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A FINAL BLOW

CEDRIC

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Cheers and cries echoed through the grand hall, surrounding Cedric, coating him in their elation.

Elyria was but two paces ahead of him, seemingly frozen in place by the exaltation bearing down on them. He turned to see Kit, Thraigg, Nox, and Zephyr step through behind him, a similar kind of shock halting their movement.

He would have thought it out of place, the sheer amount of celebration happening in the remains of the Lost City...were that what they had returned to. But Cedric hardly recognized Castle Lumin. Gone were the dust-soaked carpets, the crumbling frescoes, the chipped stone. Billowing banners hung along the walls—the emblems of Havensreach and Nyrundelle embroidered in silver thread on each alternating flag. Lit sconces made of crystal and glass cast shimmering light across a polished marble floor.

This wasn’t the same rotted place Cedric had left behind when the Arbiter bound him to the Sanctum. It was made anew, as if conquering the Crucible had reawakened Luminaria’s former glory. As if, in coming back through the Gate, he had stepped backward in time.

Cedric looked around the room, at the faces of the spectators—humans and Arcanians both, intermixed—welcoming them home. Most faces were beaming—bright, shining with happy tears. But some were...distressed. Chins quivered, eyes were frantic as they strained to see past the six of them, looking for their champion. And that’s when Cedric noticed the layer of sad sound weaving in between the happy chatter in the room. His stomach clenched at the sight of a fae woman with short-cropped cobalt hair quietly sobbing off to one side.

Light swelled at Cedric’s back, the Gate pulsing with shades of silver and pink and purple and green. A white-robed figure stepped through, and the light vanished. The Gate closed. Her hood was drawn low, her celestial features hidden beneath swaths of thick white fabric as Aurelia’s voice—the Arbiter’s voice, to everyone else present—rang out, an infinite chorus. “Your champions return!”

There was another surge of cheers from the gathered crowd before they fell into reverent silence, their collective breath held in awe. Cedric stumbled forward another couple of steps until he was at Elyria’s side. He shot her a nervous glance, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her focus was wholly on Aurelia as the celestial continued, her many voices carrying across the hall like the toll of a bell.

“Behold your victors, people of Arcanis. Forged by the trials of the Arcane Crucible. They have fought. Have suffered. Have sacrificed. And have emerged victorious. Elyria Lightbreaker and Cedric Thorne have conquered the Crucible.”

A whoop pierced the quiet. Heart thudding, Cedric’s eyes shot to a trio of men standing together at the far end of the hall. Hargrave leaned against a pillar, a grin on his gruff face, dark hair pulled back. Next to him, Thibault shifted uncomfortably as he eyed the Arcanians surrounding him, but when his gaze caught Cedric’s, he lit up with admiration .

It was the third man, though, that had Cedric’s full attention. Not the cool, judgmental visage of Lord Leviathan Church like he’d expected, but a far friendlier face. One Cedric hadn’t realized how much he missed until this very moment.

Tristan’s smile stretched across his face, the scar under his left eye curving up toward twinkling blue eyes. Pride burst from him, palpable even from where Cedric stood, and the back of Cedric’s throat felt suddenly tight.

He came.

Even knowing how slim the chance was that Cedric would return, he still came.

Any disappointment at not seeing Lord Church amongst those waiting for him vanished. And if he was being honest with himself, Cedric wasn’t sure he was disappointed. Something far more akin to relief spread through him, mixing with that ever-present simmer in the center of his chest. He did not begrudge the extra time to prepare, to sort through his thoughts and untangle his feelings before he would have to report to his benefactor on all that had occurred within the Sanctum. Cedric wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell him—how much he would tell him. There was, after all, still so much Cedric didn’t understand about himself.

He gave Tristan a slow, grateful nod, then turned his attention back to Aurelia before that prickling tightness in his throat gave way to something more embarrassing. He was still very much on display, after all.

“See those who have conquered the Arcane Crucible, those who walk the path of unity rather than division,” Aurelia said. “Those who have proven themselves worthy of a crown.”

“But whose crown is it?” came a voice from the crowd. Cedric couldn’t tell who it belonged to, but the question was only the first in a tidal wave of queries and calls suddenly barraging them.

“Which of them won?”

“Surely it cannot be both!”

“Does Havensreach or does Nyrundelle claim its power?”

Their fervor finally stirred Elyria from her frozen state. An odd expression on her face, she stared at the crown in her hand, tightening her hold around it. Cedric felt the presence of the other champions drawing closer behind the two of them, as if preparing for the crowd to rush them, for a mob to form.

They needn’t have worried. Aurelia raised both hands and a pulse of power spread over the crowd. They quieted again, compelled to listen. “The crown belongs to no one.”

Some of the spectators exchanged sidelong glances, Hargrave and Thibault included, but their fervor did not climb out of control again.

“Not yet,” Aurelia continued. “The Crucible has been conquered but the power of the Crown of Concord has not yet been claimed. And it shall remain as such, until?—”

Several things happened at once.

A blur of forest green darted into Cedric’s field of vision.

A collective gasp echoed through the hall.

Elyria let out a sharp cry as she staggered back, colliding with Nox. She clutched one hand in the other, red blood dripping down the side of her palm.

Her empty palm.

And Zephyr now stood several feet in front of Cedric, the dagger she’d once used to save his life clutched in one hand, the crown in the other.

Anguish was stamped on every plane of her delicate face as she looked at Cedric with pleading green eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

She took a step back. Cedric took a step forward. “Why?” His voice cracked on the word.

“The crown does belong to someone,” she said. “And I have no choice but to bring it to him. He didn’t give me a choice.”

Cedric reached for her, but she was fast—so, so fast. Not weak, not frail, not spent, like he’d thought. No, that ashen quality, the nerves, the jumpiness he’d picked up on in the Sanctum wasn’t due to her waning magic. It was because of her guilt .

“No!” shouted Aurelia, her layered voice sharp with ancient power. Her hand shot from beneath her robes, a galaxy of color swirling over her skin, an orb of magic forming in her hand. A godly strike meant to stop the sylvan from absconding with their hard-fought prize.

But Zephyr still was faster. With a flash of green light, her body was suddenly shimmering, shifting, shrinking—changing. Wings burst from her back. Sage-green skin gave way to viridian feathers. And suddenly it was not a sylvan standing before Cedric, but an eagle flying away from him, half of the Crown of Concord clutched in her talons.

Shapeshifter.

Changeling.

Aurelia’s blast missed Zephyr by inches, ricocheting off the far wall and dispersing over the spectators with such force that most were knocked to the ground.

Cedric’s head spun as Zephyr soared over the stunned crowd, a shriek tearing from her avian throat as she soared through the castle doors and out of sight.

“He didn’t give me a choice.”

Who was he ? Varyth Malchior? Pieces of Cedric and Zephyr’s time in the Sanctum knit together in his reeling mind, a quilt woven from each moment that informed her betrayal. He was suddenly examining every interaction they’d had since the moment he saved her from the gnarlings.

His thoughts stuttered. Had even that been manufactured? Her screams of terror, the gushing wound on her leg? Cedric stared at the spot where the eagle had disappeared, an image clawing at him. The green-tinged hide of the beast that had clawed Dissidua Pyr to death. He’d thought it a trick of the light, the reflection of the aurora overhead. He recalled the howl of pain as his sword sliced into the creature. Into its leg .

It was her.

She’d been playing Cedric from the instant he entered the Crucible, watching him, waiting for him. She killed Dissidua. Used the very injury Cedric had unknowingly given her to play on his sympathies. And he fell for her entire act. He had taken every shy smile he coaxed from her at face value. The hurt she’d exuded after his attempt to ally with the other human champions. Every anxious look, all that nervous wringing of her hands. He’d thought them indications that she actually cared about his wellbeing. Cared for him. That they were allies.

Worse, that they were friends.

Through sacrifice, darkness, and friendship betrayed .

Not once had he thought she was using him as a means to an end, pushing him to conquer the Crucible so that there would be a crown for her to steal. Had she known what the price of gaining said crown was when she propelled him toward it? Known that either he or Elyria would have to die in order to claim the final prize?

“It has to be you two...Take this to the end. For all of us.”

Of course, she knew. Surely, if she was working under Varyth’s command, she knew exactly what to expect all along. He thought of her shock at seeing the pair of them reemerge after the final trial. Her utter disbelief.

She hadn’t failed to fully heal Kit, Thraigg, and Nox after the battle with Evander because her magic was spent. She’d done it to keep them weak. To prevent them from being able to overpower her when the moment inevitably came for her to strike. For her to play her final hand.

Cedric turned, heat building in every stomp of his boots as he returned to the other champions by the Gate. Thraigg was still supporting a flagging Kit, both wearing identical expressions of appalled astonishment. Even Nox’s typically unflappable face was scrunched with contemplation, as if they didn’t understand what just happened.

Elyria clutched her injured hand tightly in the other, pressing the hem of her blouse upon it to stem the bleeding. Rage flared in Cedric’s chest at the sight, though the wound Zephyr had slashed into her skin in order to pry the crown loose didn’t look deep.

One look at Elyria’s stony expression might have convinced others she was fine. A flesh wound. Just a scratch. But the pain in her eyes belied her stoicism. It mirrored the betrayal Cedric was sure shone in his own.

“We have to go after her,” Elyria shouted. Shouted, because the stunned silence that had befallen the crowd was quickly fading, another wave of uncertainty taking over.

“What is this?”

“Arcanian traitors! They’ve stolen the crown!”

“You saw the way she exchanged words with the human victor. She’s working for them!”

Another pulse of celestial power from Aurelia had their cries trapped in their throats, though the most vocal amongst them looked decidedly displeased about it. Cedric could see the restlessness in the eyes of those still present, the doubt creeping into their expressions as they exchanged wary glances. The celebration was over. Many spectators turned on their heels and stormed out of the hall, the start of an exodus that Cedric hoped wasn’t a mistake. Who knew what tales and rumors would be spun from what they witnessed here.

“She is long gone already, I fear,” said Aurelia, a simmering rage in her many voices that made the hair on the back of Cedric’s neck stand on end. He understood her fury. Without their half of the crown, they had no way to find the other piece. And very soon, Varyth Malchior would.

A knot formed in Cedric’s throat. “What do we do now?”

“We can’t just let her get away,” Kit said, voice weak. Cedric’s blood burned at the sight of her, still feeble, still hurting. The knowledge that Zephyr had purposefully let her suffer like this stoked the furnace inside him.

“She’s a fucking bird,” Thraigg said with a grunt, shifting his weight so that he could support Kit more fully. “And alas, we aren’t the ones who can fly, lass.”

“I doubt you are in much of a state to do that either,” Nox added.

Kit’s answering nod was resigned. “Go, Ellie,” she said. “Find her. Get it back. Without it, we can’t?—”

Elyria shook her head. “You need a healer. I stay with you.”

“But—”

“I stay. With you.” Her voice was resolute, her jaw tight, muscles tense. Cedric knew there would be no changing her mind. He understood what she must have been thinking, that she had already left too much of Kit’s health and recovery up to others. Relied on others, trusted others. Trusted Zephyr. She would not leave her again.

“Is there nothing you can do?” Elyria’s head snapped to Aurelia, still standing a few paces away from the champions. “Can you trace the crown? Use your power to track her?”

Beneath her thick white robes, the celestial’s shoulders sagged. “My domain is the Sanctum, not the world beyond,” she said, multi-tonal voice distant, detached. Like her focus—her very presence—was fading now that the Crucible was complete. “I cannot pursue her.”

“Then tell us what to do.” Cedric couldn’t keep the panic from his voice. He jerked his eyes around the now mostly empty hall. Only Tristan, Hargrave, and Thibault, along with a handful of other observers, still loitered by the doors. The trio caught Cedric’s eye, perhaps seeing the desperation in his gaze, and started moving toward him. “We don’t know where she would be headed, where Varyth Malchior is. You must know something ?—”

Kit groaned, what little color remained leaching from her face. She needed that healer now .

Cedric turned to Elyria. “Go,” he told her. “I will return to Havensreach. I’ll need to explain everything that happened here to Lord Church, to...to the king. Perhaps they will know something of Varyth Malchior’s movements, will have some information we can use to track them down.” His voice was as solemn as he could make it when he added, “I will not let either of them get away with this.”

A promise.

A vow.

Elyria’s throat bobbed, reluctance written into every silver fleck in her eyes, but she nodded. “Try not to get yourself killed while I’m not around to save your ass, will you?”

Cedric huffed a laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For a moment, they stood there, a silent understanding—a silent farewell— passing between them. Cedric wanted to reach for her, wanted to feel the grounding touch of her one final time. There was so much they’d never had the chance to talk about. So much they never would. Because the next thing he knew, Elyria was slinging Kit’s other arm over her shoulder and with one final meeting of emerald-green and golden brown, she walked away.

“Sounds like you have a lot to catch me up on, Ric.” Tristan’s buoyant words had perhaps a touch of caution laced between them as he pulled Cedric into a quick embrace, rapping his fist three times on his back.

Cedric was surprised to feel the inner corners of his eyes pricking when Tristan released him.

“Seems like an understatement,” Hargrave said, clapping Cedric on the shoulder.

“Should make for an entertaining trip home,” Thibault added from a few feet away. The distance he maintained made Cedric realize that both Nox and Aurelia still lingered nearby .

“What will you do?” Cedric asked the nocterrian, who was tracking Elyria, Kit, and Thraigg’s exit from the hall. It wasn’t until they passed through the doorway and disappeared from sight that the nocterrian answered. It wasn’t much of an answer at that.

“I’m afraid it’s back to the shadows for me,” they said, and with a final look at the vanishing form of Aurelia and no further explanation, they stepped into a shadow and disappeared.

The celestial had nearly faded, her white robes translucent. Through them, Cedric could see the Gate, no longer glowing, no longer beckoning. Sealed. Locked. Forever, he supposed.

And thank the stars for that , he thought.

“It is not over,” she said, and once more, Cedric found himself doubting the star god’s claim that she was not, in fact, omniscient. Sorrow filled every layer of her voice. “I fear it has only just begun. There is still much darkness ahead if we are to usher in a new dawn.”

Cedric inhaled deeply. “As dawn brings a new day,” he replied, citing the prophecy. But Aurelia was already gone, faded into the ether, swept back into her prison.

Tristan, Thibault, and Hargrave surrounded Cedric in a protective halo as they made their way to the end of the hall, navigating through the few spectators that lingered. They surged forward with their questions, requests, demands. Cedric did his best to answer what he could, to provide reassurance where he was able. And it wasn’t until he passed through the city gates at the entrance to the Lost City—no longer lost—that he dug down deep inside himself, searching for the light at the end of that tether, still tied somewhere behind his ribs.

The Arcanian and human traveler camps were still assembled to his left and right as he exited Luminaria. Cedric let his gaze travel across each in turn, before turning his eyes to the horizon where an unspoken promise held fast, stretching across the distance like a golden thread.