For the first time in weeks, there were no warnings from the sphere. No screams. No visions. Just dinner. Lucien set the last dish down with a flourish, some odd, roasted creature they'd found that, surprisingly, tasted like beef. The spice blend he'd somehow concocted from what they had on hand made Sethis give a satisfied grunt as he poured himself another drink. Ashar didn't touch the wine. He rarely did. Tonight, they had someone else joining them. Kaine. He stepped into the hall cautiously, freshly bathed and dressed in clothes they'd left folded near his locked door earlier. He hadn't fought the gesture. He'd just quietly accepted it.
"Figured," Riven said casually as he leaned back in his seat, "if you're going to stay, might as well break bread with the people you haven't betrayed this week." Kaine didn't flinch at the jab. "Fair." He took the empty seat at the end of the table, diagonally from Ashar. He didn't reach for food. Not yet. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, watching his hands. "I only agreed to come up because she spared me," he said after a beat of silence. "Not just spared me. Rewired me. I felt it. I feel different. I don't know what she did, but I'd be dead if she hadn't." The others didn't speak. Kaine looked around. "How, how is she?" Silence. Something shifted. Like air thickening. Lucien set his fork down. Sethis stopped chewing. Kaine's brows knit.
"Did something happen?" he asked quickly. "Did I, did something I do-?" Ashar's voice cut through the stillness like a blade. "They're fine," he said sharply, his words wrapped in steel. "She's just tired. The babies are growing fast. Faster than expected. She gets exhausted quickly now." Kaine's mouth opened. Closed. "Babies?" Riven leaned forward, expression unreadable. "Yeah. Plural. Don't worry, we've got it covered. And you're not going near her unless she asks." Kaine swallowed hard and nodded once. He wasn't angry. Just, gutted. "Noted."
They ate in a strange silence after that. Five men at a table meant for kings, warriors, lovers, friends, enemies, all bound together now by one woman sleeping in a room above them. The fire crackled. Ashar stared into the flames. Lucien finally broke the silence with a low chuckle. "This has to be the weirdest dinner party I've ever cooked for." Kaine looked up at him. "Are you going to kill me if I ask what kind of creatures we're eating?" Lucien smirked. "Not unless you insult the seasoning." Sethis snorted, and for a breath, the tension eased. Not gone, not forgotten, but softened. They had a war coming.
But tonight, they shared food. And Mae, Mae was alive, safe, and resting above them, growing a future, no one could have predicted. The castle was silent. Almost too silent. Mae stirred beneath the thin blanket draped across her body, her hand reflexively curling over the small swell of her belly. Her brow furrowed before her eyes even opened. Something was wrong. The air was colder than usual. Not physically, but energetically. The pulse of the place, which normally hummed like a living thing beneath her skin, was dull. Muted. Offbeat. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking into the dim light. Shadows clung to the corners of her chamber like thick smoke. She sat up, a strange pressure sitting on her chest, her breathing light and shallow. Then she heard it. A whisper, soft, ancient, not spoken aloud but in her bones.
"He is awake."
Mae jolted, her hands clutching the blanket tightly. Her heart thundered in her ears. She didn't know what it meant, only that it wasn't talking about one of the men in the castle. This, this was older. She stood, barefoot on the cold floor, every step toward the window guided by instinct. The stars outside hadn't changed, still swirling in unnatural patterns, still beautiful and broken. But something in the forest line had.
The trees. They were leaning. Not blown by wind, but bowing, like something walked past them and the world itself recoiled. "He knows you're awake now," the voice whispered again. "And he is hungry."
Mae stumbled back, clutching the wall, chest rising and falling faster. The surge of nausea hit before she could prepare for it. She leaned down, breathing through it, hand on her stomach. "I'm not ready," she whispered, barely audible to herself. Her body shook. Her powers, still learning how to breathe, how to stretch, were responding without her command. She turned toward the door. She had to wake them. Ashar. Riven. Everyone. But the moment she touched the door handle, she froze.
From the other side of the castle, through stone and steel, she could feel him. A force so dark, it wasn't just evil, it was emptiness. A void. Something that shouldn't be. Something watching her. Something that had waited for her to form. "Mae," a voice called again, soft. Not dark. Not evil. Riven. She could feel his feet hit the stone as he started toward her room. He must've sensed it too. But this wasn't like before. This wasn't just her anomaly reacting to fear. This was fate answering a question no one dared to ask: What happens when the end of all things notices its opposite is alive again?
Mae's hand trembled on the doorknob. She had to move. She had to warn them. But every step forward felt like swimming through wet stone. Her body was weighed down by invisible chains, chains made of dread, fear, and something deeper: recognition. He knows me. She didn't know how she knew that, but she did. She forced herself through the door. One step. Another. And then, "Mae!"