Chapter 77

  I woke up.

  Slowly. Sluggishly. As if crawling through thick fog – except the fog was inside my head. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, my lips were dry, but my chin… wet. Drool. Of course. I blinked, only to find that I was still lying on the same damn table – slumped over, with a strange cramp in my back that gnawed through my spine like a mole. I wore only a simple tunic that someone had apparently thrown over my battered body, and I felt like a hollowed-out pumpkin after a bad harvest festival.

  Everything hurt. My arms, my head, my thoughts. But it was a strange kind of pain – soft, almost floating, like cotton laced with needles. My whole body felt trapped in a feverish twilight. And maybe it was. Somewhere between clarity and madness, where dreams start to believe they’re real. I remembered nothing specific, but fragments danced behind my eyelids: images, visions, a rumbling like collapsing heavens, and a voice whispering my name in endless variations.

  I forced my eyes open.

  The room was dim, but warm. One of those thick, old-fashioned lamps hung above me, buzzing quietly to itself. Wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, the walls made of rough stone. No windows. Maybe a basement? Maybe a shelter? Didn’t matter.

  Two people were in the room.

  Maira sat on the floor in her usual meditation pose – legs crossed, back straight, hands resting lightly on her knees. Her eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Still. Calm. But I could see her skin faintly pulsing. Mana. She was drawing it from the air, gathering it into herself like a stream collects rainwater. Her presence had changed. Stronger. And though she sat perfectly still in that moment, there was something stern in the air. No anger. No resentment. Just resolve. She was going to act – soon.

  Then there was Axos.

  He sat on a stool, one hand resting on the edge of the table, the other holding an open book. “Divination for Experts – Volume V” was written in golden letters on the cover. Seriously. Volume Five. I didn’t know anyone who had made it past Volume Two without losing their mind – or getting trapped in a mirror that supposedly reflected time.

  But Axos?

  He read with the relaxed focus of a man who didn’t need the book. I was fairly certain he had the entire thing memorized. Maybe he was just reading it to look important. Or to make us believe we still had something to learn. When in truth, he already knew more about the future than any Eagle Order seer, any rune singer, any dreamwalker I had ever met. His demeanor wasn’t arrogant, not openly dominant – but it was there. Clear.

  And still… was he even human?

  When I looked closer, I couldn’t say. His features were gentle, almost kind, but there was this perfect control in every motion that made me suspicious. The way he turned the page, as if the sound of the paper was part of a greater plan. And when I shifted slightly and groaned, he immediately looked up.

  “Ah! Good, you’re awake,” he said.

  His tone was warm, almost inviting, but I saw what lay beneath. The eyes gave it away. Not cold. But calculating. There was no real concern. Only the quiet ticking of an internal clock whispering: Finally. Everything proceeds as intended. I imagined him rubbing his hands together in thought. Maybe even smiling inwardly.

  I sat up. Slowly. My back protested, my neck felt like someone had snapped a branch inside it.

  “Glad to have you back with us,” Axos added.

  I didn’t respond. Instead, I let the last hours – days? – drift through my mind.

  Reyn.

  His gaze. His voice. The promises. The control.

  And then… what I had seen. The world burning. Not symbolically. Not metaphorically. Not as a nightmare. For real.

  I saw it. I felt it. And now I understood.

  Everything about him was wrong. Wrong like a song with the last note out of tune. Wrong like a promise made without cost. Now I understood why Arik suddenly despised him and abandoned his order. I understood the look in Vin’s eyes when she pulled away from me.

  And I understood why I had believed the rebels had captured her.

  That thought hadn’t been mine. It had been his. A thought he planted in my mind like a thorn vine, slowly wrapping around everything. I had been part of his plan. A tool. And now… I was out.

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  I no longer belonged to him. No longer part of his twisted scheme to “reorder” the world.

  I was no longer his. Not even a little. That much was clear now.

  "Good for both of us," Gravor muttered with that self-satisfied grin I couldn’t see but could definitely feel. "But all those images... whew. That was rough, even for me. And I mean, hello? I’m a demon! That stuff hit straight into the mind. Do you have any idea what it’s like when your demonic synapses start burning like a crazed alchemist on stimulants?" He sounded mildly reproachful. Not angry—more like an old friend telling you that you went a little too far at the last tavern night.

  "I’m going to let you take your bath in peace… and have sex in peace," I mumbled quietly, half laughing, half serious. It was hard to tell if I was joking or actually considering it—but in either case, I meant it enough.

  Gravor laughed—joyfully, like a child who’d just gotten his favorite hammer back.

  "Good! Great plan! But you only call me back when it’s serious. For the big showdown. No cameos, no side fights. Got it?"

  "Promise," I said softly and smiled. It was a real smile—one of those rare, honest ones you don’t believe yourself capable of until they happen. Then it went quiet in my head again. Gravor retreated. I felt his flicker for a few more seconds in the back of my mind, then there was only silence. A pleasant, rare silence.

  Until…

  "Uh…"

  Maira cleared her throat. Her voice was soft but clearly audible. I looked at her. She had released her meditative posture, now sitting more relaxed, legs stretched out, hands braced behind her on the floor. Her eyes were half open, alert, with a hint of amusement glimmering in them.

  "Luken, you really need to work on being less obvious when talking to your inner demon."

  I frowned.

  "You can… hear that?" I tried not to sound panicked, but my voice rose a little anyway.

  Maira smiled, slowly shaking her head as she opened her eyes fully. The light from the lamp—one of those enchanted fixtures powered by the same magic as auto-torches—reflected briefly in her pupils.

  "No. Nothing specific. But you just… freeze up. Your gaze drifts, your face goes blank. It’s like you’ve been temporarily possessed by a necromancer. Let’s just say—you look brain-dead. Undead. Especially in quiet moments. Like just now."

  She didn’t say it mockingly or scolding. No sarcasm. Just an honest observation—like between friends. And somehow that was even worse.

  I rubbed my face, pushed my hair back, and sighed.

  "Okay. I’ll work on it. Maybe… a code word. Or a blinking pattern to signal when I’m, you know, not here."

  Maira nodded.

  "As long as you explain the pattern to us first."

  "I’ll write a handbook," I muttered with a crooked grin.

  Then I turned to Axos. He hadn’t said a word the whole time—just kept reading quietly. Or pretending to. Always hard to tell with him.

  "Okay," I began, trying to sound calm, even though my mind was a mess of questions, lingering pain, and growing anger. "First: where’s my armor?"

  Axos looked up. Instantly. As if he’d been waiting for that exact question. His voice was neutral but friendly.

  "Arik’s cleaning it upstairs. Said it’ll take a while—he’s thorough. Your vomit’s… stubborn."

  I groaned.

  "Of course it is."

  Then I couldn’t help but grin.

  "Poor Arik."

  "He volunteered," Axos replied calmly, "no one even had to ask."

  I nodded and slowly sat back down at the table. Everything creaked, popped, and protested, but I forced myself through it. The surface was cool, still slightly damp—probably from my own drool. I ignored it.

  "Second," I said, placing my palms flat on the table, my gaze locking on Axos—serious, alert, and despite everything… curious.

  "What’s the plan?"

  Axos closed the book. Soundlessly. No dust stirred. His eyes met mine. And then he began to speak.

  -

  Deep beneath the earth, hidden behind meters of solid rock, the world began to change. Slowly, silently, but irreversibly.

  The chamber at whose center the metallic tree stood vibrated ever so slightly—not visible to the naked eye, but perceptible to those who knew what was unfolding here. A murmur passed through the stone, muffled and pulsating, like the first heartbeat of a newborn god.

  High above on the platform stood Reyn. Motionless, yet far from inactive. His eyes followed every movement, though no hands were needed anymore. No commands, no magical gestures, no chants over glowing sigils—everything now ran on its own. The final locks had disengaged, the channels of the Tharnit were open, the mana flowed into the central chamber, and soon... the Nullite would ignite.

  A new light. A new beginning.

  Reyn clasped his hands behind his back and let his gaze wander across the chamber. He had done enough. The fractures in the fabric had been prepared. The rest was now a matter of time—and of distraction.

  He knew that Luken had survived. He also knew that Luken had turned away from him.

  That hadn’t been part of the plan, but it was no longer critical.

  What mattered was that they remained occupied. Distracted. Lost in the game of loyalty, truth, and self-doubt.

  Because out there, far from this chamber, something was taking shape. In Thulegard, the symbols of the new order were already burning.

  And Silverdorn, deep in the west of the North, was ready—convinced, seduced, partly bought.

  Now it was Caleon’s turn. A bold move. Very bold. Caleon was no easy prey. It was a realm of ancient structures, fractured within itself, and precisely because of that—unpredictable.

  In Caleon’s north, the lords of the Blackwood still reigned—fierce, old noble houses loyal both to magic and the law of the strongest. In the east, city-princes and mercenary commanders controlled the ancient trade routes. And in the south... the south was unstable. Refugees from the border war with the dragonborn had settled there—many traumatized, armed, radicalized.

  Caleon was not a united realm, but it was a tenacious foe. It couldn’t be simply overrun. Some called it the "torn heart of the East."

  Others—a powder keg on three legs. But that made it a perfect target. A victory there, in the heart of inner conflict, would send a message loud and clear. Not just to the North. But to all.

  Reyn knew that. And he knew something else.

  In Caleon was something he needed. Not an artifact, not a crown, not a magical key—but a nexus. A place where Phase Two could be completed. A place only he knew.

  And once Phase Two was complete, the true crusade would begin. A crusade of shadow. A crusade of storm.

  And this time, no one would be prepared.