Alexia felt hollow as she walked away from Maleon’s stone-broken corpse. Her dream had always been clear: she was destined to be the second coming of Linus Peacemaker, her love and kindness bringing forth the Second Great Peace. She had believed she could make everyone whole.

I was so innocent, she thought despondently. I thought I was the hero of the people, the Second Great Wizard... but I’ve become the monster.

The road ahead would be far darker and harder than she’d ever imagined, filled with failures as much as successes, with Ferricktons and Tenacities. Uncertainty would shadow her every step. For all that, Alexia clung to the hope of a better future, the possibility of a peaceful ending. Tonight couldn’t have been for nothing.

Leverith guide me.

Her hands tremored as she neared the edge of the mine, and her staff slipped from her grasp. She held her hands up in the moonlight, turning them over again and again. She needed to see them, to remember them. They were slick with blood, the kind that no amount of washing could cleanse. It wasn’t just on her skin anymore—it was in her soul, seeping deeper with every heartbeat. She could never be fully forgiven for what she had done tonight.

After Allison had shown her nothing but love and kindness, Alexia had taken away her father. She understood what it meant to truly hate oneself. The pain was a void too vast for tears. She had already cried them all away. Now, the sorrow was covered by a veil of numbness, of absolute devastating apathy. She knew she cared intensely, but it was as if her body shielded her from the mind’s agony by shutting down the ability to fully feel this pain.

Retrieving her staff, she hugged it close, but she no longer felt Azurianna’s comforting presence in the acacia branch. Her dearest friend had given her this to spread peace and love, yet now, every spell cast felt like a betrayal. Remorse gnawed at her like the great maw of a dragon. With Maleon gone, her fight was over, but now she was left to face the ruins of her own conscience as she devoured herself.

Alexia trembled, fear breaking through the wall of numbness. She was terrified of who she was and what she could do. Sunny thinking was inaccessible to her. Deep breathing only made her hyperventilate. The mind refused to give her any comfort, for it believed she deserved none.

When she stepped outside of the cavern, she was surrounded by a vast sea of hatred. The mob, armed with torches and pickaxes, closed in, their curses filling the air beneath the full moon. Each word cut deeper than any sword ever could. Demon. Monster. Evil. Heartless. These were the words that described her now.

She almost welcomed it. Alexia wanted to let them tear her apart, to offer herself as a sacrifice to their pain. Maybe, in her death, they would find some small measure of peace. It would be easy to let them swarm her like bees defending their lifeless hive. That was the ending she deserved.

No, I can’t give up.

Her punishment wasn’t a swift death. Her penance was a long, grueling path. I have too many promises to keep. For everyone who died here tonight, I have to make it mean something.

The mob hesitated to close in. Though filled with anger, they feared the monster. Alexia could fight her way out. Fire, ice, wind—she could bring them all down, cast them into Maleon’s chasms. It would be easy. But her life wasn’t meant to be easy. The thought of hurting them again, of adding to the suffering she already caused, would’ve been too much to bear.

She could try to reason her way out with words of love and promises of peace. But no, she wasn’t innocent anymore. They wouldn’t listen to her words, no matter how genuine and loving they were. Alexia knew that love was the only force that could defeat hate. Alas, love was doomed to fail tonight and on countless other nights against a wall of hatred that was too high for any act of love to climb over.

There was only one act of love powerful enough to prevail: Pacisamorus, Leverith’s ultimate spell. The embodiment of love and peace that could heal the deepest wounds and quench the fiercest hatreds, Pacisamorus had been the key used by the Love Queen and Linus Peacemaker to end their wars. If only she could cast it now, the mob would see her intentions were true.

But Alexia had never managed to cast Pacisamorus. And tonight, beneath Zamael’s full moon, standing in the blood of those she had killed and those she failed to save, she had never felt more disconnected from Leverith’s spirit. The self-loathing in her heart was too deep. Without loving herself, she could never invoke such a spell. Hatred triumphed tonight, and love was just a childish dream she must let go of.

Her only recourse was to flee. The mob slowly advanced, tightening the circle around her. The only gaps in their net were the two chasms carved by Maleon’s treachery. But she’d never been able to reliably windwalk with Zafrir’s power. She was trapped and the only way out seemed to involve hurting more innocent people.

Please, she thought, I just want to keep them safe from me.

Alexia yearned for a solution as the mob encroached. Wind billowed around her as her emotions swirled beneath the numbness—love, guilt, sorrow, fear, self-hatred, longing—all coalescing into a chaotic force she needed to control.

Vehementis, she thought, trying to remember the well-practiced focus.

A tornado formed, lifting the center of the mob and tossing them into the mob across the left chasm. They tumbled together in a tangled, confused heap. The portion of the mob across the right chasm were undeterred by the tornado; they charged at her, and Alexia blasted them back with another burst of wind, sending them spilling like dominos to the ground.

She reached for her locket, drawing on Celegana’s earth, trying to will feelings of wholeness, of stubbornly protecting these people even if what she protected them from was herself. Ironically, it was Maleon Stonebreaker who taught her the spell she’d use to keep the people of Ferrickton alive. The ground trembled at her feet. Alexia surfed the tremors in the now empty space between the chasms, propelling herself forward faster than any man could run, leaving the land broken in her wake.

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Knives whistled past her, but most hurled curses instead. The knives missed. The curses struck her heart like Zamael’s scythe. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

She didn’t stop until she came to a halt outside the stables of The Rusty Pickaxe, her body aching from the tumultuous ride. She stumbled as she launched off the tremors, crashing shoulder-first into the stable’s wall. She massaged the spot absently, not bothering to heal it. The bruise was the least of her pains, and she didn’t deserve any relief. Her heart, twisted and broken, had no room for the self-compassion needed to heal even a simple wound. Behind her, the mob flickered in the distance, their torches swelling and receding like a distant tide of fire. She had plenty of time to escape but had no intentions of dallying.

Sir Timmeck’s bay courser sniffed her hands, offering a mournful whinny. The horse pressed its soft nose against her arm. Alexia patted Cally’s head gently, her voice breaking into a lullaby, “Long and far did we roam. One thing we did learn. Our weathered souls still yearn… for a place to call our home.”

“Alexia?”

The sweet voice was a knife to her heart. Alexia thought there were no more tears left to cry, that the well of sorrow had run dry. She’d been wrong. Her heart skipped a beat, then broke anew, and when it beat again, it was a painful, rapid staccato. Facing the hatred of the mob was easier than seeing the confusion on Allison’s sweet face.

Allison clutched her doll tightly to her chest, eyes wide with bewilderment. Alexia’s breath hitched when she noticed the doll’s hair—brown streaked with gold. While Alexia had been killing her father, Allison had spent the evening crafting a doll to look like her. Whatever pieces of her weren’t broken, shattered.

Alexia’s mouth quivered, and deep moans of anguish rose from her chest, uncontrollable. Tears welled up, burning her eyes, spilling down her face. She sobbed uncontrollably, her entire body shaking with the force of it. Of everything that had happened tonight, this was the worst—the sight of this innocent, sweet child, a life she had utterly destroyed. How in Zamael’s Hells could she ever believe she was anything but a monster?

“Allison,” she managed through the sobs, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.” She leaned against the wall for support, failing to steady herself. “I’m so sorry,” she croaked again, but the words felt inadequate, an empty offering compared to the enormity of her guilt.

Allison’s confusion deepened, her lower lip trembling. The precious, precocious child mirrored Alexia’s sadness, tears spilling from her green eyes. “I don’t understand,” she whimpered, clutching the doll tighter to her chest. The sight of her sorrow could have softened even Zamael’s darkened heart.

Alexia struggled to regain some composure, her sobbing subsiding to quiet tremors. She forced herself to meet Allison’s gaze, though every part of her wanted to collapse. “Allison,” she began softly, her voice raw with emotion, “we live in a cruel world. I thought love and peace could be our guides. I was wrong. Death, war, hatred, vengeance… they are our true masters. They twist heroes into monsters.”

Alexia paused, looking down at her bloodstained hands, hands that could never be washed clean. “I wanted to be Leverith’s answer to the evils of this world. I dreamt I could be a bright sunrise after a long, dark night. Instead…” Alexia looked up again, watching as comprehension dawned in Allison’s eyes. “Instead, I became the darkness itself.”

Allison’s gaze dropped to Alexia’s hands, the hands that had killed her father. Something broke inside the child at that moment, and Alexia watched in horror as the innocence drained from her face. The tears stopped, and cold comprehension replaced them. “Where is my Papa?” Her voice wavered, her chin trembling. “Did you hurt him?”

Alexia forced herself to meet Allison’s eyes. She nodded slowly, her voice weak and strangled. “I’m so sorry.”

Allison let out a high-pitched wail, throwing the doll at Alexia with all the strength her little arms could muster. The wooden doll struck Alexia’s eye. The pain was blinding, but it was nothing compared to the crushing guilt in her heart for inflicting so much pain on somebody so innocent. Alexia lowered her gaze, unable to bear the sight of the child she had broken.

Allison fell to her knees, pounding the earth with her fists, her cries piercing the night. “Why, Leverith, why? Why? Why?” Her screams echoed in the darkness as she glared up at Alexia, her small frame shaking with rage. “Why!”

“Allison,” Alexia sobbed, unable to regain some semblance of composure. “I believe Leverith can make monsters into heroes again. I can never mend what I’ve done tonight,” she said, clutching her locket as her voice filled with passion. “But I will spend the rest of my life trying.”

Allison’s wailing quieted, though she didn’t lift her face from the ground. Her voice, now hoarse, came in broken gasps. “I’m alone because of you. My papa will never hug me again, never kiss me goodnight. Nothing will ever make it right.” She let out a series of whimpers before her jaw stiffened. “I wish you would die! I wish I could kill you!”

Darkness swirled around Allison, bending and distorting the light. “Someday, I will end you,” she snarled. “I’ll drive a knife through your heart and spit on your corpse!”

Alexia watched, her heart breaking further as she grasped the meaning of the darkness flowing around Allison. She had taken this beautiful, innocent child and twisted her into a hopeless, hateful shadow. Isihla may have fallen, but tales of the deadly shadows that could bend light around themselves and become invisible persisted. Allison was a shadow—just like her forefather Quresh Shadowseer.

Kneeling, Alexia picked up the doll Allison had crafted in her image. Cally neighed nervously as the mob’s torches drew closer. Alexia looked one last time at the broken girl sprawled on the ground, her innocence lost forever. “Leverith watch over you,” she whispered. “You’re not alone.”

“I AM alone!” Allison shrieked. “Leverith doesn’t care! She wouldn’t let monsters like you exist if she did!”

The child bawled, her pained howls echoing under the full moon of Zamael Waxing. Alexia’s chest heaved, each panicked breath agonizing as she hopelessly tried to make this child’s pain smaller. “Leverith loves you. I love you.”

Allison’s image flickered faster, her form blending in and out of the shadows, only fragments of her remaining visible. Her eyes, once green as emeralds, were now dull and gray. “I HATE YOU!” she screamed, repeating the words like a curse that would echo forever in Alexia’s mind.

“I understand,” Alexia whispered, feeling dead and hollow inside. The only answer that came was Allison’s broken mantra: the three most painful words Alexia ever heard, I hate you.

Whimpering, Alexia tucked the doll into her robe. It would be a constant reminder of her failure, of innocence lost. She mounted Cally and when she went to look at Allison one final time, the child had vanished completely into the shadows.

Alexia urged Cally forward, her body leaving Ferrickton behind as her mind remained captive, frozen in place. Numbed to all emotion, like an empty shell, Alexia couldn’t feel divine energy in the world around her. Her hair streamed behind her as the horse galloped, but the wind in her face no longer brought joy. It was cold like the numbness she couldn’t overcome. Her left eye throbbed where the doll had struck her, but she refused to even attempt to heal herself. The cold and the pain were her companions and her penance, though it would neither amend what she did in Ferrickton or assuage the monster of self-hatred growing in her mind.

As the miles passed, her mind was a desolation, determined to revisit the evils of the evening again and again. Her soul, once a brightly burning fire, dimmed. Only a few dying embers remained, and she didn’t know if the flame could ever be reignited.