If this had been a story, the hero—armed with foreknowledge and an intricate battleplan—would have valiantly marched to the Demon King’s lair for a final confrontation. But Ori had zero interest in following that plotline.

  The Du?list within him demanded creative solutions for destruction. The Wandsmith insisted on craft, efficiency, and competence. His affinity for Modern Warfare required the optimal use of weapons, which meant taking an entirely different path.

  The Gate Room was unrecognisable by the time Ori was finished. It had taken the better part of a day, and with Karanno standing sentry, he had remained relatively undisturbed, aside from the distant rumbling of battle.

  Ori had tested charge and conversion rates, checked storage capacities, double, triple and continued to check until his eyes burned. He had soulbonded a physical safety pin, ensuring detonation would be impossible until he recalled the small chunk of stone via the soul bond. Then, he had soulbonded a fail-deadly detonator—a component within one of the sources that would trigger a catastrophic matter-antimatter reaction if removed. In theory, he could do so via his soul bond, on command… hopefully.

  After implementing every failsafe and engineering workaround he could imagine, he even asked Ruenne’del to attempt a divination on whether his plan would succeed—and when.

  But when it came to events related directly to him, divination was futile.

  "Explain it to me like I’m a child—why can’t you use your premonitions or foretellings when you’re around me?" Ori asked, gingerly stacking the mana sources that now acted as antimatter penny traps.

  "It’s not because I’m around you," Ruenne’del replied. "It’s because of you."

  "Okay?"

  Ruenne’del hesitated, struggling to explain something that came instinctively to her. Freya, seeing her difficulty, stepped in.

  "Think of it like this," she said. "When it comes to forming impressions of the future, for most people, it’s like walking across a frozen lake—easy when the ice is thick enough, when events are certain. But with you? You’re like a dragon. Only the deepest, coldest winters can freeze enough ice to ensure passage. By the time that happens, the prediction is meaningless. And even then, with enough time and incentive, no thickness of ice could bar passage if a dragon truly wanted to dive beneath the waters."

  Ori frowned for multiple reasons. The idea that he was some lumbering dragon on an ice lake felt so detached from his nascent understanding of ‘Fate’ that he struggled to rearrange his worldview. Besides, he had met an actual dragon—Thraxis—and the idea that dragons couldn’t simply avoid the lake by flying over it, made the analogy silly.

  "You’re thinking about dragons just flying over lakes, aren’t you?" Freya sassed.

  Rue smirked—a rare expression from her.

  "In a way, that’s exactly what you’re doing," Freya continued. "Instead of fighting a battle like a normal person, you plan to blow up the entire mountain. Normally, only ancient creatures who’ve lived for eons can amass the amount of Will needed to leave such an impact on the surface of the lake. But for you? Because you’ve already formed a Domain as a mortal, your Will is increasing at a rate hundreds, maybe thousands of times faster—at a stage where it should barely grow at all."

  "Fine. But I’m not a dragon," Ori muttered, his High Human pride bristling at the comparison to what he considered creepy, overgrown lizards.

  "You’re scary, that’s what you are," Karanno chimed in. "If all High Humans are going to be like you, Fate is in for a world of hurt."

  "Ori, how long?"

  Ori exhaled, making the final adjustments.

  "Almost done."

  “Just a moment, son.”

  The corpse of the second Galroga smouldered in the distance. After spending half a day moving through Ghigrerchiax’ reaches with Karanno, Incheon and his bonds, Ori had arrived just minutes after the angels had defeated it. They had suffered substantial losses this time, without the aid of Lysara and Ruenne’del.

  Ori worked on treating the celestial creatures. Their biology—if their physique could even be considered biological in the traditional sense—posed an interesting challenge, forcing him to reconsider the application of his healing spells, especially when it came to Presence-based lifeforms and their energies. Were it not for the sheer depth of Presence within him, healing any Greater Rank or higher celestial would have been impossible.

  Meanwhile, Vision of the Progenitor caught the fragments of shattered souls, remnants of the Galroga’s foul ability to annihilate the very essence of living spirits. Its terrifying combination of dark, curse, and blood magic made it, for Ori, one of the most horrific creatures he had ever heard of, let alone witnessed.

  “Hi,” Ori said, the distraction of tending to his patient helping to mask his awkwardness as he addressed his latest father-in-law.

  Jhacrisite, Paragon of Providence, even crouched down, his towering form and folded wings casting a shadow over Ori. A slab-like hand rested heavily on his shoulder.

  “Thank you. You have done more than enough,” Jhacrisite said.

  Ori glanced up at the ancient angel, his gaze searching the face of a being countless times older than his twenty-three years. Jhacrisite’s expression was hard, his granite eyes piercing, as though they could bore straight into his soul.

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t comprehend what you’ve done,” Jhacrisite admitted. “But with our Gate Room secure, we can buy you a distraction, perhaps a few days—long enough for you to escape. Alternatively, you could come with us to the Celestial Realms.”

  Ori considered the invitation for a long moment as Channel Restoration flowed through his hands. A safe, effortless egress off the mountain, straight to a realm he had always wanted to see.

  But there was too much left to do on Twilight, let alone the Elemental Demiplane. From the hidden loot caves and Aether rifts scattered across the region, to returning Freya to her university—and eventually, her birthplace. Given how difficult crossing demiplanes usually was, passing on this opportunity stung.

  But Ori shook his head. “One day. But for now, I’ve got too much to do. Give us no more than five or six hours. I’ve… done something. Made something, like a weapon.” He glanced over his shoulder, searching for any sign of the Overseer’s presence. “As soon as the elves at the gate withdraw, you leave too. Book it out of here and don’t look back.”

  Jhacrisite’s smile was equal parts amusement and wonder. “That you have become the Redeemer means you have taken my warnings to heart.”

  “Yeah, this is pest control. Nothing more.”

  “Even weeds have their purpose, son. Though unsightly and anathema to life, you will come to understand that Fate requires discord and shadow just as much as it needs harmony and light.”

  “Sure.” Ori muttered, his mind drifting—to Raven, to the darker natures of White Magi, to his use of weapons.

  A sudden insight crystallised within him.

  His shadow.

  Jhacrisite smiled knowingly. Ori scowled at the smug bastard, but before he could retort, he nearly stumbled under the heavy, celebratory pats to his back.

  “Congratulations. Oh, and do take care of my daughter—or else.” Jhacrisite said with a rare levity in lieu of goodbye as he turned away and left.

  “What are you cobbling together this time, fella?” Karanno muttered as he found Ori once again on his knees, his hands binding together stout lengths of old wood with rotten pieces of sisal and tattered tent fabric using Echo Forging and enchanting it for toughness with Lesser Echo Print.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Unlike some, I wasn’t gifted with a pair of wings, so I’ve decided to make my own.”

  “Why?” Karanno asked, confused.

  “My escape plan. Should work… as long as the centre of gravity isn’t too far forward,” Ori muttered, half to himself. He had the general concept of a paraglider in mind and knew he could improvise control surfaces mid-flight. In addition to the rigid wing structure, he planned to carry a makeshift parachute, which he’d probably need anyway when it came to landing.

  “You okay with this?” Karanno asked, scepticism clear in his voice as he turned to Ruenne’del.

  Rue shrugged, turned partially, then shivered her dragonfly-like fairy wings in reply.

  “Rue says we’re pretty high up, so I’ll just let gravity give us a helping hand off this mountain, a few minutes at a around a hundred miles an hour will save us more than a day of walking.”

  “Riiight… Anyway, it’s time for me to join my brethren. Not sure I’ll see you folks before you leave, sooo…”

  “Yeah.” Ori stood, dusting off his hands as he turned to Karanno and Incheon. “Thanks, fam. I really mean it.”

  Ori offered out his hand. Karanno clasped it, drawing him in.

  “Bring it in! I give the best hugs, I’ve been told. Ha.” He clapped Ori on the back before stepping away with a grin. “Look at you—just the other day, you were complaining about how you knew nothing about girls and relationships, and now you’re married… again.”

  “Mate, I still know nothing.”

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  “Yeah, maybe. And what about you? What’s your plan on the other side?”

  “Haven’t thought that far ahead yet, fella. I’ll see where I end up in the Celestial Realm, then probably settle down, find another king or god to advise. A cosy life in a calm, gilded bureaucracy sounds pretty good right now.”

  “Sounds pretty boring to be fair. But I can imagine boring is nice, all things considered.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Satisfied your… need for payback?”

  “Yeah.” Karanno agreed, his thoughts likely drifting back over the carnage of the last few days.

  Incheon offered a small nod in appreciation. “I too will join them on the front lines, as it were.”

  “Right. You two take care of each other. I’m not sure what other surprises this place has left, but if you get a bad feeling, ditch this place and book it through the Gate Room. I checked—it’s fully charged and ready for you.”

  “You too. And hey—” Karanno turned to Ruenne’del and Freya. “Be sure to keep this dope out of too much trouble. Or at least be there to pull him out of it.”

  “Our Bondweaver has a knack for landing face-first in a golden pillow. All he really needs is someone to keep his head from floating off like a soap bubble.”

  “And you—” Karanno met Rue’s gaze. “As much as I hate your old man, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  “As little as he would need or enjoy such, I appreciate your intentions.”

  “Did you know Raven would be abducted?”

  With his mind on the nature of predictions and divination, and Ruenne’del’s obvious foreknowledge, the question had been burrowing beneath his skin ever since.

  “I did,” Ruenne’del said.

  They were alone—Lysara deep beneath the earth, while Freya had decided to nap within the soulspace reserved for her inside of him.

  After finishing his makeshift paraglider and saying their goodbyes to the celestials, Ruenne’del had led them through the tight, natural crevices between man-made—or in this case, demon-made—passages. At first, urgency and exertion had kept them focused on navigating the treacherous terrain. But as Ori settled into the rhythm of travel and the physical fatigue dulled, the silence and tension between them became harder to ignore.

  For someone he was ostensibly married to, the weight of unspoken words between them felt too heavy. Ori broke the ice, though unfortunately, his words came out more like an accusation than a casual inquiry.

  “If you knew, why didn’t you do something about it?”

  “I did,” Rue replied.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “That wand—I found it so she could defend herself.”

  “Right.”

  “Her steps form cracks upon the ice,” Rue attempted to explain. “When she chose to face the Carnifex instead of staying in your arms, she changed fate. And when you took the artefact from her while she rested—you changed fate even further.”

  Ori remembered retrieving the wand from her nerveless fingers, afraid that the high stat requirements might have caused her physical or psychological harm had the artefact remained in her hands.

  “I see. I’m sorry if I sounded like accusing—”

  “It’s fine. I could have done more.”

  After a few paces, Ori asked, “Did you two get on? You and Raven, I mean?”

  “The brightest lights cast the deepest shadows. She complements you—will be good for our family.”

  Ori felt a slow warmth in his chest at the unexpected declaration.

  “Our family, heh?”

  Rue shrugged. “I could see how comfortable you were in each other’s presence. Her hunger—not just for power, but to belong with you, with us. I want that for everyone in our family.”

  “Me too.”

  Split Mind rifled through considerations, reframing the events of the last few days through this newly enlightened perspective. Eventually, more questions surfaced—ones he might as well ask now rather than later.

  “Any thoughts on what our family would look like?”

  “Yes. A bigger conversation, for another time.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “It won’t be.”

  “Alright.” Ori exhaled in relief. “Smaller topics, then. Favourite colour? Hobbies?”

  “Dancing naked under starlight during the Cicada’s Equinox.” She started, Ori waited, noticing how she seemed like she had more to say.. “Summoners’ Guild, realm travel—to see as much of Fate as I could, before… My favourite colour? Petals of Sylpheren’s Veil at sunrise. A flower that blooms for one day, every hundred years.”

  Despite her rapid answers, spikes of emotion echoed through their bond with every sentence. Between their link and the visions they had shared, Ori was starting to sense that—despite her quiet, restrained nature—Ruenne’del felt things more intensely than he did.

  She lived deeper, every moment carrying a weight he didn’t fully understand. Was it a feature of her race or culture? A result of her curse? Or something intrinsically her? He didn’t know. But he looked forward to finding out.

  “So, would you recommend the Summoners’ Guild? I’m thinking of joining to offset dem crafting costs.”

  Rue turned, giving him a quick once-over—a glance that felt like an appraisal.

  “Yes. I will introduce you before I leave.”

  “Yeah, about that… You said you’re a summons?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have a time limit?”

  “The day I was summoned is in the future. That is when I must return.”

  “Oh yeah?” Ori frowned, wondering if that was some sort of failsafe to prevent paradoxes. But not only did it make his head hurt, the longer he thought about it, the less likely that seemed.

  “Yes. I will need to return to the Faewylds for a time. But not yet.”

  Ori swallowed the lump in his throat. The Bondweaver in him growled at the thought of being torn from another bond.

  “How long?”

  “Five months before the end of the summoning, barring accidents. Then a similar time in the Faewylds.”

  “Back to the Seelie Court? That’s home, isn’t it?”

  “It’s where I was born.”

  “You make it sound like you’re unwelcome?”

  “Some may welcome me, but no. The Seelie Court is only welcoming on the surface.” Rue paused. “One of my earliest memories is of taking in a new playmate—one met while exploring the nearby woods as a child. Though a member of the Outer Court, I later found the Vulpixin…” Rue’s voice was calm. Too calm.

  “Gone?” Ori guessed.

  She nodded. “Not exactly. I was told she had been honoured. Invited into the Inner Court. A privilege.” Rue let out a short, mirthless laugh. “She didn’t see it that way. At first. They didn’t chain her. Didn’t hurt her. Instead, they plied her with gifts. Draped her in silks, wove jewels and bells into her furry tail so she jingled while she walked, even as they whispered that she was special. That I—” Rue’s expression darkened. “...had been holding her back.”

  “Did she believe them?”

  Rue’s fine lips became a thin line. “Not at first, but given the seed of doubt and a little nurturing, such things can be quick to fester. They don’t need to lie outright—just nudge, twist, wait. The first doubt is enough. Friends become rivals. Brothers turn on sisters. You can find yourself alone before you even realise you’ve been abandoned.” She inhaled sharply, then exhaled. “By the time I saw her again, she was… beautiful. Refined. She looked through me like I was a stranger. As the child that I was, I reached for her to ask what was wrong. She pulled away.”

  Rue’s voice barely wavered, but through their bond, Ori felt the echo of it—the sharp, jagged wound of something left to fester for too long.

  “She was still smiling on the morning when we buried her.”

  Ori frowned. “You buried her?”

  Rue’s fingers flexed at her sides. “Yes. She was mine—my pet, my offering to the court’s entertainment. If I didn’t bury her, she would have been left to rot.” A pause. “The court doesn’t kill you outright. They let you linger. They watch you stumble, smile as you fight battles you’ve already lost. And when you finally collapse—from exhaustion, from despair, from the slow, creeping realisation that your only purpose now is to dispose of yourself before you become a bore… Death could seem like freedom, a way to regain a measure of dignity lost in life.” Her voice was steady, but Ori felt the weight behind it. “Because when the Seelie Court bores of you, you may as well never have existed.”

  She turned to him then, eyes sharp, unreadable. “So. Would you still wish to visit?”

  Ori paused long before nodding and speaking with a wry chuckle. “Yeah, I need to see that flower—Sylpheren’s Veil—and find out what a dance during the Cicada Equinox is like.”

  “You would dance naked with me?”

  Ori laughed. “Why not? Unless it’s a public thing with spectators—not my kink.”

  “I see.”

  “I imagine there’s plenty to see in the Faewylds. What it’s like?”

  “Unlike other demiplanes, for someone like you, it’s uniquely dangerous. Lots of thin ice.”

  “Then I guess I’ll just have to learn how to fly.” Ori smirked.

  “Yes. I will teach you.” Her scratchy voice carried a faint, playful lilt, something that would have been unthinkable when they first met. Though Ori had worried his barrage of questions might feel like an interrogation, Rue’s answers came more easily, her usual taciturn nature easing into something softer.