Chapter 32

  At this point, I, Luken, remember almost everything again—so the Archivists handed the quill back to me. Gravor’s grip had begun to loosen, and as you’ll see, his influence started to fade.

  —

  We stood still for what must have been several minutes. Neither of us moved, neither spoke. The air between us crackled faintly with residual energy, but the fury had calmed—for now. In that shared stillness, our bodies did the work of mending themselves. Gunnar’s flesh, torn and bruised only moments ago, knit itself back together under a soft pulse of glowing runes. His skin was soon untouched by blood or injury, as if the battle had never happened.

  Likewise, my armor and scales began to shift and seal. Cracks vanished, gaps fused. With a series of oddly satisfying clicks and crunches, the once-battered plates and twisted bones returned to their original form—if not slightly improved. My tail coiled calmly behind me. The monstrous wings at my back folded in like curtains drawn after a storm.

  In other words: we were both right back where we started.

  I took a breath. A real one this time. It wasn’t labored or ragged. It was my breath, through my chest, in my body. My heartbeat, though still a bit heavy, no longer pulsed with Gravor’s rhythm. I had the reins again.

  So I used that rare moment of clarity to speak to the creature inside me.

  “Gravor…” I murmured, my voice sounding strange even to me—too deep, too resonant—but still mine. “Thanks? I guess?”

  I wasn’t sure how to start. A part of me wanted to scream at him—to demand he reverse whatever the hell he’d done. Another part knew better. That transformation had saved my life. If I hadn’t accepted it, my soul wouldn't exist anymore.

  The ever-smirking presence in my head answered instantly, like a child who’d just been waiting for someone to notice their drawing.

  “You’re most welcome! I’m thrilled you enjoyed my little gift. Took me ages to perfect, you know.” He spoke with that faux cheer, that sickly sweetness that made it sound like he was proud to have finally gotten me something better than socks for my birthday. All a performance, of course.

  “It was… an experience,” I said slowly. “But, uh… can I remove this whole demonic aesthetic?” I lifted my clawed hands, still elongated and tipped in obsidian-like talons. They twitched involuntarily. The sheen on them pulsed faintly in the light like oil on water.

  Gravor chuckled—lazily, arrogantly. “Oh, come now. It’s not that bad. You look intimidating. Majestic, even! And I’m sure none of your precious little friends will try to banish you to Hell when they see you. Probably. Maybe.”

  He was laughing harder now.

  I rolled my eyes, partly at his words, partly because he wasn’t entirely wrong.

  "Are you talking to the monster inside you?" came Gunnar’s voice, unexpectedly calm, just a few paces away.

  I blinked, returning from the magical dialogue. Gunnar stood there, arms loosely at his sides, no longer radiating the raw hostility he had before—just tiredness, caution... and a flicker of curiosity.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “I’m… trying to negotiate,” I replied hesitantly.

  “We are not negotiating,” Gravor snapped in my head, his voice immediately rising with indignation.

  I ignored him—at least for the moment—and looked at Gunnar. “How do you know I’m talking to him?”

  The corners of Gunnar Ashwinter’s mouth lifted into the faintest of smiles. “Because you go stiff as a statue and your eyes glaze over like you’ve left your body. I’ve seen something like this before.” His tone was no longer sharp, no longer threatening. Then, more softly, he asked, “Is our fight over?”

  He took a slow step forward, close enough now to study my face.

  I hesitated, then gave a small shrug. “I guess. But I still need to talk to my… pet… to undo all this.”

  That did it.

  “Pet?!” Gravor roared with genuine offense. “What kind of pet forms a symbiotic bond with its owner? I am not your lapdog, you arrogant pile of bones and trauma!”

  I raised a brow and couldn’t help but smirk. “So, by that logic… I’m your owner?”

  There was silence. Deafening, glorious silence. And then—for the first time since this whole damn madness began—I felt something shift.

  I’d said it as a joke, but it hit somewhere deeper. Gravor didn’t respond immediately, and when he did, it wasn’t with sarcasm or rage—it was with something like… defeat.

  “…Fine,” he muttered, voice quieter, like a child caught in a game he thought he was winning. “I’ll undo it. I’ll return you to your usual, tragically human form. But just so you know…” His grin returned, sly and snake-like. “You can call on me again. Anytime. Only if you want to, of course,” he added with mock innocence.

  The transformation began to fade. The weight of the monstrous power slowly loosened its grip. My fingers retracted, the claws dissolving into flesh. The wings cracked, trembled, and vanished in a storm of black embers. My breath evened out. The burning in my chest eased.

  For the first time in what felt like hours, I felt almost like myself.

  Almost.

  I noticed something.

  I turned my head slowly—too slowly—and my eyes widened.

  “…The tail,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Uh… Gravor?” I said cautiously, trying not to move too suddenly. “You, uh… you forgot something.”

  “Incredibly unlikely,” came his smug voice inside my head.

  “The tail,” I repeated, trying to keep calm. “Can you get rid of the tail too?”

  A beat of silence.

  Then he cackled. Loudly. The loudest I’d ever heard him. It echoed in my skull like a war drum laced with mockery.

  “Which one?” he asked, still laughing. “The one in front—or the one in the back?”

  For a second, my entire soul short-circuited. My mind blanked out. Then it hit me.

  “MAKE IT DISAPPEAR!” I screamed telepathically, fury and embarrassment twisting my thoughts into fire. “THE BACK ONE, DAMMIT!”

  Still laughing, Gravor responded with a satisfied snort. “Alright, alright, fine. But remember… everything’s on-call now.”

  I felt the tail twitch one last time before dissolving into black mist. Thank the gods.

  But his last comment stuck in my mind.

  Everything’s on-call…

  That gave me an idea.

  “Hey,” I asked, my voice quieter, thoughtful now. “Is it possible to, like… selectively transform? Like, only bring out the wings, but not turn into a full-blown demon?”

  Gravor sounded genuinely intrigued. “Huh. Good question. Why not? It’s your soul. You’ve got the link now. You think it, I shape it. Wings only? Sure.”

  I nodded slowly, the gears in my head turning. That… might actually come in handy.

  Then I looked back at Gunnar. The legendary Crytomancer. Still standing. Weary, but not defeated.

  “I guess this makes us… allies now?” I asked carefully, my voice stripped of hostility.

  He let out a tired breath and gave a resigned nod. “I’m too exhausted to fight you again,” he said, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. “If you still want to stop Dwin and Lira, then yeah… I’ll help. Once we’re out of here.”

  I nodded. “Good.”

  I turned to face the icy void that had once been the battlefield, now eerily quiet. I could feel the pull—something was changing. Time to return.

  “Ready for a dramatic entrance?” I asked Gunnar, a smirk creeping across my lips.

  He gave me a sidelong glance and managed a tired smile. “Only if we don’t have to punch each other on the way in.”

  “No promises,” I said, then focused.

  Wings only, I thought.

  And they unfolded.

  Jet-black, draconic wings erupted from my back in a flash of shadow and crimson sparks, flaring wide with a satisfying crackle. Gunnar let out a low whistle.

  “Yeah,” I muttered, flexing them slightly. “This could work.”