executing those rebels while they were within reach. If only I had killed your ancestors, I could still be ruling my city.”

I curled my lip in disgust. “You’re a monster and a murderer. But if you tell me where Valerian went, maybe I’ll grant you a quick death.”

Nero stared at me with undisguised hatred, but his resolve wavered. He rose from his seat with a creaking groan. “She stole something from me. A magical bracer. It’s part of their plan, gathering artifacts. Using them for a very dangerous ritual. The Vault. The Vault is where you will find her. Hurry and you might catch her.”

“Thank you. I know you don’t care, but you did the right thing. You may have even saved lives.”

He sneered. “Just finish me. I hope the warlock kills you all.”

I gave Mal an affirmative nod and her blade cleaved through the emperor’s ghost.

The vault was in another wing of the palace, but it wasn’t difficult to reach. Again and again, each hall we entered was barren and still.

We passed locked gates and sealed entryways that had been blasted and hacked to pieces by our quarry. Every obstacle had been torn down with callous brutality, left in scattered piles as a mark of her passing. We picked our way through wood chips and stone shards, drawing closer and closer to the vault.

The vault’s door, too, was shattered. We entered cautiously, watching for any sign of danger.

The vault was made of similar materials as the Well chamber: brass and tile and ornate sculpting. This room seemed more artificial though, reinforced with iron where the Well relied on natural stone. There were shelves and cubbyholes everywhere, and in a weird way it reminded me of the Council armory.

It was also trashed. We ventured into the vault and spread out. Mal picked up a twisted bit of metal and tossed it over to me. It looked like it was supposed to be a flower. I gave Mal a questioning glance.

“Magic. Or it was. Gwyn broke it.”

There were other bits and pieces of scrap and junk lying about, all in similar states of vandalism. One by one, Mal confirmed each of them to be a recently-inert artifact.

I kneaded my forehead and tried to figure out her plan. “Why? Why destroy a bunch of artifacts?”

Merill shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t want us getting them? These don’t look like enough items to fill all the shelves.”

Gavin nodded. “So she took what she needed, then wrecked the place to keep us from figuring out the details, or from arming ourselves?”

I sighed. “Maybe. But it means we’re too late, again. And this time we don’t have any clue where she’s going next.”

A cold, slithering voice interrupted us. “All for the best, little children.” A spectral figure darted from behind a corner, an imposing woman wearing ornate armor decorated with skulls. She threw up her hands and cackled as green lightning crackled towards us.

Caligula.

We scattered, dodging away from her attack and drawing our weapons. I ended up closest and she lunged for me with outstretched hands and a manic grin. I sliced at her, but the lantern was too far away for my strikes to have substance.

Caligula pressed against me, her hands wrapping around my throat, the cold seeping in. More green energy started to crackle and flicker around her fingertips, burning my skin. Everything was going blurry, cold lethargy and searing emptiness taking away my ability to fight back.

Then lantern-light fell over us and I could feel her weight, could feel Caligula’s physical presence. I struggled against her but her grip was too strong, so I extricated one arm and gave her a right hook to the face.

I heard something crack, and with a snarling grunt Caligula rolled away from me. On her hands and knees she shuddered, and that cracking sound played again, but this time in reverse. She looked up and already her nose was setting itself. Her vicious gaze swept away from me and settled on Sam holding the lantern.

“Suffer.” Caligula pointed and emerald magic tore into Sam, wrapping around her and biting into her flesh. Sam screamed and dropped the lantern, which skittered across the floor. She wheezed and coughed as she slumped against the ground, breathing heavily.

Mal’s face contorted and she shrieked. Mal lunged across the room, scooped up the lantern, and swung her sword down in a crushing blow aimed straight at Caligula’s smug face. The warlock caught the blade with her hand, steel sinking into ethereal flesh. Mal struggled and pushed, but Caligula was unmoved.

The warlock taunted us. “Is this your best, heroes? I have feasted on this city’s filth. I have taught my apprentice how to gorge on the spirits of the weak. Now you five think to challenge a lord of the dark arts? Naive fools.”

Caligula shoved against Mal’s blade and sent her stumbling back. The warlock rose to her feet, the cut on her hand already healing. “I am Caligula. I am the grand warlock. You cannot hope to defeat me.” Emerald power writhed in her hands, ready to be unleashed.

Two arrows flew at the warlock and slammed into her shoulder with a meaty thunk. She snarled, but simply tore them out and threw them to the ground. Again, the wound healed. Gavin and Merill nocked another arrow each.

This wasn’t working. Caligula was too powerful and too well-fed. I wasn’t sure even a lethal blow would be able to kill her. She’d died once already, after all. I needed a different strategy.

My eye caught something on the ground, and a plan sprung to mind. I shouted to Gavin and Merill, “Keep firing! Pin her down!” and dove across the armory floor.

Caligula threw lightning at me, but her aim was off by inches. I scrambled to my feet next to Mal and took cover behind a row of shelves. Mal looked at me questioningly and I showed her what was in my hands: a dull blue crystal.

“Is this what I think it is?” I asked.

Mal closed her eyes and concentrated, then opened them and nodded. “Yeah. Just like back home.”

“Any idea how I use it?”

“Um… only guesses. Best odds? Supercharge it with as much sorcery as you can give.”

As good as I was going to get. I poked my head out from behind the shelving and saw a grim battle. Gavin and Merill were being slowly forced back by the warlock, who looked barely scratched by all their efforts. She taunted them and cackled as she drew closer and closer.

I took a breath to steady my nerves, clutched the Ossuary tightly, and ran towards Caligula.

She saw me coming and sneered. “Bold new strategy. It won’t work.” She sent a final blast at the twins, forcing them to take cover, then turned her full attention to me. “This moment has been a long time coming. Even now, my apprentice draws power.”

In the distance, a peal of thunder. A stirring, something pulling on me, but weakly, as if far away.

“Valerian has learned well. She has everything she needs. She can do what I could not, and then this world and all worlds will burn. There will be no more empires. No more emperors. No more slaves. Just ash.”

Gwyn. We were too late. I shoved those thoughts away; time for that later. First, Caligula. I needed magic. All of my magic.

There was a well of power inside me, a font of vicious, angry, hateful energy. It was a power I had nurtured, slowly and with much disgust, because I thought I needed it. Because Gwyn could use it, and I had to match her, had to at least compete. Had to compare myself to her, constantly.

She betrayed me. She betrayed us all. She would kill everyone I loved if I let her. If I let her, because this was my fault. My mistakes. My ego, my crush, my stupidity. My fault. My fault. My fault.

Gwyn needed to die. Her teacher needed to die. This whole wretched, dead, hellish empire needed to die. And I would be the one to kill its last gasp.

I poured every drop of anger I had into that well, and I took all that power and magic and I thrust it into the Ossuary. I felt a snap, a crack, and I felt my magic die. All used up, forever.

Red light surged into the crystal in my hands, and Caligula’s smug expression vanished.

“No. I do not accept this. I will not fall like this.” Crimson tendrils lashed out at her and wrapped around her limbs, binding her, dragging her in. “I am the dark lord. I am the grand warlock.” Her own power crackled and fizzled against red ribbons, useless. “You are a worm! You are nothing!”

“Stop talking.”

And with a final defiant scream, Caligula was gone. The crystal in my hands pulsed once, and then fell to pieces and cracked against the armory floor.

I swept my gaze around the room and took in the chaos. We may have won, but it was close, and we were all hurting. Mal was by Sam’s side, pulling her up, while Gavin and Merill recovered as many arrows as they could.

“We have to move. Whatever Gwyn’s just started, maybe we still have time to stop it. Are you with me?”

One by one, they nodded through the pain. Together we left the palace behind.

We assembled in the portal chamber. It was the first time that most of them had seen the Gate, and their reactions varied.

Gavin and Merill were visibly impressed and stood far away from it, watching from a distance with something approaching awe. Sam didn’t seem to care about the Gate at all, instead doing last-minute checks on everyone’s packs. Mal, however, was fascinated by it.

She approached the Gate, practically ran towards it, and started poking at it. She pushed against it in different places, stepped through the empty air a few times, and tried hitting it with her sword. The Gate didn’t react, at least not visibly. But Mal still managed to notice something.

“It’s waking up.”

I frowned and joined her, giving the Gate a cursory examination. It didn’t look any different from when I’d seen it. “What do you mean ‘waking up’?”

“I mean: I’ve been here before. I crept in one night while I was still with the Chantry, wanting to see this instrument of doom for myself. It felt dormant then. I don’t know how to describe it, not exactly. What does it feel like when you use magic?”

“Um, I don’t know. It doesn’t really feel like much, but I’ve never been very good at magic either. I feel anger when I use sorcery. I feel a little push when I cast it out. Is that what you’re talking about?”

She shook her head. “No. The push is kinetic feedback and the anger is what you’re using to fuel the spell, but those aren’t magic. What I feel is… it’s an energy field. Like heat, like air, like sunlight. Crackling around me. There’s some in you, and a little in those three, and there was a lot in Gwyn last time I saw her.”

“And this thing?” I pointed at the Gate with my thumb. “It has that? It uses magic? I thought it was Ancient tech.”

Mal gave it a suspicious look. “Yeah. Me too. But I’m not sure the Ancients were using technology when they made it. Either way, it feels different. Before there was energy but it was buried, I had to really search for it. Now it’s at the surface, and it’s leaking out. I think someone or something turned it on.”

“Implying that before, it was turned off.”

“Right. Which might explain why nobody could get it to work.”

I struggled. “But… why? Why would it suddenly turn off? How could someone even do that in the first place, and how did it turn back on for Gwyn?”

“Dunno. I don’t think we’ll find out, either. Not any time soon, at least. The Ancients kept their secrets well.”

“And left us a mess to clean up. So can you open it?”

Mal nodded. “Oh, definitely. Might want to stand back.”

I obliged, backing away to join the others. We watched as Mal stretched, cracked her knuckles, and shoved her open palm in the direction of the Gate. Sorcery rippled from her hand, a glowing red mass moving like vibrating water. It struck the center of the Gate and stretched outward, flowing into it. The Gate crackled to life and the star chart hologram appeared next to Mal.

She grinned. “See? Now help me find our target.”

I scurried back over to her side and peered at the display. I quickly guided Mal through the menus to reach our world and the city Gate. The portal shimmered to life, a curtain of energy waiting for us to pass through.

I drew my blade and let out a deep breath. “Okay. Hopefully Gwyn is too power-drunk to expect us. But we should plan for the worse. I’ll lead the way, since I know the city. We stick together, we hit the palace first, and the moment we see Gwyn we take her down. Everyone on the same page?”

They all nodded, and then there was no more putting it off. I faced the portal, steeled my nerves, and stepped through.

I emerged in the dead city, inside the portal fortress. Thankfully it was empty, so I sheathed my blade and waited for the others to come through. Mal was first, then Sam with lantern raised and lit. Cold blue light emanated from it, casting us all in its glow. Gavin and Merill followed last, weapons ready.

Gavin swept his gaze around the room with a frown. “This place doesn’t look as ravaged by time as I imagined it.”

I nodded. “It’s pretty well-preserved, yeah. Except for the people, obviously. I think there’s a bit of magic involved, at least from how hard it was to get to the Well. A door stronger than iron that shimmered when struck.”

Merill tapped the walls with her blade. “You think the whole city might be enchanted like that?”

“Maybe not as strong an enchantment, but something. Mal?”

Our resident mage took a whiff of the air and frowned. “Possibly. There’s a lot flowing around here, but most of it feels like ghost energy. I’d have to see the door you were talking about to have a better idea. Also a good place to start the search, yeah?”

“Right. Gwyn might still want access to the Well. Let’s go.”

I pushed out of the central chamber and through the halls of the portal fortress, noting the continued lack of any guards. Even the ones who chased me were gone. Somehow, seeing all those ghosts just vanish was creepier than when they were wandering. Where did they go?

When we exited the building, we came out into an empty city. It was an eerie wasteland, a sprawling cityscape of desolate streets and lonesome corpses. I couldn’t see a single ghost in any direction. In the sky above, clouds churned darkly. A storm was brewing.

The group filed out after me and examined the place. I could see similar looks of concern on their faces. Sam was the first to put it into words

“So, this doesn’t look good. I was expecting to see more ghosts.”

I drew my sword again. “Yeah. Me too. I think we’re a bit late to the party.”

“What do you think happened?”

“Battle. Before the betrayal, Strix and Gwyn were preparing a rebellion, and Nero was mobilizing his army to crush them. I get the feeling that one of those things happened, and this is the result. I just don’t know who won.”

Mal hefted her weapon and started walking towards the palace. “Let’s find out.”

Our walk through the city was grim. I’d almost forgotten the scattered remains of long-dead citizens, but my friends were seeing it for the first time. Merill took it hardest, judging by her constant near-vomit expression, but I saw Sam reaching for Mal’s hand after we passed one particularly gruesome corpse.

The entire military quarter was like that, just one giant graveyard with nothing moving, nothing acting, except us. At any moment I expected to see a few straggler ghosts, some survivors of the battle, anything. But it was just a hollow expanse.

Then, as we passed over a bridge and entered the palace district, we saw echoes.

They weren’t ghosts, not exactly. More like… the ghosts of ghosts. Barely-visible, eyeless husks shambling about with broken weapons and tarnished armor. They barely resembled the imperial guard, but their tabard colors were unmistakable.

When they saw us, they charged. A somber, keening cry erupted from translucent throats and the wailing soldiers advanced on our position.

I looked to my companions and started giving orders. “Sam, raise the lantern high and try to catch as many as you can in its light. Mal, slow them down with sorcery, try to break up their unity. Gavin and Merill, you’re with me on the front line.”

They took their places swiftly. It felt more natural than fighting at Gwyn’s side, like we were all one unit and not competing champions. I stood with one twin on either side of me and felt connected to them. We raised our weapons and met the echoes in battle.

There were five of them. Two staggered behind, caught by Mal’s magic. The three that stepped into the lantern’s light grew more solid, more whole, but still faded and weak, still shadows of shadows. I took the initiative, lashing out at the first one to get within arm’s reach. The echoes had strength, and retained their skill, but they were slow and lumbering and easy to maneuver around.

My blade bit into something that wasn’t quite flesh but no longer felt entirely ethereal, and I saw life essence pour out of the wound in the place of blood. Wisps of energy bleeding out into the world, ghostly substance splitting from the main host and dissipating into thin air. With each strike the echoes seemed to diminish and weaken further.

To describe it as a battle would be to give us too much credit. It was a slaughter, one without any chance of rout. These broken remnants were no match for warriors of flesh and blood. It made me uneasy.

We stood in the shadow of the palace, that vast and labyrinthine spire looming overhead like a carrion bird in wait. That too, unsettled me.

Mal looked to me and asked, “Those things, did you see any of them last time you were here?”

“No. Definitely not. Even the most frail and befuddled of ghosts still felt… real. These things are like fragments. They’re not people. They’re like memories.” I glanced at the ground where they’d fallen, but they were already gone. “This… this must be her doing.”

Unspoken, the fear passed through me: what if all the ghosts in the city were like that? How many had Gwyn taken in just a few days?

We kept moving, drawing closer to the palace. There were a few more echoes, but they were easily dispatched.

At the palace entrance, Strix was waiting.

The once-proud Consul was an echo herself, though stronger than the mindless soldiers. Her form bore signs of Gwyn’s malice: her eyes unseeing, her robes tattered. She slumped against the wall next to the broken doors of the palace, her arms lying limp at her sides, her sightless gaze staring into oblivion.

At our approach, she twitched. Her head turned to face us and with rasping voice she whispered, “You… are you with her?”

The others didn’t recognize her, of course, so I stepped forward. “It’s me, Maia. From before. What happened to you?”

“Maia… Maia? Ah, the girl. Her shadow, ha. Following her around. Have you come looking for your master, lost pup?” Her voice was distant, dreamy, but her words were biting.

“I’ve come to kill Gwyneth before she has the chance to kill me. Did she do this to you, Strix?”

Strix laughed, a coarse and choked sound. “With glee, with glee. She emerged from her little hole in the ground to swallow us all up in her hungry, hungry maw. Taste. Carve. Devour. Repeat. Till none left.” Strix waved an ethereal hand at the desolate city. “Never satisfied, that one. Always hungry.”

Our fears were confirmed. I could see the worry on the faces of my companions. I clenched my fists and tried to get Strix to focus. “I need you to tell me everything you can, Strix, so I can kill her. Where is she now? What does she want?”

The long-dead, now-dying woman ignored my questions. “We’re all just echoes now. Well, not everyone. Some are just gone. Eaten up. I think she likes leaving a bit behind. A reminder of her power. A tortured memory. A city of echoes. Then a world of echoes. Then a hundred broken, tortured worlds forced to remember her gentle caress. I don’t want to remember.”

Seeing her so broken, so battered, it was unnerving. This was the woman who spent three hundred years plotting. Brought low by magic. I turned to the group and asked, “What do we do with her?”

In response, Mal drew her blade and cut off Strix’s head.

I stared at her rapidly-fading remains until there was nothing left but glittering dust. “You killed her.” I sounded a bit numb. Maybe I was.

“It was a mercy. We should keep moving.” If Mal’s tone was cold, I didn’t hold it against her. These weren’t people, just the memories of people.

They still looked human when they died, though.

We entered the palace.

The next day, a guard led the four of us to the Council’s armory. Sam already had a list of things we’d need for our trip into the old empire.

The storehouse had dusty shelves holding gauntlets, boots, axes, rope, and a myriad other tools useful for adventuring. I didn’t really have much of an idea of what to bring, other than some rations and a new weapon; I must have dropped mine in my hurry to leave the city.

I picked out a shield and spear, hoping that combination would serve me well against Gwyn’s aggressive fighting style. While I was slotting on leather arm guards, Gavin approached me.

“Hey. I wanted to apologize in person. For everything, you know? Not just this mess we’re in, but all the years before that. For letting Gwyn go unchallenged, and for trying to get you to stand up to her when none of us had the guts.” He looked sheepish about it, but genuine.

I didn’t really know how to respond to him. I didn’t blame him, certainly, or anyone from the Chantry, except perhaps Morgan. I mostly just blamed myself. I managed a, “Thanks,” and looked away from him.

He lingered. He scratched at his hair and winced and looked around and did lots of little things to procrastinate saying whatever he was trying to say, so I sighed and met his gaze.

“What? You’ve got something you want to get out, so do it.”

He winced again and held up his hands defensively, but this time he managed to fight back his impulse to run away. He took a deep breath and said, “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

I looked at him with a guarded expression. “Shouldn’t I? I was there, with her, in the city, and I did nothing.”

“You came and warned us. That’s not nothing. You might be dead right now if you hadn’t done that, and then we’d all be dead. Don’t downplay the strength it takes to leave a bad situation.” His tone was conciliatory and cautious like I was a wild animal, and it irritated me.

“She wasn’t forcing me to be there, okay? I came of my own volition.”

“Duncan-”

“Just leave it, okay? I don’t need your pity or your sympathy, I need you to help me kill her. Can you do that?” I stared him down until he looked away.

“Yes. I’ll finish packing.”

He left me alone after that. Sam handed me a pack and I strapped it on, adding what meager supplies I’d picked out from the armory’s shelves.

Before we were done, Capra and Vesta entered the room. Capra was holding a lantern made of blue-tinged glass and some strange metal. He set it down on the armory’s central table.

“We have brought you something that may help in your quest. The capital is full of ghosts, which I’m sure Duncan noticed are immune to physical attacks. The magic that Duncan and Mal have access to is only enough to stun those specters, not destroy them. So the Council has decided to part with an old relic. Vesta can explain more.”

She nodded and gestured at the lantern. “This was made in the old days by great alchemists who understood how to weave kindred magic with Ancient material. Light the lantern and it will glow with imbued power. All ghosts that fall within the lantern’s light will become mortal, corporeal, able to be harmed as any creature of flesh and blood.”

Mal picked up the lantern and examined it. “Dinky little thing. How sturdy is it?”

“I would advise not putting it in situations where that becomes a concern.”

“So not very, then.” Mal smirked, but handed the lantern over to Sam delicately. She glanced back at Vesta. “That it, then? No more secrets about the empire, no more warnings about the crazy ghosts with old magic?”

Vesta did not seem to enjoy Mal’s barbs, and Capra cleared his throat to answer for her. “The Council wishes you all the best in this task. It will not be an easy one, but hopefully it will be simple. Get to Gwyn before she can complete Caligula’s scheme, kill her, and return.” He hesitated, as if he was going to say more.

Vesta sighed and gave Mal a dirty look. “There is… one more thing.”

Mal elbowed Sam and her grin widened. “Told you.”

“It is very likely that your adversary has acquired artifacts of her own. They were rare in the days of the empire, but now that everyone is dead, there will be few obstacles between Gwyneth and her prizes. That may make your task a bit more difficult, but there is little to be done about it. By now she likely has most of the items she needs.”

I sighed darkly and clenched my fists. “Then we’d better hurry. I should have left yesterday. Anything else?”

Vesta shook her head. “Try not to die, champion.”

Then they left.

Gavin and Merill finished packing first and went off to prepare the site. Sam looked at Mal, lingered, and then left. Then it was just the two of us.

Mal also had something she was nervous to say, judging by her fidgeting.

I rolled my eyes. “If you’re here to tell me I shouldn’t blame myself, don’t bother. Gavin already covered that in his awkward apology earlier.”

“I saw. But, ah, that’s not quite what I want to say.”

I gestured for her to go on. “Out with it.”

“I’m sorry. Not for what happened to you, or for the city, or anything else that everyone’s already talked about. I’m sorry for lying to you.”

I frowned. “Lying to me?”

“Yeah. Like I said, I’ve known about Gwyn for a long time. But I was a coward who would rather run away from a problem than face it head on, so I didn’t tell you what I’d seen. I was afraid that if I attacked your worldview, attacked the Chantry and Gwyn, you’d hate me for it.” She winced. “In hindsight, not the smartest of plans.”

I stared at her, confused. “Why would I hate you? You and Sam have been there for me when no one else was. I might not have believed you at first, but I wouldn’t have hated you.” I sighed. “Besides that, you weren’t alone in running from the signs. I wanted things to be a way that they weren’t, and it cost me. Like the Council said: all of us let this happen. We have to fix it together.”

Mal raised an eyebrow. “Is that why they get to hide here while we go into the ghost hellscape?”

I laughed. “Yeah, does seem a bit skewed. That’s what we get for being warriors, I guess.”

“Bah, you lot are warriors. I’m a charmer, not a fighter.” She gave me a mischievous smirk and I had to laugh again.

“That you are. It’ll be nice to be around you and Sam again. I missed you both while I was gone.”

“We missed you too. Tea time was lonely without my favorite dork.”

“Aw.” I grinned.

“Hey, Duncan…”

“Yeah?”

“After this is all over, and Gwyn is dead, and things go back to normal… what do you wanna do?” Mal tilted her head at me and gave me a probing look that suggested the question was more than just casual.

“I don’t know.” I thought about it. “I don’t really know who I am, in all this. I don’t think I can go back to the Chantry. I don’t know if I want to keep being a warrior. But I’m not sure where else I can go. My whole life has been dedicated to something I don’t believe in anymore. Hard to imagine going anywhere from here.”

“You could come visit. Stay the night, even. We have room.” She gave me a welcoming smile. “Leaving the Chantry was hard for me, but I moved on. Found other things to channel my skills into. Sam helped. There’s… well, don’t ever tell her I said this, but there’s something beautiful in life’s simplest pleasures. Tending a rose garden or cooking a lemon pastry.”

I matched her smile. “That sounds nice, actually.”

“There’s lots of fun things to do on the island that I bet you’ve never seen. Taking moonlit walks on the beaches, watching a play, or even just sitting together and reading. I think you’d make an excellent date.” She winked.

“Are you… flirting with me?” I actually blushed a little, caught off guard.

“Do you want me to?” She said the line so smoothly I giggled and covered my mouth with my hands.

“Maybe. How about your girlfriend?”

“Triple date? I’ll bring you, you’ll bring Sam, and Sam’ll bring me. She thinks your face is pretty cute, and she’s got good taste in faces.” Mal gestured to her own face as an example.

“Then it’s a date. But after we save the world.”

“Of course.” Then she gave me a courteous bow and left for the portal, leaving me to sort out my thoughts and finish packing.

I was… happy. Apprehensive, terrified even, but also happy. I had a date.

The next day, I was brought before the Council.

Ibis, Capra, and Lupa sat on their thrones. The speaker of ghosts, Vesta, stalked behind them, watching me silently.

In the chamber with me were Mal, Sam, Morgan, Gavin, and Merrill. All of us there to testify, to give our stories, that the Council might decide what must be done about the Unchosen.

“Begin, exile.”

The word stung, but it was warranted. I agreed to those terms when I ran away with her, after all. I spoke.

“A few weeks ago I heard that Gwyneth had been exiled for opening the Gate beneath the mountain. For a great many reasons, I decided to follow her into exile. Together we sailed to the heart of the dead empire, where a city full of ghosts greeted us. A mad emperor ruled a broken palace, and our attempts to access the Waters of Prophecy met with abject failure.

“The ghost emperor’s guards imprisoned us. In our cell, we were approached by a ghost who seemed more sane than the rest: Bellistrix Avicus Augustine, who told us to call her Strix. Strix helped us escape the palace, then stuck a bargain with Gwyn: Strix would help us build an army to storm the palace with, and we would help her forge a new kindred dynasty.

“Gwyn agreed readily, and Strix began grooming her to be the next Empress. We started recruiting the ghost nobility, and Strix taught Gwyn a magic art called glamour. On our second mission for Strix, we discovered her identity as First Consul of the empire’s ruling government, beholden only to Emperor Nero himself. We freed her conspirator and fellow Consul, Cossus. During the escape, while we traveled through the sewers, Gwyn vanished for a brief period. I now understand that she was speaking with a ghost warlock named Caligula.

“When we returned to Strix, Gwyn argued that we should take a more aggressive route with our coup. She took to the streets, spoke to a mob of nobility and commonfolk, and declared open war on Nero. With an army secured, we attacked the stronghold of one of Nero’s servants. There was victory, but at a cost Gwyn deemed unacceptable. She vanished again, spoke with Caligula, and returned with a brazen request.

“Gwyn ordered that Strix take her to the catacombs, to Caligula. Strix refused, and severed their partnership. Strix said that Caligula was dangerous, corruptive, and powerful. Gwyn didn’t care. I followed her to the catacombs, but I couldn’t let her go in. I pleaded with her to stop, to change her mind, to stray from this path, but she cast me aside. So I ran.”

For a long, dreadful moment, silence reigned as the court took in my story. In Sam and Mal I found sympathy; in Gavin and Merill, shock; in Morgan, broken grief; and in the Council, grim determination.

Capra said, “A dark tale. We have questions, of course, but first, context must be given. Vesta, if you would?”

The ghost nodded and began to speak. “I was there when the empire fell. Until today, I have refrained from speaking of those times. The founders of this enclave wished to destroy the sins of our past and build a brighter future. That, I now see, was a fool’s errand. The discovery of the empire was inevitable. Its rebirth, only hastened by my deceptions.

“In the last days, I and like-minded folk fled to this isle and took as many kindred as we could with us, and even kine. We sought to escape Nero’s madness, to survive the device he was rumored to have, and to build a different kind of civilization. Nero’s nobility were decadent, corrupt, and violent. But there were worse shadows that the empire had locked away.

“Caligula was a fairy tale in my time, but she certainly existed. The warlock who almost destroyed the empire from within, the warlock who knew forbidden magic. The ghost-eater. I do not know all her secrets, but she was certainly as dangerous as you have heard, Duncan. With Caligula’s magic, Gwyn will be a threat greater than any this island has faced.”

Ibis turned to Vesta and crossed her arms. “How? We have plenty of guards, the chantry has finally submitted to our authority. What is one woman to a legion?”

Vesta shook her head. “You don’t understand. It took the empire’s greatest soldiers and sorcerers to best Caligula, and as far as I’m aware she never even completed her final ritual. If Gwyneth is allowed to finish the warlock’s quest, she will be stronger still. Your forces are loyal, Ibis, but they are just a shadow of the empire’s might.”

Lupa waved a hand. “Cause for concern, certainly, but this girl’s story is unfinished. She hides her own part in it. Why did you not turn from the Unchosen sooner? And what made you think your words would carry any weight with that deranged psychopath?”

I felt a bit of resentment, but I squashed it. She was right. “I… I was in love with her. Or I used to be.”

Shock radiated from them. All but Mal and Sam, who just nodded somberly.

“I never wanted to be the Chosen, but I kept training because I hoped that Gwyn would notice me. She did, just not in the ways I wanted. When Morgan came to me and said he was going to appoint me the Chosen, I couldn’t take it. Running away with Gwyn felt like my last chance to have the kind of life I’d always dreamed of.

“I was wrong, obviously. I could see it in the capital, the true Gwyn, the barely-hiding monster and tyrant that craved only power. She never cared about us. She just wanted the power that came with being Chosen, with being worshiped. When she saw a chance for even greater power, she seized it instantly. First Strix’s offer of the throne, then whatever Caligula promised her.

“I… I wanted her to leave it all behind. To give me a chance. To be something other than a warrior. For a moment, I thought she might. But it was doomed from the start.”

They soaked it in. After a moment, Capra asked, “What of the Waters of Prophecy? How did they play into this?”

I laughed bitterly. “In awful ways. The Waters… deceived us. Gwyn took the last vial we had, and the two of us split it. It showed her a grand and glorious destiny, and it showed me what I wanted to see: a moment where I could change Gwyn from her path. It convinced Gwyn that going to the city was the right move, that the vision she’d seen long ago was correct.”

Vesta frowned. “Long ago?”

I nodded. “The chantry’s supply has dwindled over the years, but when Gwyn, Mal and I were training to be Chosen, Morgan took us to the chamber where it was kept. One by one, we drank. We never discussed what we saw with anyone except Morgan, but on our journey to the city, Gwyn shared her vision: statues in her honor, enemies lying bloody in an open field, and foreign worlds explored by kindred working in her name.”

The Council looked at Morgan sharply. Vesta demanded, “You’ve had more of that substance all this time, hidden away? If I had known, I could have cautioned you against trusting it.”

Morgan just stared at the ground.

Slowly, their attention returned to me. Ibis asked, “Well, did you find any? Did the city hold more prophecies?”

“No. Nero’s cache was too heavily-secured. Though with warlock magic, it might be within Gwyn’s grasp.”

Vesta’s expression was pensive. The Council whispered amongst themselves, casting stray glances at me, and at the others in the room. Below, we were all silent, constricted by tension, waiting to hear our judgments, or to hear what testimony would be demanded next.

Capra broke the air. “Duncan, your warning is appreciated. You may rest, but remain present. Your fate is bound to Gwyneth’s.”

I let out a deep, relieved sigh, nodded, and slumped against the nearest wall.

Ibis picked up where Capra left off. “The Council now calls forward Chantry warriors Gavin and Merill, to provide character witness for both Duncan and Gwyneth.”

They stepped into the center circle and stood there awkwardly, casting nervous glances around the room.

“Tell us, warriors: do you believe Gwyneth capable of such malice? And if so, why did you stand by her for so long?”

Gavin was the first to gather his wits. “I think… I think that she is. And I wish I had seen that sooner, but…” he trailed off and put his head in his hands. “We thought… we…”

Merill put a hand on his shoulder. “We were blind and stupid. We all saw her flaws, and we ignored them readily. Gwyn was too ambitious, too arrogant, too brutal. But she was strong. Stronger than any of us, and that was enough. We wanted a champion to serve the Chantry, and we didn’t care if that champion was a terrible person, so long as she was strong enough to do what was asked of her.”

Gavin nodded. “There was something intoxicating about her power. Watching her fight was an incredible experience, and it made us forget the person underneath. But now that she’s revealed, now that she isn’t Chosen… yeah, she’s capable of that malice. She always was. From snide comments to her brutality in training, Gwyn would do anything to get an edge. Nobody else would be Chosen, only her. Only she ‘deserved’ to be Chosen.”

The Council conferred, and then Lupa asked, “And what of Duncan? Do you vouch for her? What difference is there between one failed Chosen and another?”

For a moment, their shrouds of grief fell away, replaced by righteous indignation. Merill glared at the Council. “Duncan has always stood by us, and has given everything for our home. She is nothing like Gwyn.”

Gavin looked at me and held my gaze. “When news of Gwyn’s disgrace reached us, many in the Chantry began considering a shift in power. Morgan himself was open to the idea; with Gwyn turned away by the Council, perhaps it was time to appoint a Chosen who, while not as strong, was liked by all and a charismatic figure. We wanted to make Duncan the Chosen. Not a single person in the Chantry could hate her. She is a good person, and we’ll all vouch for that.”

Capra clasped his hands together. “Very well. Your testimony is received. You may rest.”

Gavin and Merill nodded, bowed to the Council, and backed away.

“This story is troubling. The Unchosen now represents a dire threat to our way of life, and that threat is of utmost importance, but we cannot forget that this outcome was preventable. The situation here is not so simple as good and evil.

“In light of that, we must hear another side: an accusation of lethal negligence.”

Confusion rippled across the faces of Gavin and Merill, and I frowned. Negligence?

“Mal and Morgan, step forward.”

All eyes were on them. Mal was grinning, sneering. Morgan was surprised, then broken once more, battered.

Capra gestured for Mal to speak, and she did. She spread her hands and addressed each audience member in turn.

“Yes, lethal negligence. I’m sure some of you have no idea what I’m talking about, but that’s fine. You will in a moment.” Mal whirled on Morgan and pointed at him. “Morgan, leader of the Chantry, interpreter of prophecy, you are a liar and a charlatan who is directly to blame for this… unpleasantness.”

Morgan didn’t respond to her. Instead, he looked up at the Council. “I… I only ever wanted to help. To save us. To protect our people. Please, you must believe me.”

Mal laughed. “Believe you? They’d have to be mad, or blind. No, your ideas of tricking everyone are over, old man. You can come clean now and maybe keep a glimmer of respect from your ‘students’, or you can let me spill the whole story. Your choice.”

I didn’t understand what was happening, and neither did most of the people in the room, except for Sam. Her arms were crossed and her gaze was disapproving, but it was hard to tell if she was directing it at Mal, Morgan, or both.

Mal took a few steps towards Morgan and the lines around her eyes tightened. “Are you going to be a coward forever, Morgan? When it has already cost the kindred so much?”

Morgan’s hands became fists, but then he slumped. “Fine.” His voice came out weary. “I will tell them what you told me.”

Mal just smirked.

Morgan turned from the Council, and he looked at me. I felt pinned, trapped. “I… I am so sorry, Duncan. I truly believed that…”

“Cut the posturing.” Mal’s voice was sharp, acerbic.

Morgan nodded slowly, and returned his gaze to the Council. “Years ago, as part of training the potential Chosen, I took them to the Waters of Prophecy, our dwindling supply. Gwyn saw power, strength, and glory. Duncan saw peace and unity. But Mal… she saw darkness. Corruption writhing within the Chantry. She saw foreign worlds, broken… empty. Her vision showed the Gates, and beyond them… nothing.

“No displaced peoples seeking revenge. No great empire wanting to conquer our shard of the universe. The prophecy that had guided us for so long… was a lie. Whatever our founder saw, Mal’s vision contradicted it. It suggested that… that the entire foundation of our faith was, if not a lie, then certainly not absolute truth.”

Vesta nodded slowly. “As I said, I would have warned you if I knew. The Waters do not show an absolute destiny, only one of many possibilities. They show you what you want to see, or what you need to see, but only rarely do they show you what is there.”

Morgan looked away from everyone. “When I heard Mal’s vision, I… I didn’t know what to do. How could she see such a different future from Gwyn or Duncan? If the Waters could show such contradictory images, what did that mean for the order?

“I admit my cowardice. I could not bear the thought of my life’s work being nullified, so I turned my back on Mal’s warnings. I trusted that I could turn Gwyn into a proper Chosen, that I could mold her into a champion of our people. I was wrong.”

I just stared. I could barely comprehend what they were saying.

Mal shook her head and looked me dead in the eyes. “The prophecy is fake, Duncan. There is no Chosen One. There never was.” Then she flicked her gaze back to Morgan. “I tried to warn people, but this wretched creature got in my way. So I left, and tried to convince you to do the same. I warned you, Morgan, and now we’re all suffering.

Morgan bowed his head, but then someone else joined the conversation: Sam.

She walked up beside Mal and grabbed her arm. “Enough. There will be time to gloat when we’re not in imminent danger.”

Mal rolled her eyes. “Come on, Sam. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. Years have led to this.”

Sam glared. “Don’t act like you predicted this with perfect certainty. Neither of us ever imagined Gwyn would become such a threat. We didn’t anticipate the scale of this betrayal.”

Mal looked annoyed, but she relented. “Fine. I’ll admit my own failures. I should have stopped Gwyn quicker. I should have killed her when I had the chance. But here we are.” She turned to the Council. “Well? What say you, mighty overlords? Ready to make a decision yet?” She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head.

There was another bout of whispers, and then Capra rose from his seat.

“This Council has reached a decision: the Unchosen must die.” A somber wave swept through the room. “All of us bear some responsibility for this impending tragedy. Had we executed Gwyn when she activated the portal, it would not have come to this. Had we acted against the Chantry sooner, it would not have come to this.”

Lupa looked away, but Ibis practically preened. Vesta just kept walking behind them, watching everything.

“Morgan. You betrayed this Council’s trust, and your Chantry gave Gwyneth the tools she needed to survive the dead city. By failing to heed the warnings of your students, you may have doomed us all.”

Morgan hung his head, and said nothing.

“Sam and Mal. The two of you were content to live an idyllic life, even while you knew that darkness was festering within the Chantry’s walls. You were bystanders when you could have intervened.”

Mal glared, but nodded. Sam held her hand, and gave a more affirmative acknowledgment.

“Gavin and Merill. You fought by her side, helped her train, and ignored all the warnings signs. From all accounts, you were closest to her, and yet you did nothing to stop her from becoming a monster.”

Guilt played across their faces.

“We have all made mistakes. We all bear responsibility for this. But one among us bears the ultimate weight.” Capra turned his masked face directly at me. “Duncan. You stood in Gwyneth’s presence as she declared her plans, as she turned from her people, as she plotted to destroy us. And yet, you did not cut her down. Why?”

I clenched my fists and tried to control my emotions. Shock and sorrow and rage were swirling inside me. Morgan’s lies. Gwyn’s betrayal. Mal’s vision. The Council’s verdict. “I… was weak. I was afraid. I didn’t believe I could do it. And I… I couldn’t bring myself to attempt it. How could I decide who lives and dies?”

Silence. Then, he said, “We have sympathy for you. But in this moment, sympathy is not enough. You must do what you could not, for only you have the strength. You must go back through the portal, find the betrayer, and kill her.”

The weight of his words settled over me. It was a monumental task. I hated Gwyn, but could I kill her? Could I drive my blade into her heart if it meant saving all the people who had stood by me, who were innocent and vulnerable? Slowly, weakly, I nodded. “I accept. I will do what must be done. For the kindred.”

Mal stepped forward, waving her hands. “Hey, hold up. That’s a death sentence and you know it.” She glared up at the Council. “You are not sending her to face Gwyn alone.”

Capra tilted his head. “Will you join her?”

Mal crossed her arms. “Yeah. I will. Who else has the guts to stand with Duncan?”

Sam joined Mal, and then Gavin and Merill came forward too. Capra nodded. “So be it. The five of you will travel to the dead city and stop the betrayer from claiming Caligula’s power. Ancestors be with you, for all our sakes.”

And with that, the meeting was over. Now for the hard part.

I woke up in an infirmary bed. It was nice, and comfortable, and I fell back asleep in seconds. I woke up again, later, and saw two people in masks arguing. I drifted, and saw dozens of scenes like that play. Three people in masks, a woman wearing gloves that kept inspecting me, and two women that argued with the three masks.

It was hard to pay attention to any of it. I was on a ship, but the ship was a bed, and the waves were just nausea passing through me. My head felt swaddled in iron wool. I had a warning to deliver, but it was hard enough just breathing and opening my eyes.

The gloved woman was standing next to my bed, looking at something, when I managed my first word: “Water.” The next thing I remember there was a glass at my lips, and slowly I drank. My throat thanked me for it, and I struggled out verbal thanks to my benefactor.

She nodded and helped me sit up. “You really shouldn’t be moving. We don’t know how severe your ailment is. I’m Agata, by the way. I’m the Council’s medic.” Council. I knew them. I…

“What… what happened to me?”

Agata picked up a journal and skimmed it as she spoke. “You used the portal, presumably. Vesta has been talking with us about it. Where were you, for the weeks you were gone?”

“I… I was in the city. The empire.” I coughed heavily and Agata handed me the glass again. This time I drank under my own volition. “There were ghosts. Ghosts everywhere.”

“That matches Vesta’s prediction. There was an affliction in the days of the empire that would strike people when they used the Gates. Apparently it was more common in people who interacted with ghosts a lot, or overexerted their magic.”

“I… I think I did both.” I cracked a weak smile.

“Well, the good news is that physically you’re fine, just tired. Your body is recovering from the strain of passing through the portal after your adventures out there. In another day you should be fine.”

My eyes widened. “Another day? How long have I been sick?”

“Two and a half days have passed since you stepped through the Gate.”

I tore at my bed cover and tried to get up. “I need to see the Council. I need to see them now. Too much wasted time, too much-”

Agata rushed to my side and grabbed my hands. “You need to rest. I will tell the Council that you’re awake, okay? I’m sure they’ll want to talk, just stay here and don’t exhaust yourself.”

Panic and urgency surged in my adrenaline-filled veins, but I forced down my newfound energy and settled. “Okay. Just- just hurry.”

She did. Only a minute or two passed before the Council came filing into the infirmary. Capra, Ibis, Lupa. The ghost that Gwyn hated, Vesta, was with them.

They had questions. Lots.

“Where is Gwyneth?”

“What happened to you?”

“Why did you follow her into exile?”

I coughed again, drank, and Agata glared at them. They relented from their assault and let me speak.

“I… I didn’t want to be the chosen one, so I helped Gwyn. We went to the old capital looking for something that might prove she was chosen. Waters of prophecy. Instead, we found dangerous ghosts, a mad emperor, and a dark spirit that corrupted Gwyn.”

Vesta peered at me intently. “Dark spirit?”

“Caligula. She had magic that let her eat ghosts. She wanted to teach that magic to Gwyn, and Gwyn agreed. She… Gwyn didn’t care about being the chosen one anymore. She just wanted power.” My voice cracked. “She’s going to kill us all. Gwyn is a monster and she wants to kill us all.”

Capra shook his head. “Gwyneth may be a bit brash, perhaps even as monstrous as you say, but what can one girl accomplish? If she tries to fight us, our guards will deal with her.”

Vesta came to my aid. “No, you don’t understand Caligula. The grand warlock was so powerful that it took dozens of soldiers and mages to put her down. They could barely contain her, even in death, and yet she never completed her rituals. If Gwyneth can succeed where Caligula failed, she would be… she wouldn’t be kindred anymore. She’d be something far worse, and far more than any of your people can handle.”

Silence reigned. I drained my glass. Sitting up was hard, so I relaxed into my bed. Well, relax might be inaccurate. How could I relax with the threat of Gwyn looming over us all?

Ibis broke the silence. “We must convene. Gather the chantry. When the girl is well she shall tell us all the full story of her little adventure. Then we can decide what to do about the exile.”

The four of them swept from the room without a second glance at me, and I was alone with Agata.

I asked her, “How much longer will I have to stay here?”

“Not long. You’re healing quickly. I’d prefer you to rest at least a week, but I suspect the Council will want to act as soon as tomorrow. We’ll get you on your feet by then.”

I let out a sigh of anxious relief.

“In the meanwhile, you have some friends who’d like to see you. They’ve been waiting since they heard the news.”

I glanced up curiously, but Agata just left the room. Then, seconds later, Mal and Sam rushed in.

“You’re okay!” Sam sighed happily and gave me a squeeze.

“Of course she’s okay. She’s not frail.” Mal gave me a questioning look. “You are okay though, right?”

I laughed, which only caused mild discomfort. “Yes, I’m okay. Physically, I mean. I’m not okay about… everything else. The city. The ghosts. Gwyn. I should have listened to you.”

Sam gave Mal a look. Mal made an awkward face and glanced away. “It’s fine,” she said. “I should have tried harder to get you away from the chantry. But you’re here now, which is what matters.”

Sam nodded. “We’re glad you’re safe. When you vanished with Gwyn it sent shockwaves. Two chosen gone in one day.”

I laughed bitterly, which turned into a cough. “Chosen. I’m not sure I believe in that anymore. Look at how we turned out: a runaway, a monster, and a failure. Whatever the waters showed the founder, they were wrong. It’s going to take more than a hero of destiny to get us out of this one.”

Another look passed between them. Mal shook her head. “I… I have things to say, on that. But it should wait until everyone’s in one place. No sense telling the story twice, and it isn’t entirely my story to tell. But… I am sorry. Even I underestimated Gwyn. Opening the Gate took guts, I’ll give her that. Same to you, Duncan. Nice work.”

I grinned. “It was, wasn’t it? I didn’t even have lightning like she did, I had to swing my sword at the air and hope. I guess passing out and losing a day is a small price to pay for getting out of there when I did.”

“Yeah.” Mal smiled, then looked away again. “What do you think she’s up to, right now?”

“Hopefully still training. She picked up glamour absurdly fast, but consumption was supposed to be the hardest of the three.”

Mal tilted her head. “Glamour?”

I chuckled again. “We learned about the old world. There were three schools of magic, and we only ever learned the cheapest. Glamour is… well, glamour is basically illusions and emotion reading, and on some level emotion manipulation. Gwyn was scary good at it, I never picked it up. It requires utter focus, cold detachment. I couldn’t manage it.”

Mal tapped her chin. “Wonder if I could do it. Maybe you can teach me something, eh?”

“Maybe.”

Talk turned to home. Mal and Sam filled me in as best they could.

When I left with Gwyn and Finn, the chantry erupted. Every chosen was gone, Morgan’s authority had been undermined, and news of the Gate opening infected every conversation. There was talk about going through the Gate, but nobody could open it again and Mal had no intention of helping them. The Council decided to post a stronger guard and just hope it stayed closed.

A lot of people worried about me, but nobody was willing to follow into the water, especially since they had no idea where we went. Things slowly settled in most of the island, but the chantry only got worse. The people who respected Gwyn’s strength and the people who thought I should have won both had reason to be angry, and Morgan was a shell of himself. He tried to avoid them as much as possible.

There was a short-lived coup, an attempt by some Gwyn loyalists to take over the chantry and declare a search for the chosen one, but the Council intervened. Morgan got his position back and some measure of authority, but a lot of chantry folk defected, leaving for the villages they’d served in. The chantry looked like a husk now, a dying monument to the past.

I should have been more upset about that, but I couldn’t be. Not after the city. Not after seeing the prophecy unravel.

I was tired, and I said as much. Mal and Sam stayed by my side, and I drifted off.

I darted through the cracked streets and broken hovels of the imperial city. Ghosts all around, impervious to harm, exceedingly dangerous. Terror.

Gwyneth was a madwoman. Ruthless, powerhungry, and destructive. I’d always known, but never realized. She blinded me with good looks and a sharp tongue, but she never really hid her true nature. That was on us for not seeing.

I ran. I ran and ran and my legs screamed their protest, but I kept running. The ship called to me, my supplies, my spare clothes, but it was too slow. I didn’t know how much time I had before… before the girl I once crushed on became the next dark lord of the kindred.

Near the palace was a portal. A gateway to other worlds, long-dormant but still working, if Gwyn’s experiment back home was any indication. All it took was the right spark, a jolt of magic, a gesture of will. I could provide that, if I could sneak past Nero’s army.

Imperial guards in spectral regalia patrolled the streets around the palace, and in the military district they marched in rows and columns, a long-dead war machine still beating its drums. The portal was there, past their guards and soldiers and watch posts.

I dodged out of the path of one patrol, crept through the shadows past another, and fooled a lone soldier with a made-up story about noble ties. Slowly I approached the portal stronghold. It looked just as Strix had described: a thorn against the earth, a gash in the sky. Sharp edges pierced the city skyline and distorted what little light rained down from the pale white moon.

Here, in the heart of the emperor’s domain, I could see the true scope of his power. For all that the ghosts complained about lost legions and vanished protectors, there were still hundreds of men and women in armor. Hundreds of blades sworn to Nero’s command. There were more soldiers in just this one place than across the entirety of our island home. And there were far too many to sneak past.

Then a horn rang out. A call to arms. Messengers from the palace flitted to imperial captains and relayed orders from on high. The soldiers started to march away from the stronghold and into the city.

In the distance, I heard screams. The sounds of war.

I couldn’t stick around to learn more. I had to get back. I moved through the shadows and watched the imperial army deploy until only a skeleton crew was left to guard the stronghold. Too many, but I’d have to make do.

I drew my sword. Tommen had forged it for me a long time ago, when the chosen few completed our first round of combat training. We were ready to use real weapons, to fight in real battles. Tommen was always nice to me. I think, maybe, he saw the pain I was going through. He shaped the hilt into a flowery design, just for me. Gwyn mocked it, but I loved it.

I ran at the door guard and unleashed my magic before they could react. Crackling red surging along the sword blade, energy bleeding into the world and sending arcs of pain through two victims. The imperials stumbled away from me, shouting and cursing, and I kicked the door down. I needed to move fast, and that meant no time for remorse.

The portal stronghold was much less confusing than Nero’s palace. A single long hallway with half a dozen doors on either side and double doors at the end of it. Only a few ghosts got in my way, easily crippled.

Behind me, the two initial guards recovered enough to give chase. The hallway guards would follow suit. Faster, faster, running out of time.

The double doors were locked. I smashed the chain with my sword. Again, again, still intact but weakening. An imperial slashed at me and I felt the cold. I whirled on her and cut her throat with sorcerous steel. Back to the chain, then the ghosts, the chain, almost there.

The doors swung open and I lunged into the room, racing away from the spectral mob. There: the portal.

A vast chamber had been constructed around it. It reminded me of the cave back home, but sloppier. This was built by kindred hands, not the Ancients. Benches and shelves and banners to mark the territory. Bodies too, but no ghosts.

The Gate gleamed with runic markings. It beckoned to me. It was something that shouldn’t exist, a piece of unreality forged into existence. The metal was like crystal, an alien geode. The symbols made my head hurt like staring at a language you almost recognize but just can’t.

Gwyneth told me how she activated the Gate back on the island: lightning. I couldn’t conjure it like she could, but sorcery was sorcery and I had anger aplenty.

I pushed the doors closed behind me and shoved a bench in front of it. It wouldn’t hold for long, but maybe long enough. I stepped in front of the Gate, drew my blade, and reached for my power.

Strix’s teaching hadn’t helped me learn glamour, but it did connect me better to my sorcery. I could feel a well of energy deep inside me, something as natural as the blood in my veins or the twitching of my fingers. It was a vessel waiting to be filled. It needed a catalyst, and fuel, and then it could share my pain with the world.

I hated sorcery. I hated magic that existed to hurt others. I didn’t want to be like that. I didn’t want to be like Gwyn, or the nobles of old. But in this moment, it was necessary. So I found my anger.

I found her betrayal, her lies, her callous ambition. I found the fear in Finn’s eyes, the dismissal in Gwyn’s words. I found the broken bodies of slaves and the arrogance of Strix. I found the sounds of battle and the zeal of soldiers.

I remembered home. Gwyn’s mocking. The chantry’s ignorance. Mal’s warnings. I found my anger there too, in their worship of Gwyn and in their love of violence. I found the cold cowardice of the Council and the fiery single-mindedness of Morgan. Stolen moments, broken hearts, burning villages. My own ignorance, my own refusal to see all the signs even as my friends shouted them at me.

I remembered smiling faces and laughing children, and I remembered the ghosts of children wandering the imperial city. Gwyn didn’t care about them, didn’t notice them. If she had her way, there would be more dead children soon. Monster.

Anger gave way to conviction and surety. I hated Gwyn, but that’s not why I was doing this. My own personal feelings didn’t matter, not in the face of extinction.

My magic clicked, I swung my blade, and a hole in the world opened up.

A rift of multicolored light, the infinite cosmos stretching within the depth of a floating scar. The Gate flickered and glowed and screeched, and constellations sprung up all around me. Behind me, the doors shook and strained.

The lights were disorienting and jumbled, but one diagram was crystal-clear: our world, with two access points. One glowing, one dim. I reached for it, grasped it, and the portal twisted and shifted. The diagrams flew away, and the rift yawned in front of me, vast and inscrutable.

The barrier broke. The ghosts poured in. I ran into the portal.

Darkness, cold and infinite, a thousand muted stars. A veil, or skin, or the surface of water, a thin and invisible membrane pushing against me and flowing with me. Bursting.

I stumbled out of the portal and fell to cold stone. I was in a cave full of strange formations and alien light, and there were people staring at me and drawing their weapons.

Home. I was home.

I passed out.

I bit my lip and stared at the weeping statues.

The entrance to the catacombs was cold, dark, and intimidating, but it wasn’t the source of my hesitation. I had been loitering for an hour in these decrepit tunnels because I was afraid of stories and rumors, and whispers in the dark.

My cousin told me that he and a few of his friends had actually been inside, but I didn’t believe him. When I was a child, my mother scared me with fairy tales about the witch of the undercity, but I didn’t believe her either. It was all so ridiculous, so fanciful.

But the history books spoke plainly: a powerful warlock had tried to usurp the sovereign throne, and as punishment she had been killed. Her ghost was sealed in the old catacombs, and we were all forbidden to venture into them.

I was an Augustine; petty rules like that weren’t supposed to apply to me. But I was still afraid. Afraid to die, mostly. A bit of power wasn’t worth death. Maybe.

Dimly, in the distance, I heard someone moving. That was the last push I needed; I ran between the statues and into the warlock’s lair.

Her lair was filled with broken adornments, torn pages, and decades-old bodies. Cold light flickered at the edges of my vision, and I knew that the ghosts of those fallen disciples still lurked. I ran faster.

In a dusty cathedral, deep underground, I found her.

The Usurper stood in front of a broken altar with her hands clasped behind her, visible through her translucent body. She smiled as I approached.

“Long has it been since a supplicant came before me. You are young, frail, but spirited too. Desire trembles beneath your cloak of fear. Who are you, child?”

I raised my head high and dug my nails into my palms to keep from quivering. “I am Bellistrix Avicus Augustine, a noble-born kindred. Many Lords in the city know my name, and I am heir to a great legacy.”

The ghost clicked her tongue and swept towards me, gliding across the stone floor. She floated a few inches above it, never quite touching the ground, and she moved like no ghost I’d ever seen. Too fluid, too predatory, as if being a ghost was somehow more natural than the motions of the living. She seemed more at ease being dead than ghosts who had been that way for centuries.

She raised a cold hand to my face and I flinched. She laughed. “Pretty little creature, that is not what I asked. You tell me of your parents and your peers and your overlords, but that is not who you are. Is it?”

I stared at her. I didn’t know how to answer her question.

She laughed again. “Lacking an identity, I see. Perhaps you can answer something else for me, Strix: why are you here, in my domain?”

That I knew. “I want power. I want… I want to be powerful and respected. I want to change the world, but nobody will listen to me. They say I’m just a child. They say I should wait and make my name slowly, but that’s not what the greats did. Nobody became Empress by waiting.”

Interest gleamed in her cold, dead eyes. “And you think I can teach you that power?”

“My books tell me you were a warlock without equal. They say you were stronger than every mage in the city. But they won’t tell me why you were so strong, or what forbidden knowledge you had that made you dangerous. They all just say you were a heretic and a witch.”

“And what do you say?”

Resolve crept back into my words and gaze. “I say a witch is just someone who’s a threat to the powerful.”

The ghost chuckled, and her voice echoed through the cathedral. “You’ll do, lordling. You’ll do. My name is Caligula, though I’m sure you know that. I will teach you the dark arts, the magic that all your nobles and royals are afraid of. I’ll make you strong.”

I smiled.

I scowled. “Why isn’t this working?”

Caligula eyed me with distaste. “Because you lack resolve.”

Our captive whimpered within his cage and I hit him to shut him up. I’d found a slave stealing food, and rather than report him I offered him a second chance. That was a lie, obviously, and now he huddled in chains.

“Tell, me, Strix, where did you find this… slave?” Her lip curled on the word.

“I told you to stop calling me that. And I found him stealing food.”

“From where?”

“The kitchens. Where else?”

Caligula’s voice was raw with scorn. “And why were you in the kitchens, lordling?”

I swore internally. “I was-”

“Lying is futile, my erstwhile apprentice. You lost your resolve. You ate.”

“It was just a little morsel!” An apple or three.

Caligula swept away from me without another word. I glared at the slave. His fault.

“I tried, warlock. But my stomach was eating me alive. I just needed a bit of relief.”

“You failed to understand the exercise.”

I growled with frustration. “What is the point of all this? I didn’t need to starve to learn sorcery or glamour.”

“Weak magic. Lesser magic. That is why. Consumption can only be born of hunger. You are a precious, lovely, spoiled little thing, and if you cannot break that mold, you will never be strong. You will always be like them, like your parents and your cousins.”

I bristled and clenched my fists. “I am so much more than them. Our family hasn’t had a proper Lord in generations, and I’m going to be the next. I will be powerful.”

A ghostly fist slammed the nearest wall. “What do you know of power, lordling? Why do you seek such lowly heights when you could rule this empire? Your lack of ambition disturbs me – nay, it disgusts me. She who would be sated with a morsel is unfit for a feast! She who would settle at anything can never possess the world’s glories.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “What are you talking about, Caligula? You speak of madness.”

“And you speak of weakness.”

“The nobility is made of stepping stones. You can’t step from the lowest rung to the highest.”

“Then destroy the nobility entirely!” she roared. “End their charade! Remake this world and all worlds in your image!”

I took a step back. She wavered.

“Perhaps I was wrong about you. Perhaps you lack the heart for it. You will never want true power. Not enough to call upon my art.”

No. No, that couldn’t happen. She couldn’t abandon me. I needed it. This was my chance.

I felt a stirring. A calling. I turned to the slave and thrust a hand to his face, and with my magic I ripped at his soul.

Energy, little flickers and traces of cold green-blue light, drizzled out of him and swirled around my hand. The slave collapsed, and the light vanished, but I felt… renewed. And hungrier.

“I am not weak.”

Caligula turned to me and examined the scene with more interest. “Hope after all, then.” Her glimmer of approval evaporated as quickly as it had come. “But next time, don’t use a slave.”

I frowned. “Why? Nobody misses them.”

She didn’t answer me. Caligula just stared off into the distance, plotting something in her conniving ghostly head.

“I told you, no more slaves.”

“It was a just a snack. You told me tonight was important, that I would need every ounce of strength.”

I’d traded in my elegant gown for black cloth, tight-fitting but flexible. My hair was tied-back, and my knife was in easy reach. Caligula was ignoring my new outfit and focusing on a minor detail.

She shook her head disapprovingly. “Your dismissal of them is dangerous and foolhardy.”

I rolled my eyes. “They’re just slaves. They can’t fight back. What’s a slave ever done?”

Fire flashed in her eyes. “Much more than you understand, apprentice.”

“Can we just get to the part where you tell me what’s so important about this session that you had me get all dressed up?”

Her venom didn’t settle. “Not if you continue to defy my teachings and act so recklessly.”

I clenched my fists and let out a guttural cry of frustration. “What is it with you and slaves? They’re not even kindred, they don’t matter.”

“They are kindred.”

I stared at her. “What are you- what are you talking about? No they’re not, they’re from other worlds and don’t have magic. They don’t even leave ghosts.”

Caligula swept towards me and cold energy swirled around her hands. “I was a slave. Shackled, bound, suppressed. But I was strong. My magic burned through their wards. I learned hunger. I learned to consume. And I took back what they stole from me.”

I didn’t know how to process that, so I just said, “Okay, no more feeding off slaves. I- I’m sorry. Now will you tell me what we’re doing?”

“You’re going to steal an Ossuary.”

Somehow, that came as more of a shock. “I’m what?”

“Most Ossuaries are either too weak to be useful or kept under too heavy guard to retrieve, but one is being moved. You will steal it, and you will devour its inhabitants.”

My gaze flitted to the shattered crystal on the altar. “An Ossuary. You had an Ossuary when they came for you. You were trying to do something with it. Trying to use it. Why?”

“The details are unimportant.” She waved her hand dismissively.

“No, no they fucking aren’t. I-” the weight of my actions hit me. I was standing there, arguing with the ghost of the empire’s greatest villain. What was I doing? “Are you just using me? Am I just a vector to power for you?”

“I am trying to mold you into something more than the nobility would let you become. Do not spit upon my charity.” Her words carried a dangerous edge, but I was fed up.

“Your charity? All you do is belittle me and insult my friends. You defend slaves, and you rail against the empire. I’m a part of that empire. I want to make it strong, improve it. Not burn it to the ground.”

“That is a mistake. Your empire is corrupt. There is no saving it. Only darkness and doom await your precious bastion of civilization. The slaves will rise. The Lords will slaughter each other over petty quibbles.”

“How do you know?” I glared at her with daring eyes. “How do you know any of that will happen?”

“Because I have drank of the waters of prophecy, and because all empires are doomed to fall. The only way your people will survive is if they grow. And that cannot happen if you allow stagnation to go unpunished. Fire is cleansing, Strix. The empire must burn.”

Hatred was building in my veins. Through gritted teeth I said, “And what of those souls? What role does an Ossuary play in your little bonfire scheme?”

“It is about power. It is always about power. With enough concentrated magic the impossible becomes possible, and the world can be fundamentally altered. You could become something… different. Something dangerous. A true warlock, not some pale imitation.” She narrowed her eyes. “You resist. You defy. Your imperialist heart betrays you. But I know that you crave power. That power can be yours, if you simply set aside the old world and embrace the new. Join me, Strix, and together we can reshape this world.”

I made my decision. “No.”

Caligula came for me, but I was ready. Hunger, called up from a well of power. The dark art, pouring through my veins. The third path, bursting out my hands and searing her ethereal form, crackling like fire against flesh.

She screamed, but wasted no time. Cold light surging towards me, wrapping around me, draining me. My knife, glowing red with fury, with sorcery, cutting through the lines of power. Another burst of hunger tearing into her, breaking her concentration. My feet on the ground, running, running.

She followed, a wolf wearing a kindred face. Her hunger devouring mine, devouring me, and I kept running. I couldn’t beat her. Just keep running.

Her magic crashed into me and I went stumbling. She was there, standing over me, snarling.

“Weak.”

She ripped out my heart, my soul, my self, I screamed. My magic, beating, pulsing, the well of power singing dark shrieks. The dark art was dying, diminishing, overcome by her power, her mastery. My magic cracked, and I reached through the cracks for the essence of it and I flung that at Caligula, and then she was screaming.

Her magic and my magic killing each other, eating each other like an ourobouros serpent. My chest was empty, broken, shattered, but I could breathe. I could run. No, I couldn’t run, but I could stumble. I lurched away from her, barely saw her, but she was wounded. Caligula screamed at me as I ran away, and I felt something snap.

I collapsed outside the catacombs and just breathed.

I was safe. For the moment, at least. But there was an emptiness, a hole that wasn’t healing over. I could feel my sorcery and my glamour, but the dark well was gone. Sacrificed, I guessed, to hold off Caligula. I’d hurt her, I could feel that, but she wasn’t destroyed. Just weakened.

I laughed, and laughed, and it was bitter and terrified. I cried and smiled. Fool girl, trying to take a shortcut. Dabbling with things she doesn’t understand. Playing with power. Caligula was right about me.

But I could learn. I could grow. I didn’t need her, or her magic. I just needed will, and drive, and wit. I had all of those in abundance.

There were other paths to power. Paths more suitable for my aims.

I reclined on a plush sofa and watched as my friends drifted in. Caria took her favorite chair, Cossus his goofy stool. Nero sat next to me on the sofa.

Nero waved a hand lazily and said, “Well, we’re all here. Care to fill us in now, Bell?”

I smiled thinly. “With pleasure. I have a proposition. One I think you’ll enjoy. If you like power, that is.”

Nero smirked, Cossus perked up, and Caria rolled her eyes. “Bit vague, isn’t it?” she said.

“My friends, we are the next generation. We are the scions of the empire. Our destiny is to rule. Why wait?”

Nero raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t another of your schemes, is it? I’m still recovering from the last botched party.”

“Nothing of the sort. No, this is a… long-term plan. It will be difficult, but if we pull it off we will be the most powerful people in the history of the empire. My friends, I propose a conspiracy.”

That caught their attention. Caria waved for me to continue and I smiled.

“Long has the Triumvirate existed as a stymie to progress. Long has the sovereign fought with their underlings. Long have we been bound by bickering and noble infighting. I propose an end to all that. The four of us can change the empire. We can rule it, bend it to our will, and send it in a new direction. We will forge a golden age to rival that of Aurelius herself.”

Caria eyed me skeptically. “How?”

“Simple enough. Three of us will become the new Triumvirate. In public we will be rivals, cold to each other, reserved. In private, we will use our connections and our political capital to help each other rise through the ranks and become natural picks for the Consul seats. The fourth member will be sovereign. Opponent of us all, but in secret, our ally. The court will be obsessed with garnering favor between us, but in truth every action they take will be in service to our schemes. Through guile, we will rule every man, woman, and child in the empire.”

Greed glittered in their eyes. Hunger touched their twitching fingers. I could feel the ambition lurking, their hearts beating in time with mine. My offer was an attractive one, seductive, and they were seduced.

First Cossus, then Nero and Caria. Many details would need to be hashed out, plans drawn up, schemes outlined. It would take time and effort to become powerful, but our conspiracy would make it all the simpler. Victory for one would be victory for all, but shrouded from prying eyes.

Our pact was struck. Our fate set.

The empire would be ours.