The corridors exploded into chaos.
Stone cracked and splintered beneath violent impacts. Scorched walls shed their plaster like dead skin. Cabinets lay in ruin. Their contents flung across the floor. Shattered trophies, broken relics, toppled suits of armor crashing in metallic heaps. Lamar's monstrous scythe tore through it all in sweeping arcs, every strike a blur of brutal precision. The curved blade bit deep into the walls and floor, carving trenches in stone, reducing rich tapestries and velvet runners to ribbons. Ethereal arrows fired by Bran and Rowena collided with the weapon mid-swing, bursting into radiant particles that scattered through the haze.
But the siblings didn't falter.
Step after step, they pursued him. Up stairwells, down halls, through the labyrinth of Excalibur's upper wings. Their lungs burned. Sweat soaked their collars. And still they pressed on, unrelenting. Bran loosed arrow after arrow, Rowena's conjurations firing in tandem, their assault giving Lamar little time to breathe.
Yet he kept pace. For a man of his years, Lamar Burgess moved with unnatural speed. Dodging, deflecting, his crooked smirk never leaving his face. There was no desperation in his retreat, only calculation. He didn't look cornered. He looked entertained.
And that was what unsettled him.
They weren't just chasing him. They were driving him.
He realized too late where the chase had brought them.
The air shifted as they entered the Excalibur clock tower. Steel gears, vast and ancient, turned with deliberate rhythm. The pendulum swung like a judge's gavel, casting long shadows across the floor with every pass. Next to them, the colossal stained-glass face of the clock bled with the reds and golds of the setting sun, its light slicing across the chamber in broken bands. The hour hands moved ever closer to the reflective hour.
Rowena slowed as they stepped into the chamber, her breath catching in her throat.
This was where it began.
Her descent into a world she'd never imagined. One her family had mocked, scorned, and branded a farce. The Tower's rigid laws had declared it madness. And yet, here she stood, between two truths.
One, a world she had chosen. The other, a world built on lies.
And standing before her, the man who had once embodied everything she believed in.
Now? He was the one tearing it apart.
Lamar rested his scythe across his shoulders, eyes sweeping the clock tower's vaulted interior with something bordering on reverence. He breathed in deep, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"My, how I've missed this place," he murmured. "Winston and I used to run our little dueling club right here, you know."
His gaze flicked toward Bran and Rowena, both poised with bows gripped tight, expressions hard as stone.
"Oh, come now," he said, gesturing casually. "Don't give me that look. It was perfectly above board. Sanctioned by the then headmaster himself."
He gave a light shrug, as though recounting some innocent anecdote from years past.
"We had quite the turnout. Students of all ages eager to learn proper defense. Winston was by-the-book, all measured form and stance." His words warmed with nostalgia. "I, of course, preferred something with a little... flair."
His smile deepened, almost wistful. "Those were the days."
"Don't," Bran said coldly, stepping forward as he adjusted his glasses. "You don't get to speak his name. Not after the filth you've spewed. Not after everything you've done."
Lamar tilted his head, unbothered, the smirk returning like a stain resurfacing beneath scrubbed stone.
"Perhaps you're right," he said softly. "But just because I despised the man doesn't mean I don't treasure the memories we made." He leaned slightly to one side, hand resting on his hip, eyes gleaming with amusement. "I'm not entirely heartless."
"You could've fooled me," Rowena said. "Tell me, was there ever a moment. Just one. Where you truly loved anyone?" Her sapphire eyes fixed him. "Or was everyone just a means to an end?"
Lamar's gaze drifted away. For a fleeting second, something in his face softened. Just a flicker behind the lines and age.
"Once," he said quietly.
A pause lingered. Then the moment curdled.
"But like everything I've ever reached for," he went on, "it was torn from me. Not cleanly. Not kindly. Ripped away, slow and cruel." He turned back to her, but the smirk was gone now. Replaced by something darker, bitter and hollow.
"Life has a taste for irony, you see. Bleeds me out by inches, and calls it humor. And I suppose," he scoffed, "even the Gods need a jester to throw to the lions every now and then."
Lamar swung his scythe with a sharp arc, the curved blade biting into the stone floor with a deep crack. The impact echoed like a war drum through the chamber.
"Injustices. Inequities. Bias. Prejudice," he said. "That is the world. For some to live in comfort, others must bleed. For every crown, someone must grovel in the dirt. That's the balance, the cruel equilibrium."
He dragged the blade slowly across the floor, metal screeching against stone, carving a jagged line between them.
"And no matter how hard you fight it, fate always hits back. Hard enough to put you back in your place. To remind you that some are born to win, and others, to lose. And you," he looked up, his eyes burning, "were a fool to believe otherwise."
He ripped the blade from the floor with a sharp twist. "But not I," he growled. "I spat in fate's face. Took it by the throat and drove it to its knees—and I've kept it there. The Gods do not decide my path. The Council does not decide my path. I decide my path. My fate!"
"And by doing so," Bran shot back, trembling with rage, "you sent thousands to their deaths! You betrayed your best friend! You buried this world beneath the weight of fear and dared to call it order!"
"You're Godsdamned right I did!" Lamar roared. "Everything I have, everything I am, I claimed with my own hands. By fire, by steel, and by pure will!" His lips curled into a cruel smirk as his gaze settled on Rowena.
"And like you said, my dear… this world, its people. Every last miserable soul that inhabits it. Nothing more than a means to an end." His eyes glinted with malice. "Just. Like. You."
Bran's face twisted with pure fury as he drew his bow, the string tightening as an arrow of light crackled into existence. But before he could release it, Rowena stepped forward, arm outstretched, halting him. He froze, eyes darting to her, searching for a reason.
Rowena never looked at him. Her gaze was locked on Lamar. She had no more tears to give. No more space left for pity or doubt. Whatever shred of understanding she once held for him had long since withered.
"You once told me about your past. About the pain. The cruelty. How it shaped you into something stronger, wiser. And I believed you." Her words were quiet, but it carried. "I listened to every word and thought maybe—just maybe, you rose through the Tower to change things. To make sure no one else would suffer the way you did."
She stepped closer in his direction, her tone sharpening. "But that wasn't it, was it?"
"You didn't take that chair to fix anything. You took it so you could look down on the world that hurt you. You didn't want justice. You wanted retribution. You wanted to hurt the world, to break it apart piece by piece until it mirrored the ruin inside you."
She shook her head slowly. "You didn't heal. You festered. And all that pain you endured? It didn't make you noble. It made you cruel. Vindictive. A coward masquerading as a visionary, punishing the world for failing to love you the way you demanded."
Rowena turned her gaze away for a moment, drawing in a breath.
"There have been countless others worse off than you," she said. "People dragged into darkness, broken by sorrow, drowning in pain." Her eyes returned to him. "Families torn apart. Children enslaved. Entire villages left to starve beneath gilded towers. Men and women used, discarded, stripped of everything but the will to survive."
"Each of them had a reason to burn the world down. And they could have. Should have. Hecate knows they had every right to try. To carve justice from the bones of the guilty. To make someone, anyone, feel what they felt."
Her voice turned cold. "But they didn't. They endured. They chose compassion over cruelty. Mercy over malice. Because they weren't sick. They weren't evil." Her stare bore into him. "Not like you."
Lamar's expression contorted, fury rising like a tide about to break.
"So, forgive me, Lamar, when I say this: I don't care about your reasons. I don't care about your purpose, and most of all, I don't care about your past. Because it didn't forge a better man. It built this—a monster who thinks the world owes him, and will burn it to ash if it doesn't pay."
Rowena raised her bow, drawing the string taut as a pulse of sapphire-blue light shimmered into the shape of an arrow. It thrummed with power, steady and unflinching.
"And believe me when I say this," she said quietly. "When this ends. When the gavel falls and the world you bled dry finally turns its judgment upon you, Avalon will be watching." The arrow pulsed brighter in time with her words. "They'll carve it from your flesh, piece by piece. Just as you did to them. And no speech, no legacy, no twisted sense of purpose will save you from what's owed."
She drew a sharp breath. "As for me... I'll sleep soundly. Knowing that in your final breath, you'll finally understand. That in your desperation to hold onto what you've seized. What you've stolen, you lost the only thing that ever mattered."
Lamar rested the scythe across his shoulders, lowering himself into a stance. "And pray tell, my dear… what might that be?"
Rowena's gaze didn't waver.
"Us."
She loosed the arrow.
It shot across the chamber and split mid-flight into dozens more, each glowing with sapphire light as they whistled toward him like spectral meteors.
"Poppycock," Lamar muttered, the veins of his scythe flaring to life. "Absolute poppycock!"
He swung hard, the scythe releasing a burst of energy that scattered the arrows into smoke and sparks.
Bran was already in motion, loosing a fresh volley. He and Rowena split apart, circling Lamar in opposite directions, arrows flying from their bows in a synchronized assault. The scythe spun with blinding speed, carving mirage-like arcs through the air as it deflected every strike.
Then Lamar lunged.
He rushed Bran, blade shrieking through the air. Bran raised his bow just in time to block the blow, the impact bursting into a shower of sparks.
Rowena sprinted toward them—then stepped onto Bran's back and vaulted into the air. Mid-leap, she drew her bow, magic spiraling around the forming arrow until it coiled into a drill of brilliant blue light.
"Dirge!" she shouted.
The arrow exploded from the bow with a sonic shriek.
Lamar's teeth clenched as he caught it with the hilt of his scythe. The spiraling projectile ground against it violently, forcing him backward, his boots dragging deep into the stone. With a guttural roar, he swung, cleaving the arrow apart in a burst of smoke and force.
Lamar's boot slammed into the stone, shattering it beneath him as he launched forward. The air cracked with a concussive boom. Mid-charge, he split his scythe in two, each half curving into twin short-bladed weapons. With a roar, he leapt into the air, spinning like a cyclone before bringing both blades down in a savage arc.
Bran and Rowena dove in opposite directions just as the impact struck. The floor erupted beneath him, stone exploding in jagged shards.
Without pause, they flipped back onto their hands, twisting mid-air. In a seamless motion, they drew and loosed their arrows. Through the settling cloud of dust, Lamar's silhouette cut through—his twin scythes slashing every arrow from the air as he surged forward.
Bran barely had time to react.
The blade came screaming toward him.
He swung his bow in a desperate parry but Lamar caught it between his blades with a sharp grin. With a jerk, he yanked Bran forward and drove a knee into his gut. Bran gasped, the breath ripped from his lungs as saliva sprayed from his mouth. Lamar spun, using Bran's momentum to hurl him sideways, then pivoted and kicked him square in the chest.
Bran crashed to the ground, tumbling across the stone with a ragged groan.
"Bran!" Rowena shouted, already drawing.
Lamar grinned as he inverted his weapons. "Catch this."
He slashed the air in an X-formation—two crescent waves of crackling energy tore across the chamber toward her.
Rowena's eyes widened. She leapt aside just as the arcs slammed into the wall behind her. The explosion rocked the room. Stone screamed and cracked, a thick plume of dust rising as twin gashes carved deep into the masonry.
Lamar straightened, spine loose, shoulders relaxed too casual for a man with murder in his eyes. His smile was twisted, his eyes gleaming with that feverish glint that danced the line between genius and madness.
"You two were always gifted," he said softly, almost admiringly. "Far more than the rest of that precious brood you call a family. Your cousins could barely conjure a stable ward, let alone grasp the deeper truths of the arcane. But you two, scholars to the bone."
He took a slow breath, then tilted his head.
"Not warriors."
His gaze shifted to Bran, who was rising to his feet, unsteady, blood trickling from his mouth. The younger man spat onto the stone and steadied his breath, but Lamar's stare cut deeper than any blade.
"You're not your grandfather," Lamar said coldly. "And you're sure as hell not your father. Now, Roland… I'll give the bastard this. He was more than a man to be respected." His grip tightened around his scythes. "He was a man to be feared."
He let the words settle, then twirled his blades in a smooth, mocking rhythm.
"Always said Roland was the man Winston could've become. If he'd stripped away all that hesitation, all that sentimental weakness choking him down." Lamar chuckled darkly. "Pity. If Winston had even a shard of Roland's steel, he might've answered my sins with something other than silence."
His voice dropped.
"Which explains that weight Roland always carried. That chip on his shoulder every time I entered the room." He paused, eyes narrowing. "He saw me. For what I truly was." His lip curled in contempt. "And it's why I've always hated the lad, even more than his father."
Bran wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the pain.
"I reckon Father never trusted you. Not from the start," he said. "And he never forgave you either. Mother felt the same, though she was far better at hiding it."
He exhaled, gaze sharpening as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"I never understood it back then. The way they'd tense when your name came up, how they always managed to sidestep my questions. A thousand excuses, a thousand dodges, and I—" He faltered briefly, his jaw clenching. "I defended you. Like Rowena, I believed in you."
He met Lamar's gaze, eyes flint-hard.
"How I wish I could take it all back."
"Well," Lamar said, rolling his shoulders with a casual ease, "I suppose disappointment cuts both ways."
He began to pace, the scythes resting lazily upon his shoulders. "Still, I had high hopes for you. You showed promise as an Adjudicator. I'd even wager you'd have made Chief in a few years' time. You've always struck me as having the best of both men. Winston's mind, Roland's fire. You could've been Director one day."
He stopped. His smirk curled, cold and knowing.
"I mean, what you did to that Therian girl."
Bran froze. Color drained from his face. Rowena turned sharply, her eyes wide in sudden, dawning horror.
"I wondered, you know," Lamar continued. "Ever since I met young Gryffindor… that barely concealed hatred. What Serfence said to me that day in that quaint little café. Something didn't add up. So, I started digging."
"And then it all clicked. The Chainling. The one you escorted to the Howling Mountains." He tilted his head, eyes alight with cold triumph. "At first, I thought it a simple errand. A noble gesture, perhaps. But no… it was far more than that, wasn't it?"
His smirk curved wider. "No, she was Gryffindor's mate. And Therianthropes bond for life. Separate them, and it destroys them. Breaks them from the inside out." He gave a soft, pitying chuckle. "So, when she couldn't remain in Caerleon, you did the only logical thing. You Obliviated her."
A cruel, delighted laugh escaped him, echoing through the tower like a dagger across stone. Bran's breath caught in his throat. His knees faltered.
Lamar's words dipped to a mock whisper. "Enlighten me, Bran… what did it feel like? When you raised your wand against her? When you tore away everything she was?" His smirk deepened into something far crueler. "Winston wouldn't have done it. Roland might've had the conviction, but never the heart. But you…"
He brandished his scythe, pointing it at Bran.
"Oh, you didn't even hesitate," Burgess said, a low, cruel laugh curling from his throat. "No pause. No falter. Just cold, clean ruthlessness."
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something between mockery and respect.
"In truth, you impressed me," Lamar said as his smirk deepened. "I always took you for another sentimental fool like Winston. Soft, naïve, too enamored with ideals to make the hard calls."
"But clearly, I misjudged you. Perhaps…" he tilted his head, eyes narrowing with venomous pride, "a part of me did rub off on you after all."
With a burst of force, the stone beneath Bran's feet fractured as he launched himself forward. His bow, clutched like a cudgel, swung with all the wrath he could muster. Burgess deflected the blow with a mocking smirk, but Bran didn't stop. He struck again and again, sparks igniting with every vicious clash of weapon against weapon, his fury turning every movement wild and raw.
"You did it!" Bran roared. "Your laws. Your directives. Your damned, soulless mandates!" He spun, stringing his bow with practiced speed and firing a flurry of arrows. "It was all you. It was always you!"
"Bran, stop!" Rowena shouted. "That's exactly what he wants—he's baiting you!" But her words fell on deaf ears, lost beneath the roar of his fury
Burgess slashed the arrows from the air, only for Bran to close the distance again, slamming his bow down with both hands. Burgess caught the blow with his scythes, the weapons locked between them, the air humming with magic and fury.
"I tried," Bran hissed through gritted teeth. "Gods, I tried to stop it. But your loathsome pack of wolves. Those smug Magistrates, your lapdog Commanders, they just stood there. Watching. Smirking. Laughing like it was some damned theatre."
"And you—" he snarled, trembling with rage, "you basked in it. You drank it in. You all turned away as if her agony was beneath you. As if I was beneath you, and by the Gods, I swear, when your time comes, every last one of them will follow you into the pit," he snarled.
"I'll see them dangle from the gallows, faces twisted in the same fear they once reveled in, choking on the regret they thought would never come. And in those final moments, when mercy is but a ghost they'll never grasp, they'll curse your name, because you led them there!"
Burgess offered a half-lidded smile. "Beautifully put, my boy," he said, before shoving Bran back with a jolt of force that sent him staggering. "But so very, very foolish."
With a sharp motion, he rejoined the twin scythes into one, the weapon humming ominously. In a single sweeping arc, he swung, and the blade cleaved straight through Bran's bow. It sparked once, then exploded in a burst of light. Both ravens were flung backward, but they twisted midair, catching themselves.
Still, the blade found Bran's chest. His suit tore open with a sickening hiss as blood bloomed beneath the fabric. Bran cried out and crashed to the floor, tumbling across the stone before lying still.
"Bran!" Rowena's eyes went wide. She turned to Lamar, sapphire gaze blazing. Her bow snapped up.
She fired.
Lamar twisted, stepping between the arrows, his scythe carving the rest out of the air. Rowena surged forward, desperate, swinging her bow like a staff. But Lamar caught her mid-motion, his hand clamped around her throat with a crushing grip. Her breath choked off. With his other hand, he hooked the bow from her grip and tossed it aside, the weapon clattering against stone.
Rowena clawed at his arm, gasping.
"It's a cruel thing," Lamar murmured. "To be the one to end someone so fair, so brilliant. You had promise, Rowena. Truly. But even I couldn't burn the raven out of your blood." He sighed, head tilting as his grip tightened. "Sad. So, so sad."
Rowena choked, her vision blurring as Lamar's fingers crushed down on her windpipe. She clawed at his arm, legs kicking out in desperation, but it was no use. He was too strong. Her lungs screamed, the edges of her vision growing dark, her head swimming.
Then, a pulse of energy tore through the air. Lamar's eyes snapped sideways just as an ethereal blue arrow streaked past his cheek, skimming between him and Rowena in a flash of light. He recoiled instinctively, stumbling back a step as he released her.
Rowena collapsed, gasping, her knees hitting stone. She coughed violently, one hand to her throat, the other barely catching her fall.
Lamar's gaze darted toward the source of the shot, his scowl deepening. Across the vast hall, footsteps echoed.
From the shadows of the archway, a figure emerged.
An older man stepped into the light, dressed immaculately in a tailored navy-blue three-piece suit. A sapphire ascot rested at his throat, the silk catching the light from the crystal scones above. His white shirt was crisp, unmarred by dust or blood. His thick, greying hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. Lines marked his face like carved stone but it was his eyes that burned brightest: dark hazel, sharp and unflinching, locked squarely on Lamar.
In his right hand, he held a bow, black as midnight and inlaid with silver filigree shaped into the wings and talons of ravens. His left remained calmly at his side.
Rowena's eyes widened. "Grandfather…"
Winston Ravenclaw did not blink. His jaw was tight.
"Not my grandchildren, you son of a bitch."
****
"Winston," Lamar exclaimed, arms spreading theatrically as a smirk curled across his face. He dabbed at the shallow cut on his cheek where the arrow had grazed him, flicking the blood from his fingertips with mock annoyance. "What a delightful surprise. We were just speaking of you. My word, Yuletide must've come early. It's a proper family reunion."
"That being said, however did you manage to slip past the blockade?" Lamar asked, edged with mock curiosity.
"I have my ways, Lamar," Winston replied evenly, his eyes never leaving the man. "After my talk with Blaise, I knew it was only a matter of time before you came completely undone, and did something monumentally stupid."
"And I heard, by the way," Winston said. He strode forward, his footsteps echoing across the stone. "Every sentence. Every vile, wretched word." His eyes narrowed. "And I'd like to say I'm angry. Disappointed. Appalled, even. But that would be letting you off far too lightly."
His face twisted with fury. "No. If there's anyone I truly despise right now—it's myself. For letting you into my home. For letting you anywhere near my family. For mistaking a serpent for a friend."
Lamar chuckled, low and bitter. "Oh, Winston. Still so fond of theatrics." He twirled his scythe with a casual flick, the blade catching the light as it swung low at his side as he paced in Winston's direction. "But you're not wrong. You were a fool. Always were. You and dear, sweet Brenna—two clowns fluttering about in a circus of crows."
Winston steps quickened a step. "You keep her name out of your filthy mouth, you miserable cur!"
His eyes flashed with raw pain beneath the rage.
"She was the only reason you were ever allowed near us. The only one who believed in you, despite everything. She showed you kindness. Cherished you. Loved you, when no one else would, and this is how you repay her?" His word cracked at the edge. "With betrayal. With blood. With ruin."
"Spare me the sanctimonious drivel!" Lamar snarled, his grip tightening on the scythe's hilt. "You're the last man I'll take moral instruction from."
"You've been a thorn in my side from the moment we met. Always there, always looming. Every step I took, you were already ten ahead. Every accolade I earned, you'd already surpassed. No matter how high I climbed, your name hung higher still, like a banner I could never tear down."
His words cracked with a sneer as he bared his teeth. "The Tower's golden son. The paragon of virtue. The hero sung by every tongue in Avalon." He spat the words like venom. "All the while I rotted in the dark."
"But… regardless of everything, I couldn't deny it. As much as I abhorred you, I cherished you too." His gaze softened for the briefest second. "The memories we made. The laughter we shared. And for all your hindrance... I might have forgiven it. All of it."
Then his face twisted into something darker. "Until Brenna chose you."
Winston stopped in his tracks, as if struck. His breath caught in his throat. Rowena felt her own lungs tighten.
"You… you had feelings for Brenna?" Winston's expression went slack with disbelief.
"You were right," Lamar hissed. "She did cherish me. She did love me. And I—" his jaw clenched, trembling with the force of his fury "I loved her in return. But you... you stole her. Just like you've stolen everything else."
His eyes blazed. "And there I stood. At your wedding. At your side. Smiling like the most pathetic bastard alive while you held her. I have never come so close to killing you as I did that day, standing behind you on that altar."
Winston opened his mouth but no words came. Only silence.
"So, when Trench finally stepped down, when the seat of Director was within reach, I knew. Somehow, someway, you'd be there again. Always bloody Winston Ravenclaw. Always in the way." Lamar spat the words, each one sharper than the last. "And I remember thinking, I won't have it. I won't stand by and let you rob me of my moment. Not again. So, I did what needed to be done."
He continued, eyes alight with madness. "And the day I took that chair, when I sat upon it and felt the whole Tower beneath me… that was when I understood what victory truly tasted like."
Winston's stunned expression twisted into fury. The stone beneath him cracked as he surged forward. Lamar mirrored the charge. His own face contorted in rage.
Winston swung his bow like a staff. Lamar met him with a sweeping arc of his scythe. Steel collided with a scream of impact, the force shaking the air. Blindingly fast, they moved. Bow against blade, sparks flying with each strike. Winston spun, loosing a volley of arrows mid-motion, each one shimmering with blue light. Lamar cut through them, his scythe howling with each slash.
Rowena could only stare, frozen in place as the two clashed like titans. But the sound of Bran's shallow breath drew her back. She turned, running to his side and dropping to her knees.
"Bran... Bran," she whispered, pulling his head into her lap, brushing the blood-matted hair from his face. His breathing was faint, his body still. Beside him, the two ravens stood silently, their beady eyes watching him without blinking. "Please," she muttered, "please be alright."
Across the room, Winston was thrown back, his heels skidding across the stone. He caught himself mid-slide and straightened, glaring at Lamar.
"So that's it?" Winston growled. "You murdered thousands for your ambition. Thousands more under your charge. You crushed Avalon beneath your heel. You let rot fester in the Tower, let innocents vanish under your rule. And all of it... all of it was just some petty, twisted crusade to punish me?"
He began pacing forward again. "No. No, you don't get to lay that burden at my feet! You don't get to make me your excuse. You want someone to blame? Look in the bloody mirror. Every crime. Every tyranny. Every broken soul left in your wake—that's on you, Lamar. All of it. No one else."
"Oh, Winston, you poor, simple fool," Lamar said, spinning his scythe with a lazy flourish. "Not everything is about you."
His smirk curled wider. "Sure, I took great pleasure in watching your career crumble. Seeing your name dragged through scandal, watching everything you built collapse into ash. That brought me more relief than a thousand willing whores ever could."
He chuckled darkly. "Especially when dear Brenna welcomed me into the family despite your precious objections, and Roland's. But you couldn't say no to her, could you? Oh no. That would've broken her heart. The joy I felt, seeing the look on your faces every Yuletide, every family gathering... priceless."
He rested the scythe against his shoulder. "But let's get one thing perfectly clear. You weren't the reason for all this. You were just the first wall I tore down. And I used those bricks to build a staircase."
"The power I've gained, the influence I've bent to my will. That was all me. You lit the fire. I turned it into an inferno. And it still burns, decades on, fueled by the bodies of the self-righteous, the naïve, the bright-eyed little heroes. Anyone stupid enough to stand in my way."
"You were never the blame, old friend." He leaned in slightly, his grin twisted and manic "You were the bloody inspiration."
Winston stood still, his gaze unwavering. "And yet, here you are. Your crimes laid bare. The architect of Dah'Tan's destruction. Stripped of your title. Branded a traitor. Hunted like the dog you've become."
Lamar scoffed. "And yet you still can't stomach it, can you?" He stepped forward. "Because despite everything, I won. I beat you."
Winston's voice rose, arms outstretched. "And what was the prize, Lamar? Look around you!" He gestured to the shattered chamber, then toward the ruined city beyond. "This school. This city. Collapsing in blood and fire. Students dead. Civilians scattered. Soldiers lying in the streets. All of it, ash at your feet."
"The Tower barely withstood Dah'Tan," Winston continued. "And now, thanks to you, it will never rise again. You've ensured that much."
He drew a breath. "Brenna loved you. We all did." His eyes flicked to Rowena and Bran before returning to Lamar. "We remembered Excalibur, how you spent every holiday alone. After graduation, we gave you a home. A family. And even after your betrayal. Even after all the hate you nurtured toward me, we never shut you out."
"That's because Brenna lived in ignorance!" Lamar snapped. "She knew none of it—"
"She did!" Winston roared, and for the first time, Lamar faltered. "She knew. About you. About everything."
Winston's tone quieted, the weight of his words landing heavy. "And still, she chose. She chose to believe in you. She believed that beneath all that bile and bitterness, the boy we laughed with… the boy we celebrated with… was still in there somewhere. That you were more than this pathetic, petty, wicked shell of a man you've become."
Lamar said nothing.
"She knew you would break her heart," Winston continued. "And still, she never stopped hoping. Even as she drew her last breath, her thoughts were of you."
Lamar's jaw clenched. His grip tightened on the scythe.
"I thought that once she was gone, we could finally shed the illusions," Winston said, shaking his head. "But no. Even in death, she held out hope for you. She believed, truly, that we could still reach you. That one day, you'd let go of your hate." He exhaled. "But she was too pure for this world. Far too pure for the likes of you."
Lamar shut his eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow breath. "Perhaps," he murmured. A faint, almost sorrowful chuckle escaped him. "It used to irritate me, you know… just how grotesquely optimistic she was. Always seeing the good in people. Even in me."
"I suppose that's how I fell for her in the first place." He opened his eyes, now cold. "But that's all ancient history, isn't it? The hopes. The dreams. The promises." His words dropped to a growl. "They mean nothing now."
With a vicious twist of his arm, he spun the scythe and bared his teeth. "I've tolerated you and your cursed bloodline for long enough. Today, I wipe the ravens from the face of Avalon—once and for all."
His gaze shifted to Rowena and Bran.
Winston's heart dropped. Rowena's eyes widened.
"And perhaps I'll start," Lamar sneered, "with the two you love most."
He pivoted sharply, heels grinding against the stone as he spun and slashed the air. A wave of magic erupted in a blazing crescent, tearing forward in a shimmering arc. The power hummed, vibrating with deadly energy as it screamed toward Rowena and Bran.
Winston was already moving, but too late.
Rowena clenched her eyes shut, clutching Bran tightly, shielding him.
The wave surged closer. Then stopped.
A sudden pulse of energy exploded from Rowena's body. Her eyes snapped open, glowing with sapphire light, refracted with prismatic hues. The air distorted. Magic rippled.
The crescent slammed against an invisible barrier, halted inches from her. Lightning crackled across its surface. A blinding light flared, followed by a deep, resonating crack.
The wave shattered into shards of light.
Rowena's glow flickered then faded. Her body slumped, collapsing beside Bran.
"Rowena!" Winston cried out, diving to her side. He cradled her gently, his hands trembling as he brushed her hair from her face. "Oh, Gods… what have you done?"
Across the hall, Lamar stood still. His face, for the first time, was stunned.
Then, slowly, a smirk unfurled across his lips. A dark, delighted grin.
"Oh, Winston," he said quietly, savoring each word. "You've been a very naughty boy."