Grimpel's POV
The silence after Thorne's death was heavier than his final breath. Not because of the stillness, but because of the weight of his last words. I stood there, not as a mage, not as a summoner, not even as the man who had foolishly opened the Veil. I was just a man hollowed by the echo of someone else's grief.
She had a song... about stars and cats.
Alira. A girl I had never met. A life shattered like so many others in the name of power, fear, revenge. My own loss suddenly felt less unique. My guilt, less singular. And yet, it carved just as deep.
I wiped a trembling hand down my face. Blood still stained my palm. Not mine. Thorne's. And before him, the others. Always the others. My circle had been drawn in sacrifice long before tonight. It had just taken me too long to see it.
Nylessa's brother stood beside me, fists clenched, lips pressed into a line of resolve. He had made the choice I could not. And now, I had no right to stop him. Only to stand beside him.
"Are you ready?" I asked.
He nodded. "We begin now. Before the breach widens."
We turned to the circle.
The runes had grown erratic, hungry, twitching like insects beneath the skin of the world. The veil throbbed above them, spilling whispers like gasps. The air was saturated with ancient energy. It wasn't magic anymore—it was something older. Something before.
I moved slowly, placing my palms onto the outer ring. The lines responded, flaring in color.
"I'll anchor the geometry," I said. "You channel the soul-bond. When I give the word, step in. Not a second before."
He took position at the other edge of the circle, facing me.
I drew a breath, and began the chant.
The runes ignited.
Not with fire. But memory.
The circle screamed. Not aloud, but into the soul. My veins seared. My breath shortened. Still, I spoke. I poured every ounce of will into the pattern, my voice shaping the dying music of the Veil.
One by one, the glyphs stabilized. Their madness slowed. Geometry returned.
"Now," I whispered.
Nylessa's brother stepped in.
The Veil buckled. The tear above us folded inward like a wounded lung.
The circle flared again. Light shot upwards, encasing him.
He cried out. The sound was more shock than pain. And as he became the bond, I became the key.
My hands lifted.
And I began the final invocation.
Every rune I had ever drawn in my life was a lie compared to this one. This was not about control. It was surrender. The magic wasn't mine. It never was. I was just its vessel.
The glyphs rotated.
The runes carved themselves into my skin.
The Veil shrieked.
Then the first bolt hit me.
My skin blistered. Peeled. My fingers turned to ash one by one. My hair caught fire. Still, I chanted.
The world narrowed to the breath between words.
One glyph remained. The final sigil. The seal.
I opened my mouth—
And then she screamed.
"NO!"
Nylessa.
She burst into the observatory like a flame, her eyes wild, her arms bloodied. Her gaze snapped from me to her brother locked in the light.
"Stop it!" she cried. "Stop the spell! He'll die!"
Her voice cracked through the room like a blade splitting glass. She stumbled forward, reaching, her hands clawing at the invisible wall that kept her from him.
"What are you doing?! LET HIM GO!"
But it was too late.
Her brother turned to her slowly, his expression soft. Sad. Resigned.
The light around him blazed white-hot.
His body began to blur. To waver. The edges of him peeled back like smoke caught in a storm.
"NO! NO PLEASE!" Nylessa sobbed, pounding her fists against the circle.
Her voice turned raw. Her breath hitched. Her knees collapsed beneath her. She crawled toward the glowing center, screaming his name again and again. Her eyes, wide and red with grief, locked onto his face as it began to fade.
"Please don't do this," she choked. "You promised—you promised you'd stay."
Her brother smiled. Not with joy. But peace.
And then he vanished.
Gone. Not into flame. Not into shadow.
Just... gone.
Nylessa let out a sound that didn't belong to this world.
It was grief made flesh.
A scream too big for her throat, too ancient for her age. She collapsed into the center of the circle, clawing at the ground where he had stood.
She didn't feel me behind her. Didn't hear the crackle of the final glyph.
My hands lifted one last time.
My voice—shredded, broken—pushed through the veil of agony.
The last rune surged.
The Veil trembled.
And then I felt it—flesh unmaking itself.
Not burning.
Not tearing.
Unwinding.
I welcomed it.
Piece by piece, I dissolved.
Bone turned to light. Light turned to wind.
And in the storm of my ending, I saw her.
Ilyra.
Not as a child, no.
But as she had always been—stern eyes, brown hair, arms crossed, disappointed but proud.
She stood at the threshold of memory, waiting.
She had waited all this time.
For me to stop running.
I smiled.
And I let go.
The Veil closed.