The heavens opened like a wound.
From the heart of the Veil, light poured through — not golden, but blinding, woven with threads of celestial judgment. The gods had arrived, arrayed in armor forged from the first storms. Behind them, the Hollow Court rose in full power, thrones hovering, cloaks of dusk dragging across the air.
And at the center of it all stood Serelith, veiled in threads of living starlight, the Codex floating just above her spine like a second, silent heart.
Faelan stood beside her, sword drawn but eyes fixed on her face.
He had seen her broken. He had seen her brave. But never like this.
Never as destiny made flesh.
"She is the Veil now," one of the gods muttered. "And the blade that can tear it."
Serelith raised her hands, and the words of the First Tongue poured from her lips — not spells, but edits. The world shuddered, rewritten in real time.
Trees turned to stone. Thunder reversed course. One of the lesser fae generals screamed and vanished, erased from memory itself.
The Hollow Queen screamed, "Stop her!"
But no one could. Serelith wasn't using magic anymore — she was magic. The Codex glowed with every line she spoke, and the boundary between myth and reality thinned.
Still, the gods surged forward.
Faelan stepped in front of her, sword clashing with divine steel. His antlers had returned — spectral, glowing, carved with vines of autumn fire. He fought like a storm undone.
And yet — even as he blocked spear and flame — his eyes never left her.
"Do not forget," he called to her between strikes. "You are still you, Serelith."
The Codex burned brighter.
In her mind, the Unmaker whispered, Let me take over. Let me protect you.
She nearly gave in. But then — she looked at Faelan.
Not just the warrior. The man. The one who loved her not for what she might become, but for who she already was.
And she chose.
She did not surrender to the Unmaker.
She spoke over it.
"I am not your vessel," she said aloud. "I am the author of this story."
And with a gesture, she rewrote the battlefield.
The Hollow Court's thrones cracked. The gods faltered, no longer immune. The Veil screamed — but it was a scream of birth, not death.
Faelan ran to her side, bleeding, but smiling. "Remind me never to stand against you."
She caught him, holding him close as the sky shook above them.
"You never did," she whispered, forehead pressed to his.
And in that moment — with war around them, with realms collapsing and fates unwritten — they stood in perfect stillness.
Two hearts.
One rewritten destiny.