The courtyard was still trembling with the weight of Thyssara's final words, the air tight around Gareth's throat.
Nessy stood frozen—eyes wet, breathing shallow.
And then—
The voice inside Gareth's mind whispered again.
Soft. Close. Unavoidable.
"You can't win like this. You know that."
Gareth clenched his jaw.
He wanted to ignore it.
He wanted to pretend he could keep control.
But this time…
He didn't push it away.
He let the voice in.
He accepted it.
And the voice exhaled in satisfaction.
"Good."
For a heartbeat, the world dimmed—colors draining, sound warping.
Inside Gareth's head, another presence stirred.
A shadowed silhouette formed behind his thoughts, faceless, patient, ancient.
And then it spoke:
"Step aside."
No anger.
No force.
Just the calm authority of someone who had already won.
Gareth didn't resist.
He simply breathed—
And the shift happened.
His heartbeat slowed.
His posture straightened.
The trembling stopped.
His eyes lifted, no longer clouded with confusion or fear.
They were sharp.
Precise.
Empty of hesitation.
Something had taken the throne.
Now he faced Thyssara.
No fear.
No shame.
No doubt.
Only that cold, calculated calm.
"Three choices, you gave me… and yet you present them as though I am trapped."
"You see cages. I see opportunities."
"You want an answer?"
The smile formed.
"Then hear this clearly, Lady Nightspire."
"I don't choose...
I negotiate."
And finally:
"If you wanted obedience, you came to the wrong version of me."
Thyssara didn't flinch.
If anything, her silver eyes sharpened—like a predator pleased its prey finally stopped pretending it wasn't prey.
The courtyard wind swept her cloak back, authority radiating off her in waves as she stepped toward him, slow and deliberate.
"Negotiate…?" she echoed, voice low, dangerous.
"Bold. Very bold, Gareth."
She leaned slightly forward, her silver eyes locking with his, unblinking.
"You forget," she murmured, "who holds the blade… and who stands beneath it."
Her presence pressed down on him like a storm—dominance refined into elegance, power wrapped in poise.
But Gareth didn't even blink.
He simply tilted his head, that same quiet, controlled smile lingering on his lips.
"I forget nothing," he said calmly.
"Especially not who believes they're in control."
A whisper of shock rippled through the guards.
Thyssara's smile thinned—sharp, approving, dangerous.
"You're playing a delicate game," she breathed.
"Careful you don't cut your own throat."
Gareth's eyes flickered with a cold amusement.
"Then you better keep your hands steady," he murmured softly, "so you don't slip."
The tension cracked like ice.
Nessy stepped in front of him instinctively, her hands trembling as she stared at him—no, through him.
"G-Gareth…?" she whispered.
Her voice was small, confused, frightened.
Something in her expression said she knew.
She felt it.
This wasn't the boy she just shouted at.
This wasn't the Gareth she knew.
"What… what's wrong with you…?" she breathed.
"You look—different."
Gareth turned his head toward her with slow precision.
No warmth.
No gentleness.
No softness.
Just calm, unreadable emptiness.
"Step back, Nessy."
His voice wasn't angry.
It wasn't harsh.
It was worse—it was indifferent.
Like her fear didn't matter.
Like her tears didn't matter.
Like she didn't matter.
Nessy froze, her breath catching.
"But… Gareth—"
"I said," he repeated quietly, eyes narrowing just a fraction,
"step back."
Thyssara watched him with fascination, almost admiration, her lips curving into something cruel and pleased.
"There it is," she whispered, voice thick with satisfaction.
"The real you."
She circled him once, silver eyes glinting like polished steel.
"Cold."
"Sharp."
"Unbound."
She stopped directly in front of him.
"So tell me, Gareth," she said softly, dominantly, "what exactly do you wish to negotiate?"
Gareth lifted his chin.
Slow. Controlled.
Completely unafraid.
And he answered her with the kind of tone that makes even strong people rethink their strength:
"Terms where you don't mistake me for something you own."
The courtyard went silent.
Even the wind refused to speak.
Thyssara's smile grew—dangerous, intrigued, and more dominant than ever.
"Oh," she breathed, "this will be… fun."
The building's walls pressed in, black stone rough under the flickering torchlight.
Humidity hung heavy, clinging to skin, making every breath thick and deliberate.
Outside, the sound of people leaving echoed faintly, footsteps fading into the distance.
Gareth's eyes flicked toward Nessy, her trembling hands pressed to her mouth.
Her tears burned into him, a fire he couldn't douse.
He felt the weight of her fear, her heartbreak, and for a heartbeat, he broke inside.
She cried because of me…
Because of what I allowed… because of what I became…
I wanted to be her friend, and I failed.... I won't make the same mistake again.
The guards shifted, fists tightening, eyes flashing with anger.
They didn't understand, couldn't understand, how he could speak to their master with such cold precision.
Vawy's gaze lingered too long, curiosity bleeding into knowledge she shouldn't have had.
Gareth's voice dropped low, venom thinly masked by calm.
"Vawy," he said softly, dangerously, " you know too much, and it may become your last mistake."
The torchlight danced in his silver eyes.
The guards stiffened, jaws tight, the tension snapping like steel cables.
Thyssara's lips curved faintly, intrigued, unshaken, still dominant, still commanding the room.
"Careful, Gareth," she said, each word deliberate, slicing through the heat.
"You forget whose walls you're standing inside."
He stepped closer to Vawy, slow, measured, a predator circling its prey.
"I don't forget," he whispered. "I never forget. But you… you might not live to see your next mistake."
The room froze. Even the air seemed to still, waiting for what would come next.
Nessy's chest heaved. Her fear, her sorrow, her disbelief—it all collided inside him.
And yet, Gareth didn't move for her. Didn't speak gently. Didn't waver.
He was the storm. She was the tremor left behind.
Gareth turned slowly, shoulders straight, moving toward the doorway.
The torchlight flickered, casting long shadows across the rough stone floor.
The air was thick, humid, carrying the scent of sweat and fear.
Three guards stepped forward, tanned and broad-shouldered, swords drawn in one smooth motion.
In a synchronized flash, steel kissed the skin at Gareth's neck.
Cold metal, precise, unforgiving.
One of them leaned closer, voice low but lethal.
"Try a single move," he hissed, teeth clenched, "and you're a dead man."
The other two mirrored his stance, silent, watching, waiting for the slightest twitch.
Gareth's eyes flicked from blade to blade.
A thin smile curled, calm, unshaken.
He didn't speak. Not yet.
The courtyard noise outside had faded to nothing, leaving only the oppressive hum inside the building.
Even Thyssara paused, silver eyes glinting with amusement.
The tension in the air was sharp enough to cut.
Gareth's jaw tightened.
The voice in his head whispered again, patient, deadly.
He let it guide the next breath, the next movement.
He raised his eyes to the three guards, cold and calculated.
"Move again," he said softly, voice deadly calm, "and I'll make sure the blade finds more than my neck."
A pause. A beat. Silence stretching like a taut wire.
Nessy's eyes widened, panic and disbelief bleeding into her gaze.
The man she thought she knew was gone, replaced by something far colder.
And yet… he didn't even flinch.
Thyssara's silver eyes suddenly flared red.
A low hum filled the air, vibrating through stone and bone.
She moved forward, fluid, precise—a storm condensed into a single being.
Gareth's chest tightened.
He could feel the raw weight of her power pressing down, suffocating, undeniable.
The guards stiffened, awe-struck, sensing the storm about to break.
With a single, controlled motion, she struck.
Her fist met the air in front of Gareth.
The shockwave tore through the building—stone splintered, wood shattered, dust choked the air.
The walls crumbled.
Torches toppled.
Debris rained down like a miniature apocalypse.
The sound was deafening, a roar of pure dominance.
The guards, including Mira, erupted into applause, smiles sharp and wide.
They bowed slightly, showing loyalty to the unstoppable force of their master.
Even the wind seemed to bow, carrying the scent of ozone and fire.
Gareth staggered back, silver eyes wide.
The dust settled, revealing him standing amid ruins, chest heaving.
He swallowed the bitter truth.
The voice in his head was quiet now.
Clear. Indisputable.
He finally understood the truth he had been resisting.
He dropped his shoulders, gaze lowering.
"Yes," he whispered.
"I… agree."
The room was silent except for the cracking debris.
Thyssara's red glow softened back to silver.
Her smile returned—cold, victorious, absolute.
Nessy watched him, panic still in her eyes.
But Gareth didn't even glance at her.
He only stared at the woman who had just reduced him to his reality: weak, human, and entirely at her mercy.