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“Her heart was tethered to her body, not her soul,” I growled desperately.
“It does not matter. It was still a part of her,” Destiny replied. She snapped her fingers and Sage’s spool disappeared.
“What if I gave her my own?” I snarled at them, my temper flaring.
“That will not work,” they both said.
“And why not?” I growled.
Fate answered, “Because, God of Death, you do not possess a heart to give. The reason you do not bleed is because the Creator did not give you a heart upon your creation. ” She looked at Sage. “They waited until she was made.Sheis your heart. That is whyyou bleed for her. And the reason she cannot heal herself, but you can, is because she is not whole either. You see, her heart was forged as you.”
It was a truth I had felt for centuries now. Whenever I looked at her. Whenever I heard her laughter. She was my heart, my mate, the other half of my soul. I was willing to give anything for her. Sacrifice anything for her.
Doanything for her.
I rose from the ground, cradling her shattered body against my chest. “Weave her another fate.”
“We told you, we cannot,” Destiny snipped.
“I don’t think you understand—I was not asking. I am telling you. You will weave her another fate, because if you don’t, if Sage does not live . . . then no one else will,” I snarled as I opened the cage, unleashing the beast within.
A horrific sound shredded through my throat—the sound more monster than man ashetook the helm. My bones hissed and popped as they grew, my body stretching to mountainous proportions. Piercing horns emerged from my head, lengthening back and tipping up at the ends. The rounded tops of my ears burst into points, shooting out like two sharp blades. Although I could not physically see myself, I could feel the ink pouring into my vision—tingeing my orbs completely black. My wings flared out behind me, my adrenaline coursing through them—through my bulging veins.
“Nockrythiam,” Destiny cried out.
I peered down at her. She looked no bigger than a cat.
“The Ender of Realms!” Fate screamed, taking a protective step back.
I glanced at my bonded, her lifeless body stretched across my tattooed forearm. Seeing her like that, it only reconfirmed what I needed to do—
My power, amplified beyond my own understanding, cleaved through their ancient wards like a mighty ax, releasing my monstrous shadows. They shot towards the Wall of Weavings, wrapping around the shelves.
“God of Death, you mustn’t—”
But my roar cut Destiny off as I heaved with everything I had, prying the shelves free from the wall—hosting the spools of all the living and all the dead—and held it over the pit of boiling-hot, ravenous lava.
For her, I would bring everything to an end.
Because I was not a hero. I was the villain.
The Spinners screamed, caving in on each other, begging me not to, but their pleas fell on deaf ears, just as mine had fallen on theirs.
A cane struck the ground, the sound echoing around the mountain’s walls.
“Silence, sisters! The God of Death has come to bargain with us for the life of his mate. He has made his side of the deal very clear. One life in exchange for all the living. Perhaps . . . we ought to listen,” rang out a mighty, familiar voice.
The voice of the Goddess of Free Will—
Ezra.
