Permeus stood on the edge of the citadel’s northeastern balcony, his gaze fixed on the endless stretch of sea beyond. The waters were calm tonight, lapping gently against the cliffs below—a stark contrast to the storm of emotions raging within him. The moonlight cast silver ribbons across the dark waters, but its beauty was lost on him.

  Behind him, the citadel remained in disarray. He could see the silhouette of what used to be his glorious nation. The attacks had subsided for now, but everywhere he looked, he saw evidence of the violence: crumbled stone, scorched walls, and he could smell the unmistakable scent of immortal flame, even across the body of water separating his former castle and the citadel.

  Permeus barely registered any of it. In his mind, he kept seeing that moment—the fireball streaking across the night sky; the chariot carrying his family disappearing in a flash of blinding light. An image he could not quit replaying in his mind. Gone. All gone. Imara, his daughters, his future—everything that had anchored him to this world he’d helped create.

  The sound of soft footsteps pulled him from his thoughts, though he didn’t turn. He recognized the rhythm—Laura. She approached him cautiously, stopping a respectful distance behind him.

  “Permeus,” she said quietly.

  He didn’t answer, didn’t turn to acknowledge her. His fingers gripped the stone balustrade tighter, knuckles whitening with pressure.

  Laura drew a deep breath and moved closer, coming to stand beside him. She too looked out toward the sea, allowing silence to stretch between them before speaking again.

  “I sent word to my father about the invasion,” she concluded. “He and my mother send their deepest condolences. As do I.”

  Permeus remained silent, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. The words meant nothing to him. Condolences wouldn’t bring back Imara’s laugh or his daughters’ smiles. They wouldn’t erase the sight of that fireball either; he knew that blocking Laura out at a moment like this was insensitive. He had lost not only his wife but her sister as well.

  He could sense it too that she was fighting to hold back the grief as he was. Her voice sounded calm and collected, but very forced, and though he would not make eye contact with her, he could see the puffiness in her eyes from crying.

  Permeus wished he too could cry, but just like the condolences, it would do nothing to ease his grief either. He simply remained there stooping in unending silence.

  Laura shifted uncomfortably beside him, clearly struggling to find words adequate for their grief.

  “I’ve been called back to Dephenai,” she continued after a moment. “For my safety, they say. Father insists.”

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  “Goodbye then,” Permeus said, his voice hollow, devoid of emotion.

  He still didn’t look at her.

  Laura hesitated, turning toward him. The moonlight caught her face, highlighting features so similar to her sister’s yet subtly different. Her eyes—Imara’s eyes—recently tear-filled eyes but Imara’s. Those eyes searched his profile for something, anything that might show he heard her, that he cared.

  “That’s all?” she asked softly.

  Permeus finally turned his head, meeting her gaze. His eyes were haunted; the vibrant light that had once danced within them was now dimmed to a dull flicker.

  “What would you have me say, Lala? That I wish you a safe journey? That I hope to see you again soon? My world has shattered. My family is dead. Words seem... insufficient.”

  Laura’s expression softened, compassion flooding her features. She reached out, hesitating briefly before placing her hand atop his on the balustrade. Her touch was warm against his cold skin.

  “You don’t need to say anything,” Laura whispered.

  “I just wanted you to know I was leaving. That I...” She faltered, the words dying on her lips.

  Permeus looked down at her hand on his, then back to the sea.

  “Go home, Lala. Be safe.”

  She nodded, withdrawing her hand. With a single, fluid movement, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek—a brief, tender gesture that carried echoes of their shared past and silent acknowledgment of all that now stood between them.

  “Goodbye, Permeus,” she murmured, then turned and walked away, her footsteps fading into the chilly night air.

  Permeus remained motionless until she had disappeared from sight. Only then did he reach into his pocket and withdraw the shards—fragments of light that glimmered even in the darkness, casting prism-like reflections across his face. He turned them over in his palm, their edges sharp yet somehow not cutting his skin.

  These shards

  Going back for the blasted shards had delayed their escape. If only he had abandoned them. If only he had continued on their path. He might still have had a family to fight for rather than the one he now had to avenge. Saving those shards had cost him everything.

  The memory of that moment still overwhelmed him: the frantic rush to his study while the citadel burned around them, Imara’s pleas to hurry, to forget the shards, to think only of their daughters’ safety. But he had insisted, hadn’t he? Insisted on retrieving these fragments before leading them to the stables. Those precious moments lost...

  “What if?” he whispered to the night air. “What if I had taken them straight to the stables? What if I hadn’t stopped for you?”

  The shards glinted back at him, silent witnesses to his torment.

  Desia’s words continued to echo in his mind—the prophecy Aurea had given her. A white flame powered by the black night. A sacrifice.

  He knew he was ready to sacrifice himself since the emergency meeting with all the other Origins, but he had gone up to the balcony to debate, even though it was with himself, if he really was ready to take up the mantle.

  He was the origin of immortality after all. If anyone was supposed to be immune to death, it was he.

  Yet he found himself most responsible for the death of his family and the death of his most loyal servant. He practically invited Operas to the citadel by not vaporizing that raven carcass when he had the chance.

  He also had the chance to save Greta and thus prevent the death of Germaine, who would be his family’s assassin. The greatest mistake he had made was saving those accursed shards.

  What hurt him most was that if he hadn’t ignored his nightmare from a few days ago and taken initiative for once, they could still be alive.

  He wasn’t sure of how true that was, but it surely had to be better than the alternative he had taken.

  “If my death is what it takes,” he murmured, closing his fist around the shards, “I’ll burn myself to ash. There’s nothing left to lose now