The Seventh Seat burned brighter than it ever had.
Not with fire.
With memory.
It cast no shadow now—only light that made shadows seem dishonest.
And in that light, Lys sat alone.
For the first time since returning.
For the first time since surviving.
She traced the sigil on the stone beside her. The Crown of Broken Circles.
Old. Fractured. Whole again.
The mark of Sevrien.
Not hers. Not truly.
She had held this Seat for decades. Thought herself its bearer.
But it had never been hers.
It had waited.
For him.
For this.
Footsteps echoed behind her.
Soft. Steady.
"You shouldn't be here," she said without turning.
Keiran—or rather, Sevrien—sat on the step below hers.
Not defiant. Not afraid.
Just… there.
Like he'd always belonged.
"Neither should you," he answered.
"But here we are."
They sat in silence for a time.
The moons above shifted closer.
The light bent wrong through the high glass of the Concordium dome, casting patterns across the floor like runes trying to speak.
Lys closed her eyes.
"Do you remember… before?"
He tilted his head.
"Before Keiran. Before Vayne. Before Auren."
"Before even Sevrien?"
She nodded.
"I remember a boy. Eyes like glass. Hands too careful for a child."
"I remember thinking: he's already been broken by something I'll never understand."
He smiled, faintly.
"You weren't wrong."
Another silence stretched between them.
Then Lys spoke, softer.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"That you were the Severance. The root. The first."
He didn't look at her.
Just watched the moons crawl closer.
"Because I didn't know."
"Because I thought… if I stayed small, if I stayed quiet, maybe the world would forget."
"Maybe I could forget, too."
"But the world doesn't forget, does it?"
"It just waits."
Lys's throat tightened.
"Calia's moving."
"The Pale Priests have opened the Reliquary."
"They mean to burn everything. To erase even you."
He nodded.
No fear.
No surprise.
"They tried once already."
"Didn't work."
"Won't work now."
"Not unless you help them."
She flinched.
Because she knew the weight of those words.
Because she knew what the Concordium expected of her.
"If I kill you… if I end this… the world survives."
"If I don't… it burns."
"Is that the choice you want me to make?"
Sevrien finally met her gaze.
And for a moment, he wasn't a god relic.
He wasn't the Severance.
He wasn't a name bound in blood and silence.
He was the boy she'd pulled from ash and ruin.
The boy who had once asked her if names could be forgiven.
"It's not the choice I want."
"It's the choice you've already made."
Lys felt something cold slip beneath her ribs.
"You don't know that."
"You don't know what I'll choose."
His smile was not cruel.
Only tired.
"You sat here, didn't you?"
"You climbed these steps."
"You took the Seat again… knowing it wasn't truly yours."
"Because you couldn't bear to leave it empty."
"Because you couldn't bear to leave me empty."
Her hand closed over the scar at her throat.
The one she'd earned in the Severance.
The one Calia had given her.
The one that still burned beneath moonlight.
"Tell me, Sevrien."
"If I let you live… what do you become?"
"What happens when the moons align and the world remembers your name?"
He looked up.
At Vaelen. At Ashrah.
At himself, reflected in their pale glow.
"I don't know."
"But I think it's time someone found out."
The Seventh Seat burned brighter.
The Council below stirred, unease rippling like smoke through their ranks.
Even now, none dared approach the dais.
Even now, none could touch what waited at its heart.
Lys rose.
Not slowly.
Not in doubt.
In decision.
She placed her hand on his shoulder.
Not to strike.
Not to push away.
To steady.
"Then we face it together."
"Let the world burn."
"But not alone."
He reached up.
Grasped her hand.
No flame between them now.
Only memory.
Only names.
Only truth.
Below them, in the city's heart, the bells began to toll.
Above them, the moons aligned.
And somewhere deep beneath, the Pale Priests began to scream.
Because what they had feared was no longer coming.
It was already here.
And it would not ask for permission.