The last of the priestesses turned to face me with blood streaking down her cheek, and fear darkened her eyes.

Only three remained now: Sorcha and two priestesses, and even they knew that this was the end for them.

I stepped forward, and the Grove stepped with me.

Branches curved toward me like a hundred arms bending to my fury. The ground pulsed below my feet in gold-lit rhythms, the way a heart might beat faster when touched by pain. It knew my grief and chose to weaponise it.

“You sent my mate to his death,” I said, the words ragged, even as a quiet voice inside reminded me: Damien was never truly yours.

Sorcha lifted her chin, stubborn to the end. That was so witch of her. “We didn’t kill anyone.”

“No,” I said. “But you built the cage that did. You lit the match and taught the world to call the fire holy. Your insatiable desire for power and control divided Anarion in the Goddess’s name and called it order. You fed death to children and labelled it legacy. You caused all of this!”

The priestess beside her moved, conjuring a wall of magic between us. I didn’t stop walking. I just raised my hand.

My magic didn’t wait for permission. It tore through hers—through her—and left only searing light in its wake. She had time to scream once. Then she was gone.

The Grove lifted around me, the air rippled, hick with heat and power as my grief found form and detonated across the clearing.

“You want thrones?” I snarled. “You want blood, oaths, crowns made of bone?”

The second priestess didn’t even react fast enough. I lunged before thought could tether me, or reason could catch up. I slammed into her, knocking her down so hard that the ground cracked under the weight of her fall. I heard ribs break, but I didn’t stop.

“You could’ve chosen peace,” I said. My hands burned with power, no incantation needed, as I lifted her and hurled her across the clearing like a broken thing.

She didn’t rise again.

Only Sorcha remained. And she stood rooted like a queen on the brink of ruin, draped in the last shreds of her doctrine.

Behind me, Kael stood silent among the wreckage of fallen wolves. Caelum drifted like shadow through smoke, his ceremonial robes scorched but intact. Neither moved or tried to intervene.

She was mine.

I stopped just short of Sorcha, so close I could feel the tremble of her breath. For the first time, I saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes.

“You don’t know what’s coming,” she whispered. “You think this is the end?”

“No,” I said softly. “I think it’s the beginning.”

And then I reached for her. My hand closed around her throat, but my magic did the real work.

I showed her through memory. I let her feel what the Divide had done to Anarion. Let her drown in the screams of burning witches, the silence of caged wolves, the lives cut short and the futures stolen.

I let her feel what I had felt when Damien and Fabian died to undo the Divide.

Sorcha didn’t scream. She wept.

She sank slowly to her knees, her sobs echoing around us like whispers of regret. I watched her, feeling the fury inside me cool into a coldness I couldn’t describe. It wasn’t forgiveness, no, I wasn’t capable of forgiving her yet.

She had seen the truth, and had felt every ounce of pain she caused, every heartbreak, every loss. For me, it was enough.

As she collapsed onto the ground, shoulders trembling, I lowered my hand and stepped back.

I wouldn’t deliver the final blow. I had done enough. The Grove would decide what was left for Sorcha.

The Grove answered immediately, as if it had waited centuries for this moment. Thick roots rose from the ground, coiling around Sorcha, like judgment finally coming to claim its due. I watched until she was hidden entirely, swallowed by the earth itself.

Only then did I turn away, my breath shaky, my body suddenly feeling heavy with exhaustion. The world seemed strangely quiet. The chaos of battle was replaced by a calm that felt almost unreal. Even the trees had gone still, branches no longer reaching out. The scent of blood and broken magic was fading, replaced by the soft smell of ash and fresh earth.

Rain began to fall gently, small drops tapping softly on the leaves, washing away the violence that had filled this place moments before. The peacefulness felt like a strange dream, temporary too.

Kael was the first to step toward me. He was still shirtless, his skin smeared with blood and dirt. His breathing came heavy, like he’d been holding it in ever since we left the Vale. But what caught my attention was the way his eyes locked onto mine, filled with concern and regret.

“You didn’t stop,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even when you had the chance.”

I looked at him, feeling my anger and grief still pulsing in my head. “I couldn’t,” I replied. “After everything they did, stopping wasn’t an option. They deserved worse for their audacity. The arrogance of thinking they could dispose of us and control people’s lives and fates.”

Kael nodded slowly, understanding filling his gaze. Then, gently, he reached out. His fingertips brushed lightly along my jaw, the touch soft and careful, as if he feared I might break if he pressed too hard. Without thinking, I leaned into his hand. It felt strange to seek comfort after all the destruction I’d just caused, but in this brief moment, I didn’t have to choose between being strong or allowing myself softness. Right now, I needed both.

A rustle of robes alerted me to Caelum’s approach. He stood silently at my side, robes scorched at the bottom, fabric torn and dirtied. But his expression was unchanged, still so unreadable. Caelum had always been like this—quietly accepting whatever chaos the world threw his way, as if he had known every possible outcome and made peace with each one long ago.

For a moment, something stuck in my mind, an uncomfortable thought. Had Caelum known it would end this way? Had he seen the destruction and pain this would cause and accepted it as a necessary sacrifice? My stomach twisted uncomfortably, and I quickly pushed the thought away.

His fingers gently brushed my shoulder, drawing me out of my thoughts. “They’ll come now,” Caelum said softly, eyes fixed on the distant treeline. “The others—the rest of the Dominion. Without the Divide, they’ll have no choice but to follow the call. And the call leads here.”

“Questions,” Kael muttered, his tone darkening slightly. “They’ll bring their accusations, their anger. They won’t understand.”

I glanced between them, understanding their hesitation but also feeling a small surge of defiance inside me. I’d faced worse tonight, so nothing bothered me right now. :et them bring their questions and accusations. Still, I knew what they meant. None of us were prepared to stand before an angry mob right now, to explain ourselves or defend our choices. Not yet.

“Let them come,” I repeated softly, tasting each word like a promise. “We’ll deal with them when they get here. But right now” let’s just breathe.”

Kael and Caelum didn’t argue. They didn’t say anything at all, but I could feel their agreement. The three of us stood together in the fading chaos, bodies bruised, spirits heavy, listening to the soft, steady patter of rain falling around us. Each drop was like a tiny promise from the Grove, washing away the ugly memories of everything that had happened here, rinsing the dirt and ash from our skin.

I closed my eyes, trying to steady my heartbeat. My body felt weary, heavier than it ever had before, but my mind was wide awake. Memories flickered behind my eyelids—Damien’s eyes filled with trust right before he fell, the desperate fear in Sorcha’s gaze. It felt like I’d lived through lifetimes tonight, carrying more losses and victories than anyone should ever have to bear alone.

But I wasn’t alone. Kael was beside me, quietly supporting me without asking for anything in return. Caelum remained at my other side as if he had already made peace with all the choices we’d had to make. Both of them understood what we had done and why we had done it. That mattered more than I expected it to.

I opened my eyes, looking toward the shadowed treeline. I knew we couldn’t hide here forever. Eventually, they would all come—wolves and witches from every corner of Anarion, angry and frightened, full of accusations and questions, maybe blame too.

Behind us, the Grove shifted slightly, pulsing once like it had taken a deep breath and let it out slowly. I could almost feel its satisfaction vibrating through the ground under my feet. It had claimed the blood of two powerful warriors, two souls whose loss had rewritten the heart of Anarion. Now the Grove seemed stronger, more alive, like it had taken their strength and given back something that belonged to all of us.

The Dominion was ours now. The Divide had been shattered, and with it, all the old rules were gone. The wolves and witches who had spent generations fighting one another would have to learn a new way. They would have to find common ground, whether they liked it or not. Or they would have to face me.

I had lived my life being hunted, running from one danger to the next, always looking over my shoulder. But no more. I had felt the darkest pain, the deepest loss, and still, I stood here. Alive, strong, and ready. I wouldn’t be anyone’s prey ever again, not to fate or even to the gods who’d allowed this mess to unfold in the first place.

Slowly, I lifted my face to the falling rain, letting it slide gently over my skin, taking with it the last traces of ash, blood, and doubt.

“Let them come,” I whispered again, louder this time, letting the challenge ripple out into the darkness. “I’m ready.”