“Keep going.” Her voice is strained. “Whatever you’re doing, keep going.”
I pull harder.
The dark threads resist. They’ve been woven into Briargrave for so long that they’ve become part of its structure. Removing them is like pulling thorns from flesh—painful, destructive, necessary. The forest groans around us, trees bending and swaying. Roots erupt from the ground, not attacking but thrashing, convulsing as ancient parasites are ripped from their grip.
Stop.
The King’s voice isn’t a whisper anymore. It’s a roar, desperate and furious and terrified. I feel it trying to fight back—trying to burrow deeper into the forest, to find new holds, new ways to anchor itself.
But I have Xela. And Xela has me. And between us, we’ve built something the King can’t break.
I pull.
The binding shrieks. Power surges through me—more than I’ve ever channeled, more than I knew existed. My vision goes white. My body feels like it’s being torn apart from the inside. I hear Xela scream my name, feel her hands on my shoulders, her presence burning against my awareness like a sun.
And then?—
Something tears.
The King comes free.
Not completely—not yet—but the bond between it and Briargrave has been severed at its deepest point. The dark threads unravel, snapping and dissolving as the forest rejects them. The King’s mass shudders, contracts, begins to pull away from the altar like a wounded animal retreating from a fight.
The faces in the bark finally go still. Truly still. At peace.
I collapse against the altar, hands still pressed to the stone, every scar burning. My vision is spinning. My thoughts are fragmenting. I’ve given everything I have, and I don’t know if it’s enough.
“Tharos.” Xela’s arms wrap around me, holding me upright. “Stay with me. Don’t you dare leave now.”
“Didn’t... leave.” The words are hard to form. “Just tired.”
“You did something. I felt it. The whole forest felt it.”
“Separated... them.” I force my eyes to focus. To look at the King’s mass, retreating to the edges of the grove. “Forest and King. No longer... one.”
“Is it dead?”
“Dying.” I push myself upright, leaning heavily on Xela. She supports me without complaint—strong enough to hold me, steady enough to keep us both standing. “But not dead. Not yet.”
The King’s voice rises one last time. Thin. Broken. Filled with rage that can’t find purchase.
You think this changes anything. I am still here. I will still consume you both. I will?—
“You’ll do nothing.” Xela’s voice cuts through the King’s threats. I turn to see her drawing her blade, gray eyes fixed on the retreating mass with deadly intent. “Tharos weakened you. Pulled you away from everything that was keeping you strong. And now...”
She steps forward. Places herself between me and the King. Her stance is perfect—balanced, ready, the posture of someone who’s been fighting her whole life. The blade in her hand catches the light filtering through the canopy, turning steel to silver.
“Now you face me.”
The King laughs—or tries to. The sound comes out wet, broken, more wheeze than mockery.
You? A human? You think you can destroy what has existed for centuries?
“I’ve killed a lot of things.” Xela raises her blade. “Creatures that were supposed to be unkillable. Monsters that kingdoms couldn’t stop. This is just one more.”
The King’s mass shifts. I can see it trying to pull itself into something coherent—trying to form the towering nightmare of roots and thorns that it’s used to terrify victims for centuries. But it can’t. Whatever I did when I pulled it free of Briargrave, it damaged something fundamental. The King is diminished in ways that go beyond physical form.
She looks back at me. Her expression is fierce, determined, and underneath it all—loving. The woman who fought an army for me. Who anchored me when everything else was falling apart. Who saw past the bark and scars to the man I’d buried. Who chose me, against all reason, against all survival instinct.
