Chapter 164

I’d only been home a few minutes when I felt a surge of Faith nearby.

Flames bloomed into existence from nothing, licking upward in thin lines before resolving into the shape of a woman forged from bronze.

She looked assembled rather than born. Plates of metal fit together with impossible precision, every seam glowing faintly with internal fire. Small tongues of flame hissed along the outsides of her arms and legs, curled around her neck and shoulders, and vented softly from the joints of her armor like heat escaping a furnace.

The armor itself was part of her body - living bronze sculpted into a breastplate, segmented skirt, greaves, and narrow pauldrons, every surface engraved in intricate detail that caught the firelight in sharp glimmers.

Her face was beautiful in the way statues were beautiful - angular cheekbones, sharp nose, thin lips permanently set in judgment. Dark bronze hair had been pulled tightly back, every strand perfectly controlled.

A spear of polished bronze rested in her hand. Not lowered. Not raised. Ready.

“The High Witan will speak with you. Now,” she said, her voice clipped with the expectation of immediate obedience.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What is it this time, Miralis?”

“It is a summons from the High Witan,” she replied with a sneer. “I assumed that was evident.”

I sighed. “I meant what do you want?”

“To speak with you.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “That also should have been evident. I did not realize your comprehension had deteriorated so severely.”

“I suddenly understand why Brak moved your dolls around,” I told her.

“They are miniatures,” she corrected immediately. “Dolls are for children.”

“Tomato, tomahto.” I shrugged. “And don’t think I failed to notice how flattering you made the miniature of me. I’m pretty sure I didn’t look that handsome in the middle of combat.”

Her eyes narrowed further. “Are you suggesting the miniature was inaccurate?”

“I’m saying you might’ve embellished.” I grinned. “But hey, I’m not here to judge your obvious attraction to me. Let’s go.”

For one glorious second, Miralis looked completely unable to process what I’d said.

“I- you- what?”

Flames roared brighter along the seams of her body.

“I said let’s go,” I replied calmly. “I didn’t realize your comprehension had deteriorated so severely.”

I moved closer. “Do you want to lead the way, or should I?”

Her eyes blazed like forgefires. “I should smite you where you stand.”

“Yeah, but then we wouldn’t get to speak with the High Witan.” I smirked. “And you know how Aurelion gets when he misses his nap.”

Before she could argue further, I slipped an arm around her waist, pulled her against me, and stepped into the Interstitium.

The world didn’t vanish like it did when I stepped to the demesne or even elsewhere in the world.

It smeared. Reality stretched and dragged around us like wet paint pulled across glass. Color bled into color while warped space groaned around us. The sensation hit like the sudden drop of a wooden roller coaster - violent vibrations rattling through my teeth while my stomach lurched into my throat. Then we slammed to a stop.

Even expecting it, I still had to brace myself with a foot forward.

Miralis was better at this kind of travel than I was. It was rough when she did it, but nowhere near this rough. So while I managed to steady myself quickly, she pitched forward from the momentum.

I caught her instinctively - one hand around her waist, the other at the back of her neck.

Her hands locked onto my shoulders.

For a brief moment it looked less like dimensional travel and more like I’d dipped her in the middle of a dance.

I met her stunned expression with a grin and helped her upright.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” I told her. “But maybe don’t throw yourself at me next time. There’s a time and place for that.”

The flames in her seams flared hotter.

For a moment I genuinely thought she might spear me.

Then she seemed to remember where we were - and more importantly, who was watching. Her cheeks glowed ember-red, the bronze heating visibly like metal fresh from the forge. She shoved herself away from me hard enough to crack the stone beneath her heel.

We stood upon a vast gray platform stretching a hundred feet in every direction, perfectly flat and utterly bare.

Beyond its edges drifted ribbons of luminous color like auroras hanging close enough to touch, their hues bleeding softly into one another. Massive fragments of rock floated overhead like forgotten islands suspended in an endless deep blue void.

There were no stars. No moon. No sun. And yet everything was illuminated by a soft omnipresent glow, much like the light within my demesne.

Twelve massive thrones formed a great semicircle around the platform. Only four were occupied.

The Concordiance - the seat of the High Witan.

A pocket carved from the Interstitium itself - reinforced against the chaos and ruin of the space between worlds. Even the Myrddin could not reach here despite it technically existing within their domain.

At the center sat Aurelion - the Oathbound King, god of sovereign authority.

He looked carved rather than born - marble-white skin threaded with silver veins. Every proportion mathematically perfect. Every line deliberate. Dark hair swept back immaculately, silver already touching the temples. His eyes burned molten gold.

He wore a white tunic beneath a crimson toga arranged with ritual precision.

His Faith radiated deep stable purple threaded with drifting white bands like banners caught in unseen wind, golden halos gleaming around the edges.

To his right sat Solenna - the Burning Crown.

The goddess of judgment carried herself like an Amazonian queen marching to war. Broad shoulders. Powerful frame. Unyielding posture. Her dark skin seemed to drink in the light while smokeless white flame rose from her head in the shape of a crown.

Gold armor wrapped her right arm and bound her torso in wide polished bands bright enough to mirror the world around them.

Her Faith burned with a molten orange core radiating brilliant gold while white flames danced along its edges.

Beyond her loomed Kaelira - the Tempest Queen.

Tall and lean, her gray skin churned constantly like storm clouds layered atop one another. Lightning pulsed beneath the surface in jagged flashes. Her hair was living electricity, arcs of white and pale gold snapping outward to strike her spiraling throne before recoiling again.

Her pale eyes swept across everything with visible disdain while her dark blue dress rippled violently in winds only she could feel.

Her Faith churned with deep blue and purple split constantly by violent flashes of white.

Opposite them sat Elthira - the Verdant Breath.

Where the others imposed themselves upon the space, Elthira simply filled it.

Curves lush with impossible vitality. Green skin layered in shifting tones like sunlight filtering through a forest canopy. Flowers cascaded down her back instead of hair, woven together by living vines that moved with steady purpose.

Her yellow eyes resembled daisies at a glance - gentle until you looked too long and noticed the strength beneath them.

Her gown had been grown, not sewn. Leaves layered across her body, stitched together by creeping tendrils while butterflies drifted lazily around her throne.

Her Faith bloomed outward in rich green threaded with gold sunlight and deep blue nourishment beneath.

Miralis stormed past me and reclaimed her throne between Aurelion and Elthira.

It was carved from blackened wood shaped into sleeping hounds, embers glowing faintly in its cracks like the memory of fire still trapped within.

Her Faith radiated rigid white cut through by drifting gray smoke and ruler-straight silver lines.

“I appreciate the invitation to the party,” I called loudly. Then I looked down at my bare wrist. “But I’ve got a thing, so let’s make this quick.”

“You will surrender Nyssira to us for judgment,” Aurelion declared immediately.

“We literally had this conversation three weeks ago,” I replied. “I don’t trust you with her. You already fell for her bullshit once.”

I gestured vaguely. “And honestly? I don’t trust any of your solutions either. You’ll let her go so she murders more people. Or you’ll kill her and potentially destabilize reality. Or you come up with some exciting third option that’s somehow even stupider.”

Aurelion surged to his feet, lightning crackling over his skin. “You will-”

“Is that all?” I cut him off. “Because my answer hasn’t changed. Nyssira stays where she is.”

“Silence!” The word detonated across the Concordiance.

For a moment my throat locked shut.

That was Aurelion’s aspect at work. Sovereign authority. Commands that reality itself obeyed - at least for a little while

“I have tolerated enough insolence,” he thundered. “You will show respect. You will comply with our demands. And you will surrender Nyssira for judgment.”

I forced the pressure off me and glared back. “I told you before - I’ll give you respect when you earn it.” My voice hardened. “I owe you nothing. And Nyssira stays where she is.”

Lightning arced down his arm as a golden sword formed in his hand.

I tensed immediately. “If you kill me,” I said calmly, “that still won’t get you what you want. I still won’t respect you. I still won’t obey you. And Nyssira still stays put.” I met his fury evenly. “But by all means, make another terrible decision. You seem addicted to those.”

“Aurelion,” Solenna said sharply. “Enough.”

He didn’t lower the sword. But he stopped advancing.

“We already knew his answer before he arrived,” she continued.

I gave her a small bow. “Solenna. Elthira. Kaelira. Always a pleasure.” Then I glanced toward Miralis. “I’ll check on you later.” I winked.

Her cheeks immediately heated to glowing bronze again. The look she gave me could have melted stone.

I stepped away.

* * *

“What’s it like?” I asked quietly. “Being inside a Weeping Gallows?”

Naevira sat beside me in the grass, carefully weaving flowers together into a crown.

“I don’t remember,” she said softly. “I remember nothing before I awoke. Not who I was. Not where I came from. Nothing.”

“It sounds nice,” I murmured. “Not remembering. Forgetting the pain. Forgetting yourself.”

I’d cried so much lately I thought I’d run out of tears forever. And yet every night they came back.

Naevira shook her head slowly. “There is still pain,” she told me. “I simply do not know why it exists.”

Her fingers continued their careful work, threading stems together with gentle precision. “Seth told me I was once a wife. A mother. That I had two children.” Her voice thinned slightly. “That they died. My husband too.”

She paused. “I do not remember them. There is not even an emptiness where they should be.” Her gaze lowered to the flowers in her lap. “But the sorrow remains. The memory of loss survives even when the thing itself is gone.”

A breeze drifted across the hills of the demesne, stirring the endless golden grass.

“The trees speak to me sometimes,” she continued quietly. “They tell me that sorrow and pain reveal truth. That they strip away everything you are not and leave only your truest self.” Her mouth tightened faintly. “That suffering burns away the lies and illusions we believe about ourselves.”

She lifted her eyes to mine. “In truth,” she whispered, “the trees take everything except pain.”

Her hands found mine gently. She tried to hold my gaze, but her eyes kept slipping away before returning again and again - as though part of her feared me, while another part desperately wanted to be seen.

Her fingers tightened around mine. “If the trees speak truth - if sorrow and pain reveal truth - then truth is pain. If pain strips away everything we are not, then our truest self is pain.”

She placed the flower crown carefully atop my head, brushing a strand of blue-green hair away from my face. “Pain is pain. And we are pain.”

“The Gallows promise relief,” she said. “But they cannot remove pain without removing the self that carries it.”

Her voice turned fragile. “So they hollow you out instead.”

The golden grass swayed around us in slow waves.

“They offer freedom from suffering, but what they truly give is emptiness. They carve away everything you are and leave behind a vessel for someone else to fill.”

Her eyes drifted toward the distant castle. “There is no solace in that. No peace. Only longing for things you can no longer remember.”

Silence settled between us for a while. Then Naevira squeezed my hands again.

“Remember,” she told me softly. “Remember with all that you are. The good and the bad. The joy and the grief. And everything in between” Her eyes met mine fully this time. “Because the alternative is terrifying.”

Her expression tightened faintly. “I do not know whether it is worse to love, lose, and remember.”

She looked away. “But to love, lose, and forget…” Her voice nearly broke. “That is heartbreaking.”

I swallowed hard.

Naevira studied me quietly for several long moments. “You are young,” she said. “And you have been hurt many times.” Her gaze softened with sad understanding. “I do not know how, but I can see it in your eyes.”

I looked away first.

“Issa, I wish I could tell you the hurting is over,” she continued. “But it is not. You will suffer again. We all will.”

The afternoon light of the demesne washed across the hills around us, sunless and soft. Ribbons of color drifted lazily through the air beside fluttering moths.

Beyond us, the silver-white castle gleamed atop the rolling hills, its towers sharp against the impossible sky. Morien and Briva chased one another across the courtyard , shrieking with laughter while Elise watched nearby with open delight.

Naevira’s eyes lingered on them. “You have a large family,” she said quietly. “And they love you very much.”

Her fingers slowly slipped from mine. “Do not turn away from them simply because you have been hurt.”

For a moment her voice sounded distant and I wasn’t even sure if she was speaking to me anymore. “You will miss them terribly once they are gone.”