The mist swallowed her slowly.
Not all at once.
Gradually.
Like the Falls themselves were reluctant to let her go.
I hovered above the basin longer than I should have — wings beating slow and deliberate, lightning tracing faint lines through the vapor as I studied her reaction.
Shock.
Calculation.
Pain.
She masked it quickly.
But not before I saw it land.
Good.
The truth was always more effective when it struck clean.
I rose higher, letting the roar of the waterfalls dull beneath me, letting distance put space between us.
Between the thread.
Between whatever that moment had been.
Only when the basin disappeared into cloud did I allow my wings to snap harder, climbing through the mist into open sky.
And that was when he surged.
"You faltered."
The voice did not whisper.
It pressed.
Cold and invasive, slithering through my skull like oil through cracks in stone.
I did not slow my ascent.
"You let her speak."
Lightning snapped along my spine in irritation.
"I allowed her to speak," I corrected evenly.
Mortimer's presence flared darker.
"You hesitated."
"I measured."
"You felt."
The word landed sharper than the others.
My jaw tightened.
"Watch your tone."
He laughed — low, echoing, ancient.
"You forget who grants you power."
My wings beat once, violently.
Clouds split.
"I forget nothing."
The storm around me thickened as we climbed, lightning responding to the tension crawling beneath my skin.
"You let her pity me," Mortimer continued, voice deepening. "You allowed her to speak of scars."
The memory flashed unbidden.
I'm so sorry the world forgot…
My wings stuttered for half a second.
Mortimer felt it.
"You see?" he hissed. "Weakness. Just like your father."
"I am not my father."
The words left me before I could stop them.
Silence.
Then—
"Your father understands necessity," Mortimer said smoothly. "He did not resist when I took control. He did not flinch when the world required correction."
"He surrendered," I said flatly.
"Yes. All because of his weakness."
Lightning arced violently across the clouds around us.
"I will not."
The wind howled.
For a moment, Mortimer pressed harder — pushing toward the edges of my consciousness, testing the boundaries of control.
"You are tougher than he was."
"I am stronger," I replied.
"You crave her."
The accusation burned.
"You mistake attraction for vulnerability."
"Do I?"
He pressed deeper, forcing the memory up like a blade under my ribs.
The strand of her hair between my fingers.
The mist on her lashes.
The way her breath hitched when I leaned closer.
The pulse of the thread.
Heat.
Alive.
My wings beat once, sharply.
Enough.
I forced my mind inward — not retreating, but hardening.
Mortimer's presence recoiled slightly as I constructed the barrier again.
Stone.
Lightning.
Steel.
A wall not of silence — but of resistance.
"You do not take my body without permission," I said coldly.
"You needed me."
"I did not. She unsettled you. And you threw a fit."
"She has a mouth on her."
"You're not wrong."
Mortimer laughed softly.
"You build walls as if they are permanent."
"They are sufficient."
For now.
He pressed once more, testing the edges of the barrier.
This time—
He met resistance.
Not complete.
But solid.
Interesting.
Mortimer withdrew a fraction, his presence settling deeper, quieter.
"You will beg me to take control again," he murmured. "When she forces you to choose."
"I do not beg."
"We shall see."
Silence fell.
Not peace.
But distance.
I angled downward toward the mountain spires bordering the Earth Kingdom's outer territories, landing atop a jagged ridge where wind tore violently against stone.
My wings folded slowly behind me.
The storm did not settle.
It lingered.
Just beyond the horizon.
Like it was waiting for instruction.
I stared toward the south.
Toward the Water Kingdom.
Toward her.
The memory replayed without permission.
She had walked into lightning.
Into chaos.
Into him.
No fear.
No hesitation.
Just—
Understanding.
I'm so sorry the world forgot.
The words irritated me more than Mortimer's anger had.
Pity was weakness.
Apology was insult.
And yet—
There had been no condescension in her voice.
No superiority.
Just… truth.
I exhaled sharply.
Unacceptable.
I replayed the physical details instead.
The practical ones.
Mist clinging to her lashes.
Hair loosened from its braid.
Wet fabric tracing the lines of her shoulders.
The strand between my fingers.
The taste of cold air as I brought it to my lips.
The memory tightened something low in my chest.
I had wanted—
No.
I had almost—
I flexed my hand.
Lightning snapped faintly between my fingers.
Control.
This was control.
Attraction was not unfamiliar.
Desire was not destabilizing.
It could be used.
The thread between us existed.
Fractured.
Thin.
But alive.
What if I pulled it?
What if I leaned into it instead of resisting?
She responded to it.
I felt it pulse when I touched her hair.
Felt it react when I stepped closer.
What if I made her feel it stronger?
What if I turned that connection into leverage?
A weapon disguised as longing.
I reached inward.
Not toward Mortimer.
Toward the thread.
I brushed it deliberately.
Testing.
Cold calculation.
And pain detonated through my chest.
Not physical.
Not lightning.
Something deeper.
The thread recoiled violently.
Not away from her.
Away from the intention.
A sharp resistance surged through my ribs — not from Mortimer.
From me.
From the bond itself.
Almost—
Almost like a scream.
I staggered half a step, catching myself before I could show weakness even to empty air.
My breath came out harsher than I intended.
The sensation lingered — not agony.
Refusal.
The bond did not want to be weaponized.
That realization unsettled me more than the pain.
I withdrew immediately, severing the contact.
The ache faded.
Slowly.
But the echo remained.
Why?
Why would something fractured still resist corruption?
Why would it protect her?
Or me?
I clenched my jaw.
Irrelevant.
Emotional interference.
A biological response.
Nothing more.
And yet—
When I thought of hurting her through it, something in my chest constricted again.
Not fear.
Not regret.
Something worse.
I shoved the thought down hard enough to feel it fracture.
Enough.
Strategy.
Focus.
The Earth Relic.
The prison.
The hidden chamber.
The Earth King still believed he controlled his territory.
He did not.
The Water King now balanced between ally and traitor.
Lyra was destabilized.
Good.
Doubt would fracture her footing.
Confusion would slow her decisions.
And if she hesitated—
I would not.
I stepped to the edge of the ridge, staring down at the sprawling expanse of Earth Kingdom territory below.
Stone fortresses.
Mining settlements.
Guard towers.
All threaded with old magic.
If the relic had rooted itself into the prison…
Then it was not merely hidden.
It was integrated.
And integration meant—
There would be signs.
Structural shifts.
Energy convergence.
Pressure points.
I would find them.
Before she did.
Before anyone did.
Mortimer stirred faintly behind the wall.
"Ambition returns."
"Control returns," I corrected.
A pause.
"You felt it too," Mortimer said quietly.
I did not answer.
"You are connected."
"I am not bound."
The distinction mattered.
Mortimer hummed, thoughtful.
"For now."
Silence again.
I flexed my wings.
The wind caught them instantly, lifting me off the ridge as I launched back into the sky.
Higher.
Faster.
Lightning trailing behind me in sharp arcs.
The ache in my chest had not fully faded.
It pulsed faintly.
Not painful now.
Just present.
I reached toward the thread once more.
Gently this time.
Curious.
Not strategic.
It responded.
Warm.
Alive.
Not accusing.
Not afraid.
Just there.
Steady.
Unbroken.
My jaw tightened.
"You will not control me," I murmured.
The wind swallowed the words.
It was unclear who they were meant for.
Mortimer.
The bond.
Or the part of me that had almost leaned down at the Falls and kissed her for no reason other than wanting to.
I angled back toward the capital.
War did not pause for longing.
Relics did not wait for clarity.
And if she believed she could protect this world from me—
She would have to reach it first.
Because this time—
I would not hesitate.