Through the Obelisk’s archway, arcane lights covered the walls of a cavernous room. The ground floor stretched as tall as any tower of the City had before it, and the ceiling was so high up that it appeared as nothing but darkness. Along all of the walls were paintings, worn but still visible, of men in huge suits of armor doing battle with elephants, riding horses clad in steel, casting spells and erecting Spires. It was like being surrounded by a tapestry: the conquests of Serapion the Great wrapped around and around them, preserved here still after so many generations. But there was more than that: there were statues littered everywhere, and exhibits, and in the room’s center was a monument to Serapion as tall as a building—a huge statue.

The statue was painted and lifelike and showed a man with a sword in one hand, clad in armor so heavy that it would have been impossible to move with the power of muscle alone; and along the gaps, and across his legs, glowed blue mana, like the lines in Mother’s staff, and atop his head was a helmet that looked almost exactly like the Spellbreakers’ had, plumed and towering, with a small slit for a visor.

That was Serapion himself. And covered here, at the belly of the Obelisk, he had not been weathered a day in four thousand years.

They passed the statue by. Trito stopped to bow.

“Are the Regizars not your enemy?” Mother said. “You would pay respect to a foe?”

“They are. And I will never forgive Serapion for his role in expanding the Old Kingdom’s borders,” Trito said. “But I also know that Leaina wishes for us to pay respect to our ancestors. So to him, I bow.”

He picked Dorian’s body up again.

“That is ridiculous,” Mother said. But she hesitated as she regarded the statue. After a long moment of contemplation, she pushed Corvo’s shoulder, and they continued onward to the room’s far wall.

There they found a disk elevated a foot off the ground. Mother put Corvo atop it, then waited for Trito and Aletheia to follow. When they were all on it, Mother grabbed Corvo and said, “Hold on to me. Do not move.”

Leading to the disk were lines of red and blue along the walls. Yet they were dead, empty, and without mana.

Mother tapped a panel on the wall.

The disc rose into the air.

It floated freely. It had no railings or contact to the wall, yet it hovered upward, and upward, lurching with momentum, gaining speed as it lifted them all together into the sky. Soon they moved so quickly that it was like Corvo fell in reverse, plummeting toward the sky from the ground.

Soon they were engulfed in utter darkness, but light appeared thereafter. Red light, growing brighter, surrounding them. It was like a cloud of fog that grew denser around them with the passing seconds, until Corvo thought he was standing in a haze of smoke.

Trito grunted and groaned, and Corvo watched as the cuts along his face and the wound on his stomach closed before his eyes.

“You’re cheating,” Aletheia said.

“I can’t help it,” he said. “There’s too much mana here. My body heals itself.”

Corvo felt the elevator slowing as the momentum reversed, but now he could not see his movement. The clouds were too thick. After another minute, he could barely see anything at all, until finally they all cleared away.

Instead of red fog, the air was clouded with golden mist. It was translucent as it covered all around them evenly, yet when Corvo moved, he could not feel it against his skin.

The disc stopped, flush against a newly appeared floor.

They were in a room. The ceiling was low, hardly more than ten feet overhead, and domed like it had been at the Mortalist tower. A ring of lights ran around its arc. All along the walls were slits at eye level, to see the City from far on high. Yet when Mother and Corvo looked out at the City, they saw no city at all—nor did they see the tops of red clouds.

Instead they saw black. Pitch black, streaked everywhere with colors of every kind. And far off, twinkling around them in every direction, were silver stars.

They were outside the Earth.

“We are in the Aether,” Mother said. “I have been here once before.”

“There are wards here,” Trito said, setting Dorian’s body down near the elevator. “But they will not keep the most powerful demons away. We should not delay the ritual.”

Aletheia nodded. Quickly she cast a spell, and she drew the mana out of the lights. One-by-one they went dark, and the observation deck of the Obelisk grew shadowy.

They could barely see each other then, except for when a light passed by one of the windows. The golden mist shimmered still in Corvo’s eyes but cast no visible light.

“I guess we’re the demons here, huh?” Aletheia said.

“Quite,” Mother said.

She dragged Corvo to the room’s center. “Give me your toy, Corvo.”

Corvo hesitated. He did not want to lose his glass rider, nor did he fear the Shadow Man as he had.

But he did as he was told. He took the glass rider from his sack of toys, and he placed it on the ground at Mother’s feet.

“Stay near me,” she said. “Hold me, and do not let go.”

He did so. He wrapped himself up against her chest, and he closed his eyes.

“Eris,” Aletheia said. “Maybe there’s another way.”

“It is too late for that!” Mother snapped. “Be quiet! And watch for any intruders. I must focus.”

She sighed. Her body relaxed. Her staff began to hum.

“I will not evade you,” said the Shadow Man’s voice. “You do not need to use this spell.”

They all shot upright. And though it was too dark to see far, a spot of black blacker than black loomed in Corvo’s vision. Veins of gold sprawled through its body, and at its top were very familiar eyes.

“You have come this far, Eris,” Trito said. “Do not hesitate now. Destroy him. You know what he is.”

“Eris!” Aletheia said. “He helped us! He saved Corvo! How can you kill him now?”

“There is no debate to be had!” Mother shouted. “It is done!” And she looked again to the Shadow Man, staring at his black shape like Corvo did. “I am truly sorry. I am sorry you were ever born, or imprisoned, or abandoned. But we cannot let you go.”

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“I know,” whispered the Shadow Man. “You cannot protect Corvo from me. That is why you fear me, even when I mean no harm; for if I did mean harm, what would you do to keep him safe?”

“Yes,” Mother whispered back.

“I did not understand. I only wanted to play, and you would not let me. But I have been watching. I have seen that you do love him, even if you do not wish to play. You love him as much as I do.”

“You will never love anything as I love him,” Mother said. “Only another mother could.”

The Shadow Man blinked. And he nodded slowly. “I have learned how humans think. And now I understand. You are a mother, and I am a monster. You act how a mother must act. You have no choice. But I do not need to act like a monster. I do have a choice. Now I see that I should not have followed Corvo. I place him in danger, even when I mean to keep him safe.”

Mother was quiet for a long time. So were the others. They said nothing.

“Then you understand why—even now that you have said these things—we cannot let you live,” she said. “For you might always follow, and Corvo will still not be safe.”

“I understand. But I do not want to die. Like my mother died. Like Dorian. What is it like, to die?”

“It’s very dark,” Aletheia said. “And very lonely. And then it’s not like anything at all.”

Trito stepped forward. “No creature wants to face death, Skios. Yet it is the way of things. Time wears down upon us all. Even I. You have been blessed with a very long life already. Is it not time to see what awaits you in the next world, at the Lioness’ side?”

“But I have not lived,” said the Shadow Man. “I have hardly played. There is so much playing left to do. How could I ever have lived?”

“For every hundred children taken to be manaseared,” Mother said, “only one will survive. They pile the corpses of those who failed, children, in charnel pits beneath the Tower of Pyrthos. Thousands at a time, moldering together, waiting to be incinerated—all beneath eight years of age. I have seen it with my eyes. I have lived it. Those children were not allowed to live. Yet they had no choice but to die.” She sighed. “What I mean to say is—it is not fair, the lives we must lead. Many children do not ever get to play, or live half so well as you have. That is terrible. But it is how things must be.”

“In the end,” Aletheia said, “sometimes that’s all life is. Sometimes there isn’t anything more to it. It starts, and it’s terrible, and then it ends.” Corvo heard her feet come closer. “But it doesn’t have to be that way. Sometimes people live long, full lives, and they have children, and they make mistakes, and they learn lessons, and they can put off dying until they’re old and happy and ready to go. Sometimes we get a second chance.”

Trito said, “But many things in this world were never meant to live. A child has a rightful place. Skios does not.”

“How can you be sure?” Aletheia said. “There was magic before mana. Maybe there were creatures like Skios then, too. You can’t remember that far back. Not even you.”

Trito said nothing. Nor did Mother. She stared directly ahead.

Corvo leaned up to her ear and said, “He just wants to play. Don’t hurt him.”

“I wish you would not hurt me,” said the Shadow Man.

“You tried to have us murdered,” Mother said. This time her voice was calm and sincere. “You slew our goblin. You have tormented us for a thousand miles, across the span of months. I—believe you are true, when you say you have changed. But why would we dare to trust you now?”

“I made a mistake. I should not have tried to harm you. I wish I had not done so. That is the only reason I can give.”

Mother’s chest heaved heavily. She shook her head, scraping her hair against Corvo’s face.

“I should have been calmer,” she whispered. “I should have kept my temper. Yet I was too afraid to think. But I—do not regret what has transpired. Perhaps your mind has changed now, but before—no, we made no mistake in coming here. There was no other choice”

Her voice was emboldened for a moment. But then it weakened.

“Yet you are yourself a child,” she whispered. “How can I kill a child?”

She suddenly seemed near tears.

“If I let you go, you must swear to never seek Corvo out again. Not until he is an adult, and he is clad in magic armor, and he may choose to do with you as he wishes. Then, and no sooner.”

“I would not try to find him again. I would endanger him. He would not be safe near me, for humans fear me, and magic detests me. I love him too much to imperil him so. I promise.”

“No. Your word is not good enough. I need an assurance. I must be certain you cannot come again if your mind should change.” She looked to Corvo. “We may take you any put you into the glass rider, and then leave it be. We will not destroy it. You will remain alive. But you will no longer dwell within the shadow.”

“I have been in a prison already. The rider would be the same.”

“What about the AI core?” Aletheia asked. “That houses a soul, doesn’t it? He would be alive then, and—we could find a use for him.”

“A core is a prison also.”

“This is a mistake,” Trito said. “We cannot let him go. No matter how much mercy he deserves. It is not the way things should be.”

“Is it not?” Mother said. “Is he not a soul? Is his soul not as natural as yours or mine?” She hesitated before continuing, “It is his form you protest. Not his life. Thus….”

She put a hand on Aletheia. The two women looked at each other, and a moment later, the lights around the domed ceiling returned. The Shadow Man vanished as color bathed the room anew.

Then she looked at Dorian.

“His soul has left his body,” she said. “He is nothing but an empty vessel now. Yet an empty vessel can be filled.”

With a gesture of her staff, the lights went out again.

The Shadow Man reappeared before her.

“You have been imprisoned your entire life, have you not?” she said. “Trapped within a tower, a book, and the dark itself. Yet what you truly wish is to live. To play. To be—like my son.”

The red eyes nodded.

“I can use the ritual Neiaz gave me,” she whispered. “I can give you Dorian’s body.”

“That is necromancy,” Trito said. “It is perverse.”

“I will make use of what I can to achieve a happy ending, elf,” she said. When she looked to Dorian’s body again, a tear was in her eyes. “It is my fault he is dead. He died—for my spell. I did not want it to end this way. I would have—I wanted to do what he had asked of me. And I should have. But it is too late now, and there is nothing to be done for him.”

“The acorns could bring him back,” whispered the Shadow Man.

“No. They could heal him. But they would not revive him, for his soul is gone forever. Gone to the Lioness. It will never return. Yet if his body were to be healed, you could be given it. And then you would be human. Finally.”

“Eris!” Trito said. “You have no idea what powers you would offend to do this ritual. You are playing with life and death itself. No mortal should have that power.”

“We have a single body and a single soul!” Mother shouted back. “If you would stop them from coming together, you are even stupider than your white eyes look. Will you stop me? Will you fight me now, in our final hour? Or will you let one last act of magic go?”

Trito stared at her in the dark. He shook his head. And he sighed.

“No,” he said. “I will not stop you. Not this time.”

“Then be silent.” She looked to the Shadow Man. “Do you agree?”

“It is sick,” he said.

“So is bearing a child and giving birth,” Mother said. “You may believe me. All life begins and ends disgustingly.” Then, “This is your only chance. If we do not do this—even if I let you go—you will never be human. No other opportunity will come.”

The Shadow Man looked to each of them. Aletheia, and Trito, and Mother, and at last Corvo.

“Will I be old? Will I be Dorian?”

“I—do not know,” Mother said. “I am not certain it will work at all. I think it will, and yet….” She shrugged.

“I would like to be human. I would like to know what it is to feel, and have friends who are not afraid. I… would like to no longer be a monster.”

“Then I will do this for you,” she said. “Please.”

A long moment passed. And the Shadow Man nodded.

“Yes. I will take his body.”

Mother let the lights come back on. She worked slowly, going into her bags, and she retrieved the golden acorns.

“Help me,” she said.

Thus she and Aletheia set about Dorian’s body. He was limp and lifeless, yet as Mother ground an acorn onto his chest, his wounds closed. The fang marks at his neck sealed shut. She sprinkled the grindings through his hair and face, and his hair turned from gray to brown, and his skin lost its wrinkles, and they poured some into his mouth, until when all was settled, he looked like the beautified cadaver of a young man again. Three acorns had been spent in total.

But Dorian did not start breathing again. He remained a corpse.

“His soul is gone,” Mother said. “Let us hope his body finds more use.”

“You pay a high price for this conclusion,” Trito said. “Many lives might have been saved with those acorns. Only two remain.”

“I am aware,” she said. Then she looked to Aletheia. “Stay with him. You may need to use a spell of healing on him, when he awakens.”

Aletheia nodded and knelt down, cradling the not-quite-Dorian’s head in her lap.

Mother took her staff and sat at the center of the room. She waved her hand, and the lights went out for one final time.

The Shadow Man loomed over her as she cast her spell. But it was too dark to see anything beyond that. All Corvo knew for certain was that he let her do as she wanted to. He saw nothing more than that.

Minutes passed. Half an hour. An hour. Maybe longer. Mother’s staff glowed blue, and grew brighter with each second.

Suddenly, the lights came back up. The brightness burned Corvo’s eyes.

And Dorian gasped to life.