Elyssara stares at the space where they had stood, her chest heaving, her vision blurring at the edges as the reality of it settles, heavy and absolute.
This is not something she can undo. This is not something she can protect them from. This… this is what they are up against.
Her gaze lifts slowly, dragging itself back to him.
To Kael.
To what he has become.
And then… to the figure that emerges beside him.
Maireth.
A cruel, faint smile adorns her face as shadows dance at her fingertips. Her smile broadens into something feral, wicked, hideous.
Elyssara’s heart doesn’t fracture this time. It sinks. Cold. Heavy. Certain.
They are losing.
Not in the way that can be turned with strategy. Not in the way that can be held long enough to recover. Losing in the way that ends with nothing left standing.
And for the first time since this battle began, Elyssara understands it.
There is no way to survive this.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Neutral hearts may claim no side
But conscience haunts those who hide
Laraof the Evening Star has stood in the presence of power often enough to recognize its shape. It is rarely loud. Rarely theatrical. It settles instead into the bones of a person, into the stillness between movements, into the quiet certainty of those who believe they have already won. There is an arrogance about power. Not the kind that announces itself. The opposite—the kind that doesn’t. The kind that believes it is above needing to. The kind that remains calm amid chaos because it believes loss cannot happen to it.
Nyrielle possesses that power.
The Elarion Vault of Nymeris hums with that certainty, too.
The chamber stretches wide and cavernous, its walls carved from ancient stone that holds the memory of every truth ever hidden within it. Above the central dais, thousands of Memory Orbs turn in slow, deliberate orbits, their pale light casting shifting reflections across the floor. Each one containsa fragment of the world as it once was—preserved, contained, controlled.
Lara has spent years believing that control has nothing to do with her. Indifferent. Irrelevant. Insignificant.
Now she sees the truth of it: what it cost people.
What it cost Seren.
“You’re quiet,” Nyrielle says, her voice smooth, unhurried, as though the war raging and waiting for them in Virellin is little more than an inconvenience. An afterthought. “I would have thought you’d be eager to see this through.”
Lara lets a small breath leave her nose, something almost resembling amusement.
“I am,” she says. “I’m just thinking ahead to the battle.”
Nyrielle’s gaze sharpens slightly. “Go on.”
Lara strides around the vault, fingers entwined behind her back.
“Once the Memory Orbs are held within the echo-plane, and we take the army and the weapons through the Gateway to Virellin,” she begins, voice calm and monotone. “What will you have me do? How will I serve you?”
Nyrielle sighs, as if the thought of leading an army into battle bores her. “I won’t ask you to harm your coven, as I’ve assured—I know your rules: coin and coven. As for the rest? I don’t care. Watch the show, if you enjoy a good triumph.” She giggles, light and whimsical.
