Burn killed his father. True, Arthur might’ve mustered a thank-you in the end, but it was Burn who decided it was his end. Then, he killed his own brother shortly after.

  He racked up a siderable body t, the kind that would impress even the most seasoyrant. He sughtered tless is, Yvain included, and id waste to entire kingdoms. A veritable buffet of destru, as Burn ractically a one-man apocalypse.

  A, he felt no shred of remorse.

  So why did killing her feel so damn hard now? He had killed her before, time and again. It was almost a sport at this point. He knew he would see her die tless times iure if they tinued on this delightful cursed merry-go-round.

  It wasn’t like it ersonal vea; she just o die to reset the loop—a minor invenience for the greater goht? And this time, simply for the sake of breaking free from her mind prison.

  “Look at me—ag like a fug child,” Burn grumbled, teeth ched. “This is the kind of weakness I loathe the most.”

  He recalled the se vividly, sitting on that treasury floor, cradling her in his arms, poised with a tration of For his hand, ready to stop her heart from beating…

  She was sleeping, breathing naturally, eyes shut tight—so blissfully unaware. She wouldn’t respond if the world crashed down arouhat mind prison of hers? A delightful blessing in disguise. Lucky girl.

  He grasped her tightly, his fist g and ung, weighing whether today was the day he’d halt her heart, stalling the iable fate he had written for her. He buried his fa the crook of her neck, jaw taut, eyes shut as if that would shield him from reality.

  Once upon a time, killing her might’ve seemed like a walk in the park. Easy, almost routine.

  Disabling his ears, he let out a long, guttural scream against her chest. Who wants to hear their own sadness? Not him.

  Of course, he’d been hahe short end of the stick again. The universe clearly enjoyed a bit of bck humor. Forced to do the dirty work once more, as if his hands had been crafted solely for the grim task of dispatg loved ones. Just imagihe fine print on that birth certificate.

  In this moment, he mused about whether it was even possible to kill someoly. A delightful thought—though, let’s be ho, it wouldn’t ge a damn thing, sidering she was locked away in her mind, pletely oblivious to pain.

  But maybe it was more about self-deception—lying to himself that he could manage some sembnce of kindness. ving himself that he was capable of gentleness, evehe only thing he wielded was a cold bde and a heavy heart. A ruse to be kio himself.

  After all, who wouldn’t want a little self-deception in a world where kindness could e ed in a kill?

  He still killed her heless.

  ***

  In the shadow of the respleowers of the Saint Lucia Academy, where the air crackled with the potential of untamed magic, a rather ordinary pyground hosted a gathering of the decidedly uraordinary.

  Swings creaked uhe weight of children who were blissfully unaware that just a stohrow away, great mages were embroiled in are discussions, possibly over the entrance ceremony buffet.

  The swings, adorned with chipped paint and rust, swayed with tired resolve as children cmored for heights they’d never reaot that they kheir ughter rang hollow against the backdrop of the cracked sky.

  “We will be another set of Io the sed elf princess. Aborac will ma this time,” announced a man.

  He stood behind a pair of nobles—both dressed as though attending a funeral, but the woman, draped in a bck veil, took the lead in lookiirely anonymous, her skin shrouded as if it posed a mortal threat to the world.

  They were watg the kids py, sitting on a bench, ed in a shroud of silence as if the air itself was too weighty to disturb.

  “And sir… the movement of this… Sator Family…”

  The pair of nobles lingered in silence a moment lohe tension palpable. Finally, the man hummed. “Still no information about who they truly are? Fasatingly elusive, aren’t they?”

  The man behind them shook his head, his expression a mix of frustration a. “Please five us, sir. We haven’t uncovered anything substantial. They seem to have sprouted from nowhere.”

  It was uling, really. Ever sihe Sator Family graced the se, the atmosphere in Inkia took on a strange quality.

  The ral fas began to sway like leaves in an uain breeze, and even some nobles who supposedly swore allegiao the first prince’s fa and the prime minister’s fa seemed to have developed a sudden case of ideological vertigo.

  “Marquis Wilderwood is still doing his usual lobbying?” the man inquired, eyebrows raised.

  “Yes, sir. Even more fervently now that he’s ‘backed’ by the Sator Family. Oddly enough, it’s more like they’ve formed a mutual alliahe Wilderwood family has a long history of military might, but it seems this geion prefers the charms of diplomacy over diving into the fray.”

  “How delightful,” the noble replied dryly. “One only hope they remember that a well-pced sword be just as effective as a well-pced smile, should the need arise. After all, one must make sure the weeds don’t overrun the garden.”

  “Kill him,” he suddenly said.

  “Yes, sir?” came the obedient reply, as if someone were firming a dinner reservation.

  “Letting a new fa rise now in Inkia will plicate things. The prime minister’s fa and the first prince’s fa are predictable, a script we essentially wrote ourselves.”

  The noble tinued, “But this… random… out-of-nowhere fa could muck things up. We’d need another decade to pull the strings and make it dao our tune.”

  The man standing behind them appropriately nodded. “Yes, sir. And what of the Sator Family?”

  The noble casually shrugged, as if dismissing a mildly annoying fly. “They’re merts. It’s simple to deal with those who trade in money. Besides, the madam’s sickly disposition gives us delightful leverage.”

  “When should we take care of Wilderwood?”

  “In a week. For now, let’s turn our attention to the elf princess,” he said, his tone dripping with faux adoration.

  “Yes, sir,” the man replied, bowing and striding away, leaving the noble pair.

  Silenveloped them again as the pair watched the kids pying. After a short silence, suddenly, the oi one of the children.

  “Lance, look, that one looks a lot like my little Cire,” she said.

  The man looked closely and smiled, “Yes, indeed, my love.”