The knife was warm from my hand, like it had already decided for me.
I knelt beside him—his breathing shallow, blood pooling where the rope had rubbed his wrists raw. The mask was cracked now, just above the cheekbone. I could see a sliver of skin through it. Pale. Familiar. Too familiar.
But I didn't let myself look too long.
I raised the blade.
His breath hitched.
Aerimus stood behind me, quiet for once. She wasn't smiling. Just watching. Like she already knew what I'd choose.
I wanted it to be simple.
It should have been simple.
He attacked me. He tried to kill me. He knew things he shouldn't. He was immune to my power. He wasn't my brother. He couldn't be. Mine would've said something smug by now. He would've made a rule about this—"Rule Nine: no murder before breakfast."
I told myself that.
Over and over.
I gripped the hilt tighter.
Then the air shifted.
Not the world.
The air.
Like a breath held too long.
And a voice broke through the rot around us.
"Aevira—"
My name.
The first time I'd heard it in—
I didn't even know how long.
I turned.
He stood at the threshold of the ruin. Older. Thinner. Worn down to bone and shadow.
Caelen.
But not the Warden's Caelen.
Not entirely.
His hair was gray. His eyes were hollow. His mouth looked like it had forgotten how to smile years ago.
He stepped forward.
I didn't move.
Neither did Aerimus.
"You don't recognize him, do you?" he said softly, nodding toward the man beneath me.
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
He looked down at the warrior. The broken, bleeding man.
"That's Solas," he said.
He said it so softly. Like he thought it would break me gently. Like truth could be kind.
No.
My grip faltered.
"He's not your Solas," Caelen continued. "Not exactly. He's from a timeline where you became the Corruption Knight. They sent him to kill you before it happens again."
I shook my head.
I couldn't stop.
You're lying. He's not—he's not him. I know my brother. I know him more than anyone.
Caelen looked at me then.
Really looked.
"I thought that too," he said. "The first time I saw you after the split. I thought I could stop it. I thought—chains, maybe. Isolation. If I kept you locked away long enough, you'd forget how to burn."
My stomach dropped.
He stepped closer.
"I was the Warden. I am the Warden. Just… older. Regretful. I tried to stop you before it started. I tried to keep you from turning into her."
He glanced at Aerimus.
She didn't react.
She didn't need to.
I stumbled backward, blade still in my hand.
The man at my feet moaned.
Solas.
Another Solas.
But the sound—
That sound—
It was real.
And it was his.
I pressed my hands to my ears. Shook my head. Screamed without sound. My throat raw from silence.
Caelen didn't move.
He just whispered, "Please. Don't do it."
He sounded like Solas.
He was Solas.
Too many Solases.
Too many broken timelines. Too many versions.
I wanted mine back.
Just mine.
Just the one who smiled with crooked teeth and cheated at the game.
The one who smeared mud on my boots just to make me laugh. Who made a crown from thorns and called me Queen Idiot. Who once cried when a bird hit the window and asked if it was his fault.
Just him.
Not these ghosts.
Not these shells.
I looked down at the man—at Solas—barely breathing, bound, silent.
My hand trembled.
If I stop now… if I let him go…
Then what?
Then I admit it?
That I've been torturing my brother?
That I've already lost?
That I've become something worse than what they feared?
No.
No.
I pressed the blade to his throat.
Caelen stepped forward. "Aevira—"
I didn't let him finish.
His chest rose. A slow breath. Maybe his last.
And in that moment, I wanted the world to freeze.
To rewind.
To choose for me.
But it didn't.
I cut.
Clean.
Not deep. Not fast. Just enough.
Enough to stop the breathing.
The man jerked once.
Twice.
Then went still.
Silence swallowed the ruin.
I dropped the knife.
Fell back.
Caelen didn't scream.
He just sank to his knees and covered his face with both hands. He didn't speak. But his hands trembled like they wanted to tear time in half and try again.
Aerimus tilted her head.
Not smiling.
Not gloating.
Just present.
"One step closer," she said. "Good girl."
I sat there, shaking. Blood on my hands.
I knew him.
I knew him.
I knew him.
Didn't I?