"Ah, but which gods?" Wadsworth tilted his head in that unsettling way birds do. "The Harbingers didn't just steal from the imprisoned ones at Sunset Meadows. They've been at this for millennia, draining power from countless divine beings across multiple realms and realities."
My stomach dropped. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying, dear Winter, that not all of us are as benevolent as your experience might suggest. Some gods have been planning their return for centuries, nursing grudges that have grown into obsessions. They're ancient, angry, and they remember humanity as the species that stopped worshipping them properly."
Horrace's tentacles tightened around my arm, his musical trills turning worried and discordant. Even he could sense the danger in Wadsworth's words.
"You're telling me that if I release the stolen power back to the gods, some of them might take revenge on humanity?" The words tasted bitter in my mouth.
"I'm telling you I have no plans for revenge. I'm quite comfortable with my goose life, actually. The bread is excellent, and I enjoy the simple pleasures." Wadsworth's voice took on a harder edge. "But I can't speak for the others. Some of them have been dreaming of retribution for millennia."
The Oracle's mark on my forehead pulsed, responding to my rising panic. The blue markings on my arms began to glow brighter as my emotional state deteriorated.
"So what, I'm supposed to keep the power? Become the Chalice?" The thought made me nauseous. "Rule over everyone and everything to prevent some hypothetical divine revenge?"
"I can't tell you what choice to make," Wadsworth stood, preparing to leave. "But I can give you a thought to carry with you. If the Harbingers are defeated but their power isn't returned to its rightful owners, and you take up their mantle instead, what's to stop you from becoming exactly what they were?"
The question hit me like a slap. I opened my mouth to protest, to insist that I would never become like the Harbingers, but the words died in my throat.
Power corrupted. I'd seen it in the Oracle's memories, watched as a young idealist slowly transformed into something cold and calculating, convinced that their judgment superseded cosmic law. The Oracle had started with the best intentions, trying to prevent suffering, but ended up isolated and imprisoned by their own choices.
"What if I become them?" I whispered, the fear finally voiced. "What if taking that much power changes me into something that would hurt the people I love?"
Before Wadsworth could respond, before I could spiral further into existential terror, an angry roar shook the apartment. The time freeze had worn off, and Rook's voicethundered through the walls with enough force to rattle the windows.
Wadsworth cackled, a sound like wind chimes in a hurricane. "That's my cue to leave. Good luck tomorrow, Winter. Try not to let the weight of cosmic responsibility crush that lovely human spirit of yours."
With a casual wave of his wing, the ancient god-goose vanished, leaving only a few white feathers floating to the floor.
The door burst open seconds later, Rook charging in with his eyes blazing gold and his claws already extended. He scanned the room frantically, taking in my distressed state and the lingering scent of ancient magic.
"What happened?" His voice was rough with concern and barely contained rage. "I felt the time magic hit, then you were upset, and..." He trailed off, spotting the white feathers. "Was someone here?"
I looked down at Frank, who continued his eternal swimming as if cosmic entities dropping by for philosophical debates was perfectly normal. Maybe in his simple fish brain, it was.
"Just a visitor," I managed, my voice shakier than I wanted. "Someone reminding me that there are no easy answers to impossible questions."
Rook crossed to me in two strides, gently taking Frank's bowl and setting it safely on the side table before pulling me into his arms. His warmth, his solid presence, helped ground me as my mind reeled from Wadsworth's revelations.
"Whatever they said," his voice rumbled against my ear, "whatever doubts they planted, remember this: you're not facing any of it alone. We're your anchors. We won't let you become something you're not."
I pressed my face against his chest, breathing in his pine and earth scent. The Oracle's mark pulsed gently, no longer burning with panic but settling into steady warmth.
Tomorrow we would face the Harbingers. Tomorrow I would make a choice that could reshape reality itself.
Chapter
Sixty-Two
Winter
The PEB war room buzzed with controlled chaos that made my teeth ache. Nearly a hundred agents had been crammed into what was supposedly their largest briefing space, but it felt like a supernatural sardine can.
Witches in tactical gear stood shoulder-to-shoulder with hulking werewolves. Necromancers consulted with prophecy analysts while rune-snipers checked their enchanted rifles. A group of barrier mages practiced complex hand movements in one corner, their magic leaving glowing afterimages in the air.
The chaos was overwhelming. Conversations in at least six different languages, some of which weren't technically human. The constant hum of magical energy from a dozen different sources. The scratch of claws on concrete, the rustle of feathers, the soft chanting of spell preparation.
And over it all, Fenric's increasingly desperate voice.
