The Price of Power

Epilogue

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Damien despised the woods. Truly, he did. A monotonous stretch of trees, all blending together in their bland sameness. She used to tease him for it, rolling her eyes before rattling off the names of every tree in sight, as if proving how easy it was.

“That’s an oak, Sir D. And that is a pine,” she’d say, her tone just shy of condescending. “Honestly, how can you not tell the difference between a pine and a palm tree?”

He never could. And yet, here he was. Like a fool, wandering through these woods once again. Not because of duty or glory.

But because he couldn’t let go.

Just so he could remember her laugh. Because he wanted to remember how her eyes sparkled with mischief as she tilted her head at him, challenging him to keep up.

He wanted to remember the way she’d tuck that stray strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering for just a moment before she turned her attention to the leaves. As if they were more than just leaves. As if they held onto secrets that only she could see.

She noticed everything.

He didn’t. Not the trees, not the signs, not even the dangers. But he noticed her. The way she exhaled softly after healing a wounded villager. The strength in her voice as she gave orders, her mind working tirelessly to plan every move.

She was a paradox: kind yet sharp, pure yet fierce. There was an edge to her that only those who truly knew her could understand.

He noticed that. She didn’t.

Yes, she saw everything. Every detail, every nuance, every shift in the world around her.

Everything.

Except him.

And that was why he despised the woods. They brought back memories—beautiful ones—that were now nothing more than ghosts. He sighed, sinking onto a rock as the sky lightened ever so slowly.

How long had he wandered aimlessly?

“Oi, you’ve been walkin’ in circles for hours. Aren’t you tired?”

The voice startled him, low and groggy. A man covered in dirty clothes shifted on the ground nearby, pulling his blanket tighter.

Damien straightened. “Sir Damien, if you please,” he said. “And… do you know how to leave this forest?”

The man snorted, sitting up. “Forest? You jokin’? This ain’t no forest, mate. You’re in Central Park.”

Damien blinked. “Central Park… woods, then. Very well. Can you guide me back to my lodgings on Fifth Avenue?”

The man squinted at him. “Fifth Avenue? Lodgin’s? You’re havin’ a laugh, yeah? What’re you, some kinda weirdo?”

“Not at all.”

The man shook his head, extending a hand. “Right, then. Gimme your wallet.”

Damien raised an eyebrow.

“You deaf, rich boy? Hand it over!” The man staggered to his feet, his voice rising as he balled his fists.

“You would rob a knight of the realm?” Damien growled.

“Knight of the—what now?” the man scoffed. “Just give me the damn wallet!” He lunged, swinging clumsily.

Damien sidestepped with ease, watching the man stumble past him. “A thief in these woods,” he mused aloud, shaking his head. “Have you no shame... mate?”

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The man snarled, his breath reeking of alcohol as he swung again. This time, Damien caught his fist mid-air, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.

“Release me, you pompous brat!” the man spat, squirming.

“I should take you to the authorities,” Damien said. “But… I suppose I’m in no position to judge. I’m a little…” He hesitated, clearing his throat. “Lost.”

The man huffed, dangling in Damien’s grip. “Lost? Alright, fine! Put me down, and I’ll help. Deal?”

Damien set him down slowly. “Speak, then. How do you propose to assist me?”

The man grumbled under his breath, rummaging through a bag before pulling out a thin, glowing box. “Welcome to New York,” he said dryly. “City of broken dreams, sky-high rents, and—apparently—meeting a lunatic like ya in my first goddamn week.”

“What is that?” Damien asked, narrowing his eyes.

The man snorted. “You serious? It’s a phone.”

“A phone…” Damien repeated, inspecting it like it might bite him. “There’s a larger box in my chamber they call a TV. But this? It’s like a crystal ball, only flat.”

The man stared at him, incredulous. “Mate, hopeless! Follow me. I’ll show you how it works, but it ain’t free. You’d better cough up some cash when we get there.”

As they strolled out of the forest and along the empty street, Damien eyed the glowing contraption that the man kept checking every minutes. “This… ‘phone,’” he said cautiously, “is it common in these lands?”

“Common? Mate, no one steps out the door without one. It’s like havin’ an extra arm, innit?” The man grumbled, “What cave you been hidin’ in? Middle-earth? Or one o’ them posh wizard schools in, what, One Eye Land?”

Damien’s expression darkened. “I’ve been here for months,” he muttered, “and I’ve just now learned of this?”

“Of… Alchymia?” The man’s jaw dropped as Damien’s silver eyes faintly glimmered, a clear warning sign.

“Of this phone,” Damien replied. “What can it do?”

The man hesitated, clutching the device closer. “It’s—uh—it’s a phone. You know, for taking pictures, going online… stuff like that.”

“Online? Why would one need to… go online?”

“Seriously?!” the man snapped. “You can do everything online! Maps, news, videos, chatting—whatever you need, it’s all there. Everyone uses it!”

An access to infinite knowledge. Yet no one had mentioned it—not the professor, not his guides.

Why? What were they trying to hide?

His gaze flickered around the area. “Change of plan. Let’s discuss this somewhere less… exposed.”

“Less exposed? Oi, you tryin’ to mug me, yeah? Or… nah, forget it. Just—for the love of my rent—forget it.” The man took a cautious step back. “Look, silver Superman or whatever, I got my own problems, so how about—”

“Your problems?” Damien cut him off sharply. He extended a hand, and the air around him seemed to ripple, light solidifying into a massive blade. Its surface sparkled like diamond, radiating an almost holy aura.

The man stumbled back, his hands flying up. “Oi, easy there, big guy—I mean, sir! SIR!”

Damien leveled the blade at him, his silver eyes glowing faintly in the pale light of dawn. “Do you require further convincing, or shall we proceed?”

The man gulped audibly, shaking his head. “N-no convincing necessary! I-I know a place! We’ll just need a taxi!”

“A taxi?”

“Yeah, a car.” The man pointed nervously toward the street. “Horseless carriage? With wheels? Just put the goddamn sword away, alright?”

Damien considered for a moment before the blade dissolved into a shower of shimmering particles. The man let out a shaky breath, muttering under his breath as he turned to walk toward the curb. But before he could take more than a few steps, Damien grabbed him by the collar and launched into the air.

“Sweet mother of—! PUT ME DOWN YOU NUTTER BUTTER!” the man screamed, clutching Damien’s arm for dear life.

“No cars required,” Damien said softly, his voice nearly lost in the rush of the wind. “Point me to this place where we can speak in private.”

The man jabbed a trembling finger toward the city below. “There! That place! Underground bar! Just get us down, you cosplaying Storm wannabe!”

Damien arched a brow. “Storm? A holy knight of this land?”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” the man groaned, burying his face in Damien’s shoulder like it was a security blanket. “Forget it! Just—just land already! Why didn’t you just fly out of the park? You could’ve saved me a lifetime of trauma!”

Damien soared higher, his eyes scanning the city below. Golden light reflected off endless glass towers, streaking through rows upon rows of cold concrete.

“One forest after another,” he whispered. “And still, I am lost.”

Every realm, every city, every life—it was all the same. The faces, the structures. All of it, an endless, indistinguishable blur.

He hated the forests. Yet somehow, this cold grid of steel and stone felt worse. Lifeless. Soulless.

At least the forests had carried echoes of something precious. Something fragile.

Something he had lost.

Someone he could never get back.

Callista. The only light he had ever truly cherished, snuffed out. And the one responsible…

He clenched his jaw, his grip on the trembling man tightening briefly before he forced himself to relax.

He shouldn’t have hesitated. Shouldn’t have honoured old notions of chivalry, allowing the accused to speak. But when he met Eydis, there had been nothing in her eyes—no remorse, no humanity. Only the cold amusement.

As if extinguishing Callista’s light had been as inconsequential as brushing away dust.

Below him, the hostage rambled nervously, his words an erratic jumble: complaints about being scammed out of rent, arriving from the South last week, the absurd cost of pizzas, and a streak of bad luck with strangers. Damien’s eyes darkened as he half-listened.

Scam? Perhaps…

Had the professor deceived him from the very beginning? If every word had been a lie, then it could only mean one thing…

She was here.

The Queen of Shadows.