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“But I do.” There was a haunting clarity in those words, filled with the ghosts of decisions made in desperation. “I’ve been in this tower for millennia. I’ve seen every iteration of this timeline play out.”

A few quick steps carried his other-self to a desk, where he pressed a button.

Above Skye, the air fractured. A million ghostly images flickered to life, layering over each other in an overwhelming, shifting storm of light and motion.

Scenes played out in rapid succession—all of Taly. A million different versions.

Taly arguing, bargaining, bleeding, breaking. Her face twisted in determination, in desperation, in defeat. In one moment, she stood before a council, fire in her eyes. In another, she knelt in a pool of blood—hers or someone else’s, he couldn’t tell.

“You lose her,” the keeper said, voice cutting through the chaos of lights. “That’s how this always ends.”

The images blurred, merged, rewound, some freezing mid-motion, others dissolving as new ones took their place. The sheer weight of it pressed down on Skye, the enormity of it making his breath catch.

“For what it’s worth, it’s not your fault.” His other-self leaned back against the desk, watching him. “This story was written long before you were even born.”

He pressed another button. The air fractured again. More images poured in.

Taly running, fighting, pleading, falling.

“Cori—Shards bless her stubborn little heart—has been throwing everything she has at the problem, trying to fix it.”

Another tap, another sweep of projections—this time, Cori appeared. Older, her face set in concentration, in frustration, in fear.

One moment, she whispered to a stranger in the dark. In another, she stood in the wreckage of a city, smoke curling around her.

“She’s repositioned every cup, aligned every knife, and fussed over every damn place setting. And yet to no one’s surprise except her own, moving around the tableware doesn’t solve any fucking thing other than to spoil Ivain’s dinner and break some glasses. Becauseripplesdon’t rewrite history. They just shift who bears the weight of it.”

The chaotic blur of images halted, leaving only a single frame of Cori’s face. She looked tired, not just physically, but in the way that settled deep.

“That’s the thing about Taly,” the keeper went on, low and grim. “And no matter what she tells herself, CoriisTaly. Just with more pain. She’s predictable. Left to her own devices, she will always choosesacrifice. It doesn’t matter what we do. Me. Ivain. Sarina. Hell, Azura went through thousands of iterations fine-tuning this trap, yet Taly never changes—not truly. She will always be loyal to the people who stand by her, and she’ll trade herself away to keep them safe. Even if it means she becomes the monster…”

For a moment, he stared at nothing, jaw tightening, before letting out a slow breath. “I don’t know if it’s destiny or if the Universe just has a sick sense of humor, but things that are meant to be always find a way. I still became a bloodcrafter, despite my initial reluctance. Only instead of doing it to save her, I did it to end her life instead.”

Skye’s throat closed. He tasted bile.

No.

He rejected it on instinct.

No, no—he could never. He woulddiefirst.

“You could if there was no other choice.”

“Get out of my head,” Skye snapped.

“You could if it was amercy.” The keeper’s eyes closed against the memories. “Believe me, among all the possible futures I envisioned for myself, I never thought my life’s work would be figuring out how to kill the one person I never wanted to live without. Taly, she… she always had a way of surprising you. Her power expanded far beyond the limits of what any of us could have foreseen. I watched her tear through armies like they were made of paper. She was a force of nature. And to stop her… I had to become something just as terrifying.”

There was a sound like flesh ripping. The squelch of blood echoed from all around.

The keeper’s eyes, luminous with aetheric power, were the only thing that remained static during the transformation.

“From sinews to synapses, I remade myself.”

His features melded and reformed, and the contours of his body flowed like molten metal.

“I saved her, in the only way left to me. And let me tell you, no amount of whiskey washes away that kind of blood from your hands.”

He hadn’t moved from his position in front of the desk, but he was expanding out into the room—his body, his presence—like a dark shadow rising.