Chapter 1232: Familiar Tactics

Luke smelled of ash and cinders. Sunpurge glowed through the tears in his clothing, tracing angry lines across his skin. His question lingered between us as I stared at them.

I had died. Fyren was gone.

My eyes filled, and I pressed my face into Luke’s chest. He held me with my feet barely brushing the ground, one hand cupping the back of my head as I wept into his tunic.

"I didn’t mean to," I whispered between sobs.

"Shh. It’s alright. What matters is that you’re safe now." His hand stilled in my hair. "You are, aren’t you?"

I shook my head, struggling to draw a full breath. The story came out in pieces, beginning with my ascension and ending with Fyren’s departure. Luke listened without interrupting, though his arms tightened whenever my voice faltered.

"The Lord of Ash. An emperor," he murmured when I’d finished.

I flinched. Of everything I’d told him, did he have to linger on that? I’d reached ninth-level. Fate was gone. Surely we could talk about something else.

"I-I’m ninth-level," I mumbled.

"I know, and I’m proud of you. But Xiviyah, you faced a god. You died."

He eased me back, holding my shoulders so I couldn’t hide against him.

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep myself from running to you? I felt you go dark. I felt the bond break..." His fingers tightened against my shoulders. "Don’t ever ask me to do that again. Don’t ask me to abandon you. Do you understand?"

I nodded, unable to answer. He drew me close again, and I caught at his tunic.

"It was the only way," I whispered.

His hand settled over mine.

"I’m sorry he’s gone."

I squeezed my eyes shut, wetting his tunic with fresh tears. When I tried to scrub them away, he smoothed my hair back from my face. His tail brushed alongside mine and stayed there.

"I know he meant a lot to you."

"He promised he’d be in my party. It was the first thing he ever promised me." I swallowed, struggling past the tightness in my throat. "He didn’t come for Soltair or Trithe. He was there for me. And now he’s not."

Luke’s lips parted, but he said nothing. He turned his face toward the battlefield, his jaw tightening.

"So many gone. So many torn from the pattern." I pressed my forehead against him. "I hate war, Luke. I hate it."

"I know. But we still have to finish this. We can’t leave their sacrifices to come to nothing."

"I know. I just..."

I let out a shuddering breath and rested my cheek against his chest.

"I’m sorry. You’re right." Beneath the smoke, I could still catch his familiar scent. I breathed it in, holding on a moment longer before looking up. "What happened to you? Where’s Soltair?"

Luke sighed, his tail stiffening against mine.

"He retreated. Your remnant and I had him cornered, but the moment that golden dome appeared over the Throne, they all withdrew. The hero, the arbiters, the ninth-levels. Even the inquisitors. Everyone worth anything abandoned their forces." His gaze returned to the plains. "Almost three hundred thousand soldiers from across Enusia, left to our hordes."

"How familiar," I muttered. "But Luke, it’s not a battle anymore. It’s a slaughter."

"Yes. All the armies of our enemies gathered in one place, ready to be destroyed."

"Luke..."

"Xiviyah, please." He looked down at me. "Do not ask me to stay my hand. Not now."

I bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood. The plea had been on my lips, but I swallowed it.

He’d let me fight my battle in the city as I saw fit. Now I could look back and see what remained of it. I couldn’t ask him to risk his own forces because I couldn’t bear to watch.

At least those killed on the Radian Plains could be reborn.

Below the ridge, a line of shields folded beneath a surge of demons. A spell flashed among them, briefly lighting the pale undersides of wings. I turned my face into Luke’s shoulder.

"I think they were buying time," he said after a while. "Whatever enchantment they’ve woven through their halls is powerful. Worth sacrificing their armies for, apparently. And I’ve lost much here, too. Between this battle and Rash’alon’s revolt, only a few million demons remain. Barely a tenth of the horde we had after the descent."

"Are there still demon gates?"

"Some. But the tide of infernal mana has slowed since the descent, and most of the gates are feral now. Whatever comes through is beyond our control. There must be millions more demons scattered across Enusia. Problems for future generations."

"It’s a dark day for Enusia," Verity said softly.

I jumped, my fingers tightening in Luke’s tunic. Heat crept into my cheeks.

"Don’t tell me you forgot I was here." She rolled her eyes.

"Um, no...?"

"Why do you even bother lying?" Luke asked, brushing a hand along my tail.

"H-Hey!"

It curled between my legs, and he gave me a small smile before wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes with his sleeve.

"Before you forget me again, Xiv, I should mention that I can’t carry this forever." Verity shifted Fyren’s sword in her hands. "I don’t have a physical body. At some point, I’ll need to rest in your aura, and it’s not as though you can hold it for me."

"The Sword of Oblivion?" Luke asked.

I looked up at him hopefully. He shook his head.

"It’s dormant, but I can feel it from here. Just carrying it would disrupt my entire mana cycle."

I pursed my lips, studying the blade. Oblivion was the antithesis of fate and, by extension, the mana that manipulated it. Fyren had gathered the rifts and voids left by the battle into the sword, but their darkness hadn’t ceased to exist. It clung to the obsidian edge, thinning into wisps that disappeared before touching the ground.

I’d grown familiar enough with oblivion that I might have managed the power itself. But even looking at the blade sent prickles through my soul. With the Divine Curse binding my body, carrying it was out of the question.

"Perhaps I can help."

Jessia sauntered toward us.

My grip on Luke tightened. I hadn’t felt her approach, and I couldn’t entirely blame him for distracting me. Not even Foresight had stirred.

Verity narrowed her eyes. After a glance at me, she reversed the sword and drove its point into the ground.

"Go on, then. It’s not as though just anyone can wield the power of..."

She trailed off as Jessia walked past us and extended a hand.

I’d never seen the apostle wield anything larger than a shortsword. Fyren’s blade looked absurd beside her slender frame, its hilt standing high enough that she barely had to lower her arm.

The sword trembled. Darkness drifted toward her fingers, bending like a candle flame in a breeze. When she closed her hand around the hilt, the blade dissolved into shadows and streamed into her soul.

Jessia gasped. Her eyes went black, swallowing even the reflected starlight. Then she blinked, and they were clear again.

"Incredible," she breathed, staring at her open palm.

She curled her fingers, and a blade appeared in her hand. It was scarcely longer than her forearm, with a single curved edge tapering to a wicked point.

"Huh. Would you look at that?"

She gave it an experimental swing. A thin fissure opened along its path, lingering in the air before slowly drawing shut.

"I suppose it likes me."

"No way," Verity muttered.

I stared at the weapon, my tail growing stiff. That was all Fyren had left us. I could still see his hand around the hilt, the way he’d driven it into the earth before leaving. How could Jessia simply walk up and take it?

And Verity was right. Not just anyone could wield oblivion.

Why her?

"Good. That settles that," Luke said. "Though I still don’t understand why an emperor would leave so much power behind."

My tail flicked against his leg. Nothing about this was settled, but I couldn’t seem to find the strength to argue.

Jessia turned the blade in her hand, watching its edge catch the starlight. Her shoulders had eased. When she noticed me looking, her usual smile returned, but I’d already seen the relief beneath it.

Luke cleared his throat, sliding a hand to my waist.

"We shouldn’t linger. The other apostles can direct the rest of the battle. We need to meet your commanders and prepare to take the Divine Throne." His thumb pressed lightly against my side. "We need that world shard, Xiviyah. I don’t like how your soul feels."

I lowered my eyes. Neither did I. Even standing here, I had to keep directing the inheritance away from my soul. Whenever my attention slipped, the pressure beneath my ribs grew harder to ignore.

"Yes, you should hurry," Jessia agreed. "At this rate, I’m not sure she has a week. I have a few things to check first, but I’ll catch up when I can. Would you like me to fetch the others?"

"No. Keep them on standby in case the church launches a sortie while I’m gone." Luke bent toward me. "Here, Xiviyah. Hold on."

I nodded and let him lift me. My arms slipped around his neck, and I cast one last look at Jessia as he carried me into the air.

She waved, wearing a small, teasing smile. I watched until the ridge fell behind us, then rested my head against Luke’s shoulder. The sword was gone, hidden somewhere within her soul.

No, this wasn’t over. But now wasn’t the time. The wound was still too fresh.

The Fatesworn had withdrawn from the city and regrouped on the plains. Most had already returned to Haven alongside the remnants, leaving a vanguard of their strongest soldiers: Skyknights, rangers of the Nightwatch, and mages of the Empyrean Order. Emlica and Gathrin were among the few remnants who remained.

Below us, soldiers moved between hastily erected tents, carrying bundles of arrows and crates salvaged from the city. Their armor caught the golden light spilling from Haven’s gate. Some paused to watch us descend, and I tucked my tail close, grateful when Luke landed near the command center.

"Ah, perfect timing, child," Emlica said.

Everyone was already gathered, including my friends. I’d barely lifted my head before Korra hurried over. Luke had just enough time to set me down before she caught me in a hug.

"You really did it!" she cried. "You’re ninth-level!"