POV: Ravenna
Seris doesn't struggle against the shackles.
She just stands there in the ruined meditation chamber, wrists bound, and SMILES at me like we're having tea instead of—instead of this.
"You want to know why," she says. Not a question. A statement. "You want to understand how someone could kill a queen. Hunt innocent people. Build an organization dedicated to genocide."
"Yes." My voice shakes. "I want to know why you're a monster."
"I awakened True-Sight at nineteen." She says it casually. Like she's discussing the weather. "One moment I was normal. The next I could see. Every lie. Every deception. Every dark intention hiding behind smiling faces." Her pale eyes find mine. "Do you have any idea what that's like? To see people's souls laid bare? To know that EVERYONE is lying, manipulating, hiding corruption?"
"That's not—people aren't all—"
"People are WORSE than you imagine." Her voice goes hard. "I saw nobles smile at their wives while planning affairs. I saw merchants promise fair deals while plotting theft. I saw EVERYONE wearing masks, and I could see through every single one."
I want to argue. Want to tell her she's wrong.
But I can't. Because she's describing what True-Sight DOES. The burden of seeing too much.
"At twenty-two, I encountered my first gift-bearer." She continues like she's reciting a history lesson. "A shadow manipulator. He was destroying a village—killing people in their sleep, stealing their belongings, hiding in darkness while families BURNED." She pauses. "I watched him slaughter thirty people in one night. Thirty. Because he could. Because his gift made him powerful enough that no one could stop him."
"One person," I say. "ONE bad person doesn't mean—"
"It means gifts are weapons without balance." Her voice rises slightly. "That man had power beyond what nature intended. Beyond what the Pact was supposed to give us. And he used it to destroy. To CORRUPT everything he touched."
"So you decided all gift-bearers deserved to die?"
"I decided the WORLD deserved protection from what gifts can do." She meets my eyes directly. "I studied history. I researched every documented gift-bearer going back centuries. Do you know what I found? Wars started by shield-bearers protecting tyrants. Plagues spread by healers who turned their gift to poison. Entire kingdoms plunged into darkness by shadow manipulators. True-Sight users who sold secrets to the highest bidder." She spreads her shackled hands. "Gifts corrupt. Always. Eventually."
"My MOTHER was a healer. She SAVED lives—"
"Your mother was the most dangerous of all." Seris's voice goes cold. "A healer queen. A hybrid supporter. A woman with enough power and influence to legitimize gifts. To make them ACCEPTABLE. To make hunting them IMPOSSIBLE." She leans forward. "If I had let her live, she would have made gift-bearers untouchable. Protected. CELEBRATED. And then what? How many tyrants would shield-bearers protect? How many plagues would healers create? How many kingdoms would shadow manipulators destroy?"
I'm shaking. Actually SHAKING with rage.
"She was my MOTHER—"
"She was a threat to the balance." Seris says it simply. Matter-of-fact. "So I eliminated her. I poisoned her during childbirth when she was weakest, when her gift was focused on saving you instead of herself. I made it look like complications. And I tried to kill you too—the hybrid daughter with dormant gifts who would grow to legitimize both hybrids AND gift-bearers."
Oh gods. She's ADMITTING it. All of it. Without remorse. Without guilt.
"You're insane," I whisper.
"I'm a realist." She straightens. "And I'm effective. Do you know how many gift-bearers I've eliminated in twenty-one years? One hundred and forty-three. One hundred and forty-three potential disasters PREVENTED. One hundred and forty-three corrupting influences removed from the world." Her eyes gleam. "I have saved THOUSANDS by killing hundreds. That is justice. That is balance."
"That's murder—"
"That's survival." Her voice is absolutely certain. "And I regret nothing. Not your mother. Not the others. Not ANY of it. Because I know—I know with True-Sight—that every single one would have caused more harm than I did by stopping them."
I can't breathe. Can't process the twisted logic. The absolute certanity in her voice.
She genuinely believes she's a HERO.
"You're coming back with us," I say through clenched teeth. "For trial. For execution. For—"
An explosion rocks the monastery.
The floor shakes. Stone cracks. Seris stumbles but doesn't fall. I grab the doorframe for balance.
"What—"
"Reinforcements." Theron appears in the doorway, covered in blood and burns. His left arm hangs wrong—dislocated or broken. "Eclipse forces from the surrounding territories. We need to leave NOW."
"Seris—"
"Is SECURED." Hadrian appears behind Theron, holding power-dampening chains—thick black metal inscribed with runes that suppress magical abilities. He snaps them onto Seris's wrists over the regular shackles. "She's not using True-Sight or calling for help. Move."
Another explosion. Closer this time. The Shadow is out there somewhere, still fighting. Still KILLING.
"Saren?" I ask.
"Holding the retreat path." Theron grabs my arm. "But not for long. Move."
We run.
Through the meditation chamber. Past bodies—Eclipse agents and two of our soldiers down. I stop to check for life but Theron pulls me forward.
"They're gone," he says roughly. "We can't save them. We can save US. Move."
I run. Seris runs between Hadrian and another warrior, chains clanking. She's not struggling. Not resisting. Just—watching. Like this is all FASCINATING instead of terrifying.
We burst out onto the terrace where our dragons wait. Saren is there, fighting THREE Eclipse agents at once. His blades flash water-bright. He's good—better than I realized—but he's being pushed back toward the edge.
"GO!" he shouts. "Get her out of here!"
Hadrian throws Seris onto his dragon and shifts, holding her in his claws. Theron shifts, wincing as his broken arm becomes a broken wing. I shift too—Solace bursting free with relief at being able to move, to FLY, to ESCAPE.
Saren takes down two agents. The third lunges—
A warrior intercepts. Takes the blade meant for Saren. Goes DOWN.
No. NO—
"leave HIM." Theron's voice in my head through the dragon-link. "He's already dead. Move."
We launch into the air. Behind us, the monastery is CHAOS. Eclipse agents pouring out. Dragons rising to pursue. The Shadow somewhere in the smoke and flames.
We fly fast. Through floating stones and impossible wind currents. Solace strains to keep up with Havoc's massive wingspan. Behind us I hear dragon roars—pursuit getting closer.
"Faster," Theron commands. "We reach Cindravale territory, they can't follow without declaring war."
We push harder. My wings BURN. My lungs scream. But we fly.
An hour later, we cross the border. The pursuing dragons peel off, unwilling to invade Fire kingdom airspace.
We're safe.
We're alive.
And we have Seris.
I look down at Hadrian's dragon carrying our prisoner. She's looking up at the sky with that same calm expression. Like being captured means nothing.
Like she's already won.
And maybe she has.
Because she's right about one thing—the ideology doesn't die with her.
Some will always fear what they don't understand.
Some will always want to destroy what scares them.
We've captured the leader.
But the war isn't over.
Not yet.