Zareth's POV
The world explodes into chaos.
Hundreds of Reapers swarm down the crystal cliffs like a silver avalanche. Their marks glow in the eclipse darkness, making them look like fallen stars given weapons and rage.
Lysander throws up a shield of golden light, but I can see it flickering. Weakening. There are too many of them.
"The crack in the cliff!" he shouts over the sound of blades hitting his shield. "Go now!"
"Not without you!"
A section of his shield shatters. Three Reapers break through. I don't have a weapon, but I don't need one. Twenty-one years of training takes over.
I grab the first Reaper's wrist, twist, and use his own momentum to throw him into the second. They crash together and fall. The third swings at my head. I duck, sweep his legs, and he goes down hard.
More pour through the gap.
Lysander abandons the shield and fights beside me. His golden magic forms into weapons—swords, spears, shields—that dissolve and reform as he needs them. He's beautiful and terrible, three thousand years of combat experience flowing through every movement.
But even he can't fight hundreds.
A blade slices my arm. Another cuts my leg. Pain blooms everywhere. My marks scream and bleed silver light, and through them, I feel Cassian laughing in my mind.
"Yes! Fight! Struggle! Make it entertaining before you die!"
"Get out of my head!" I scream, slamming my fist into a Reaper's face.
"Never, my dear. You're mine. You'll always be mine."
Lysander grabs my hand. "The tunnels! Now!"
He pulls me toward the cliff face. I see it—a narrow crack barely wide enough for a person. We're almost there when Seraphine appears, blocking our path.
Her twin chakrams spin, catching the eclipse light. "Going somewhere, traitor?"
"Seraphine, please," I gasp. "You know something's wrong. You told me yourself—you've had doubts—"
"I had weakness." Her voice is dead. Empty. "Cassian fixed that. Gave me new marks. Better marks. Ones that don't crack or bleed or make me question." She lunges, chakrams flashing.
Lysander deflects both blades with a golden shield, but the impact drives him to his knees. He's exhausted. Dying. The poison from murdered anchors eating away at his strength.
"Zareth," he gasps. "I need you to trust me. One more time."
"What—"
He grabs my face with both hands. His golden eyes lock onto mine. "I'm going to do something. It's going to look like I'm dying. But I'm not. I'm buying us time."
"I don't understand—"
"You will." He presses his forehead to mine. "Find the Library of Anchors in the tunnels. Third left, second right, down the stairs. There's a book with a silver cover. Read it. Everything you need is there."
"Lysander—"
"And Zareth?" He smiles, and it's sad and gentle and full of three thousand years of loneliness. "Your sister is waiting in the eastern sanctuary. She's been so brave. So patient. Tell her... tell her I'm sorry I couldn't bring you to her myself."
Before I can respond, he kisses my forehead. Power floods through me—golden light mixing with the silver bleeding from my marks. My whole body burns with energy I didn't know I had.
"Three days," he whispers. "I'm giving you three days to decide. Learn the truth. Meet your sister. Then choose: kill me and complete Cassian's ritual, or trust me and break it. Whatever you decide, I won't fight back."
"Why are you—"
He shoves me toward the crack in the cliff.
I stumble through just as golden light explodes behind me. The blast is so powerful it throws Reapers in every direction. Even Seraphine goes flying.
I spin around in time to see Lysander standing in the center of the valley, glowing like a dying star. His body is dissolving into pure light, spreading outward in waves.
"No!" I scream. "What are you doing?"
He looks at me one last time. Mouths two words: Trust me.
Then he explodes.
Golden light fills the entire valley, blinding everyone. The force of it knocks me deeper into the tunnel. I hit the wall and slide down, gasping.
When the light fades, Lysander is gone.
Just... gone.
Where he stood, there's only a crater and a single golden feather, glowing faintly.
"He's dead!" Cassian's voice echoes through the valley, triumphant. "The last Undying Sovereign is dead! Bring me his essence!"
Reapers swarm the crater, searching for remains.
I curl up in the darkness of the tunnel, shaking. He said it would look like he was dying. But that looked real. Felt real.
Is he gone? Is he actually—
"He's not dead."
I nearly jump out of my skin. That voice—it came from inside my head, but it's not Cassian. It's younger. Female. Familiar in a way that makes my chest ache.
"He scattered himself across three locations to hide from Cassian. It won't last long—maybe three days. Then he'll reform. But that gives you time."
"Who—" I whisper out loud.
"It's me. Lyra. Your sister." A pause. "I've been trying to reach you for years, but the marks blocked me. Now that they're cracking, I can finally talk to you."
Tears stream down my face. "Lyra?"
"Yeah. Hi." She sounds like she's crying too. "I missed you so much."
"I don't remember you. I'm sorry, I don't—"
"You will. The marks are failing. The memories are coming back. But right now, you need to move. Cassian will find that tunnel entrance any second. Follow Lysander's directions. Find the Library. Read the book. Then come find me."
"Where are you?"
"Eastern sanctuary. Three hours from the valley if you run. I'll wait as long as it takes." Her voice wavers. "Please, Zareth. I know you're confused. I know you don't know who to trust. But I'm your sister. I'm real. And I need you."
Footsteps echo down the tunnel. Reapers, coming to search.
I force myself to stand. My legs scream in protest, but I run deeper into the darkness. Third left, second right, down the stairs.
The tunnel branches and branches again. I take the third left, praying I counted right. The marks on my arms pulse with each step, lighting my way with silver bleeding light.
Second right. There.
I stumble down ancient stairs carved from crystal. At the bottom, I find a massive door covered in symbols that glow when I approach.
It swings open on silent hinges.
Inside is a library that takes my breath away. Shelves stretch up forever, filled with books made of starlight and shadow. In the center, on a pedestal, sits a single silver book.
I approach it slowly. My hands shake as I open the cover.
The first page shows a drawing of seven people standing in a circle, hands joined, glowing with power. I recognize Lysander immediately. And next to him...
My mother.
Reverie the Undying, Third Anchor, Guardian of Dreams.
The text beneath reads: The Compact of Seven—How We Chose Eternity to Save Everything.
I flip through pages frantically. It's all here. The true history. The Stellar Collapse. The void breaking through. The seven volunteers who bound their life force to reality itself to seal the cracks.
And on the last page, written in handwriting I somehow recognize as my mother's:
If you're reading this, little anchor, then I'm gone. Probably dead. Definitely missing you terribly. But I need you to know something important: you're not a mistake. You're not an abomination. You're hope.
The anchors were never meant to be eternal. We were a temporary solution to an impossible problem. But you—half-mortal, half-immortal—you're the answer we've been searching for. A way to pass the burden to new generations instead of bearing it alone forever.
There's a ritual in the appendix. It will let you inherit an anchor's power without becoming fully immortal. You'll age slowly—maybe live a few hundred years instead of thousands. You'll be free to love, to have children, to be human in all the ways that matter.
But it requires the anchor to die willingly. To choose you. To trust you with their greatest burden.
Lysander promised me he'd find you. Teach you. Give you the choice I never had. Trust him, little one. He's kept every promise he's ever made.
I love you. Your sister loves you. Even if you can't remember us, we're always with you.
Now go. Break your chains. Choose your own fate.
And know that whatever you decide, I'm proud of you.
The book blurs as tears fill my eyes. I press it to my chest and let myself cry—really cry—for the first time since I was six years old.
My mother loved me. Planned for me. Believed I could save the world without destroying myself in the process.
And Lysander has been trying to give me that choice ever since.
"Zareth?" Lyra's voice in my mind, urgent. "Reapers are coming. Lots of them. You need to leave. Now."
I wipe my face and tuck the book into my jacket. "I'm coming to find you."
"I know. I can feel you getting closer." A pause. "Hey, Zareth? Whatever Cassian made you do... whatever the marks forced you to become... it's not your fault. You're still my sister. You're still the girl who used to chase me through crystal gardens and laugh when she fell. You're still you."
"I don't feel like me."
"Then I'll help you remember. Just get here alive, okay? I already lost you once. I can't lose you again."
The connection fades.
I turn to leave the library and nearly run into someone standing in the doorway.
Not a Reaper.
A girl, maybe nineteen years old, with silver eyes exactly like mine. She's wearing simple traveling clothes and holding a staff that glows with soft power.
We stare at each other.
"Lyra?" I whisper.
She nods, tears streaming down her face. "Hi, sis."
I want to run to her. Want to hug her. Want to believe this is real.
But twenty-one years of training screams that it's a trap. That Cassian sent her. That she's here to kill me.
"How do I know you're really my sister?" I ask.
Lyra smiles through her tears. "When you were four, you fell in the crystal pond. You were underwater and scared and couldn't swim. I dove in and pulled you out. You were coughing and crying, and I was so scared you'd died. But then you looked at me and said, 'Again! That was fun!'"
The memory slams into me. Real. Vivid. True.
"You called me an idiot," I whisper.
"You were an idiot." She laughs wetly. "You still jumped in three more times that day."
I cross the space between us and pull her into a hug. She's solid and warm and real. My sister. My family. The piece of me I thought was dead.
"I'm so sorry," I sob into her shoulder. "I forgot you. I forgot everything—"
"It's not your fault." She holds me tight. "Cassian stole you from us. But you're here now. You're remembering. That's what matters."
We hold each other while the world falls apart around us.
Finally, Lyra pulls back. "We need to go. Cassian's tracking you through the marks. I can hide us for a while, but not forever."
"The book said there's a way to break them. A ritual—"
"I know. Lysander taught me." She takes my hand. "But it's dangerous. If we try and fail, Cassian will drain you completely. You'll die before we can—"
An explosion rocks the library. Dust rains from the ceiling.
Cassian's voice echoes through the tunnels: "Found you, my dear. Did you really think your sister could hide from me? I've been watching her for years. Waiting for her to lead me to you."
Lyra's face goes pale. "No. No, he can't—I was so careful—"
The library entrance caves in. Reapers pour through, and leading them is Cassian himself, smiling like a proud father.
"There's my perfect weapon," he says warmly. "And her adorable little sister. How convenient. I can harvest you both at once."