My shoulders sag beneath the question’s weight.
This is the moment the kingdom will decide whether I am a mistake to be forgotten or something worthy enough to follow. And if I fail to sway them, I won’t just be ignored.
I’ll be erased.
A swell of noise from the crowd yanks me back to the moment. Seraphina enters with her dragon, and I force myself not to look at either of them as the Sibyls gesture for us to step forward and face the crowd. I move up to stand level with the other Champions, each flanked by their Godbeasts. All but me.
I stand alone, because my Godbeast is still missing.
He told me I could summon him through the ring on my finger, that he’d come if I needed him. But some stubborn, prideful part of me refuses to stoop so low as to beg him to do the one thing he was meant to do: stand beside me.
I let my gaze drift over the masses. The common folk press against the line of guards, while the nobles lounge on raised platforms, silk awnings casting them in cool shadow.
Above, figures crowd the windows of the surrounding buildings,eyes trained downward, eager to witness our fate. The Divinity Gazes, suspended from balconies and rooftops, flicker faintly, their shifting reflections capturing the sea of faces and the line of Champions. Beyond this square, thousands more are watching through these mirrors, their judgment just as important as those gathered here.
I don’t see Eva, but I feel her presence in the crowd. She is always there, even when unseen. And Peonica... I’d bet she’s here too, tucked somewhere past the lines of the gilded guards.
The noise, the lights, the eyes—all of it presses in. I force myself to breathe, but fear gnaws at my insides when a sudden silence cuts through the air.
I inhale, my thoughts scattering as the shift in tension ripples through the crowd. The royal party has arrived. The hush is reverent, almost trembling. And then, he steps onto the dais.
Ryker, clad in white and gold as always.
His presence is enough to draw everyone’s attention and he commands the moment effortlessly. His golden hair catches the dying light.
He’s the same man I saw two weeks ago, steady on the surface, but something hollow moves beneath it. He looks worn thin, held together by will alone. When his gaze finds me, the cold in it goes straight through.
If I were stronger, I’d meet his eyes and hold them. But I’m not. So I look away before he can see the burn gathering behind my eyes. The small distance between us might as well be a chasm.
I swallow, my throat dry. My hands won’t still at my sides, guilt and regret tightening in my chest. This wasn’t how it was meant to be. I should’ve been beside him, not standing here under his judgment.
But here I am, alone. And maybe that’s all I’ve ever been. The thought hollows me out, makes me wish I could melt into the crowd and be unseen.
But, of course, I can’t. And then, as if the gods themselves have heard my silent plea and decided to make a mockery of it?—
Mael appears.
He moves with the same quiet grace that’s always seemed effortless to him. His brown hair falls in perfect waves over his shoulders, butthere is something new. An eyepatch now hides his left eye, and his remaining dark gaze sweeps the crowd, its sharpness softened by the careful tilt of his practiced smile.
I wonder what happened to him, what misfortune claimed his eye. Whatever it was, he deserves it, a petty voice hisses at the back of my mind.
My eyes find Ryker again. I expect irritation, or at least distance, but his face gives me nothing. No tension, no disgust, no shadow of what’s come between them. And when Mael claps his shoulder, all warmth and ease, heat flares sharp in my chest.
My fists curl at my sides. I glare at the two of them.
Is that it? Two weeks and a mysterious accident with his eye is all it took for Ryker to forgive Mael?
He didn’t even let me speak. Didn’t ask for my side of the story. My teeth grind together so tightly I wouldn’t be surprised if Alaric, standing silently beside me, can hear it.
I want to walk straight across the plaza and slap the smug tilt off Mael’s mouth. But the crowd is watching.
The Divinity Gazes shimmer from every corner and I make the mistake of looking up.
The image of me in one of the Divinity Gazes is uncomfortably clear. My white hair spills loose around my shoulders, but the red streak, my curse, burns like a bleeding wound against it. My wide eyes make me look younger, exposed, the nervous tension in my stance betraying every ounce of fear I want to hide.
The kingdom sees me like this. They see my uncertainty, my shame. My throat tightens, heat crawling up my neck.
Then, the Sibyls speak.
