Hello everyone(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)
I am sitting here with the quiet weight of the ending still pressing against my ribs. It never gets easier to reach this moment, where a world I built piece by piece finally settles into its last breath. I honestly cannot believe this story has come to an end.
And before anything else, thank you. Every one of you who reached this far(❤️´艸｀❤️)
This might be the biggest story I have ever worked on. Not in length, but in the depth of thought it demanded, in the theological spine it required, in the emotional weight of the characters, in the way it kept growing until it felt like something ancient breathing beneath my hands. It took so much out of me, and there were moments I felt completely lost. But once the final shape emerges, once the last line finds its place, all the struggle becomes worth it.
The beginning of this story came from something simple. A street magician on TikTok, performing tricks with a smoothness that looked almost unnatural. The comments were filled with people calling it black magic, calling it supernatural, and that was the spark. I wondered what it would be like to create a world where the supernatural did not hide, where it walked beside us, where people touched it without knowing the price.
I wanted to build something I had never attempted before. A world that breathed like a fable but bled like reality. A world that held ancient theology and modern decay in the same hand. I wrote small hints into early chapters, threads that looked harmless until later, when they tightened and revealed the shape of something much larger. One thread here. Another there. A rope across a chapter. A knot in a conversation. Tied together only when the ending made their meaning clear.
After a story is finished, it stops belonging to the writer. It becomes the readers'. Still, there were things I wanted to share about my thought process, especially about Hugo and Corvian. A little chit chat that you can skip comfortably :)
Hugo was never meant to be a villain. He was meant to be a person who chose the wrong path because he believed the world owed him a better one. A person shaped by loneliness, neglect, and a lifetime of feeling like the world had been eating from his plate. Someone who mistook bitterness for identity. Someone who believed shortcuts existed for people like him. Someone who thought Corvian was a way out. He ends the story realizing Corvian was the only place left to go.
His shift can be read like a descent.
At first Corvian is power.
Then he becomes safety.
Then he becomes touch.
Then he becomes home.
Then he becomes God.
At the end he becomes the only destination.
Hugo's suicide is not an act of escape. It is the final step toward the only place he believes he belongs. He does not die trying to flee. He dies trying to arrive.
And through everything, Hugo's humanity never disappears. It bends. It buckles. It collapses under too much weight, but it never vanishes. Even at the end, he apologizes to Harry. He mourns Eddie. He weeps for Riley. He aches for his mother. He is impulsive, obedient to a fault once attached, fragile under his sharpness, terrified of being forgotten, loyal until it ruins him, addicted to praise, and crushed by guilt. He is made of contradictions, and that is what makes him human.
Corvian, in contrast, was one of the most fascinating characters I have ever written. His foundation sits in jealousy toward God. He remembers grace too clearly. He resents humans for inheriting it. He imitates God's act of creation because devils cannot create. And the mark he gives Hugo is a reverse Genesis: the opposite of the divine breath. God breathed life into man. Corvian breathes corruption into Hugo. Not out of lust for power, but out of longing for the feeling of creation he lost when he fell.
Everything Corvian does is shaped by this memory. Everything he feels is experienced like corrosion. His emotions are distortions of what he once knew in Heaven. His entire existence is an act of rebellion against the hierarchy that cast him out.
Hugo becomes Corvian's attempt at creation. His first masterpiece. His greatest failure. Their bond is not romance. It is cosmic codependence. Hugo believes Corvian is salvation. Corvian believes Hugo is creation. Both are wrong. Both ruin each other. Their connection is theological, blasphemous, sacrificial, intimate, impossible to resist. The mark makes them mirrors. Hugo becomes more demonic. Corvian becomes more human. They trespass each other's boundaries in every possible way: psychologically, spiritually, physically, cosmologically.
Corvian's tragedy is that by imitating God, he creates nothing new. He only infects what already exists.
There is something else I want to say about this world. Every supporting character and minor character was crafted like part of a pyramid, each layer representing a different kind of presence in Hugo's life. Some characters held larger roles and influenced him deeply. Others appeared for only a moment, their purpose symbolic rather than transformative. A few existed solely to show a glimpse of what Hugo had passed through: kindness in early chapters, warnings in the middle, and the slow slide into corruption by the end.
Many of them were never meant to be fully developed. They were not designed to be main influences. They were meant to be glimpses. Brief voices in a long hallway. Human reflections of the shifting atmosphere around Hugo.
Some, like Patrick Swanson, were always meant to remain unseen because that is how corruption often operates. A shadow behind a desk. A name behind a signature. A stain without a face. Henry Powell stands near that same idea, though closer to the light. This is not a statement about politicians in general, but about Ebonreach as a city where corruption is the native language.
The story was not built to highlight pure goodness. It shows good people, but they are not the focal point. No one in this world is completely good or completely evil. Eddie is the clearest example of that ambiguity. At first he appears good. Then you question him. Then you learn what he indirectly did to Riley. And you wonder whether survival can excuse betrayal. Eddie is neither hero nor villain. He is simply human.
His death is another full-circle moment I loved crafting. Hugo condemned Eddie for giving Riley the pills that killed him, even though Eddie never meant harm. And in the end, Hugo kills Eddie unintentionally. A perfect loop. A harsh reminder that we judge others for choices we believe we ourselves would never make, until the world places us in the same position. Eddie, Riley, and Hugo form an exaggerated version of a cycle that feels painfully real.
Corvian and Kent form another mirrored pair. If I had to choose a favorite character in the entire story, it would be Kent. He was mischievous, vibrant, unpredictable. I always imagined him with a bright voice, full of energy, someone who rarely sits still. His rivalry with Corvian began with irritation and distaste, but grew into a quiet understanding beneath the surface. Corvian saw Kent as someone who surrendered too easily to human tendencies, someone who blended too closely with mortals. Yet in the end, it is Kent who provides the guidance Corvian needs. Another full circle. Another reminder of the threads that quietly weave themselves together.
When the story reached its final chapters, I knew I did not want to drag it on. There were so many paths Hugo could have taken before prison or inside it. I envisioned many possibilities, but I did not want to stretch the story until it broke. I am very aware of stories that drag too long and lose their soul. My fear of that is strong. But at the same time, I tried to follow a piece of advice a friend gave me: if the story is still going, let it go. Even with that, I felt the pull toward ending it at the moment that felt right.
Hugo's fame may seem brief, but that was intentional. I did not want to create a long arc about his rise to stardom. His fame was not the point. His corruption was. His rapid ascent served only to shove him into the circles of the wealthy and the powerful, those who had also made pacts with devils and wanted to be entertained by others who had done the same. More scenes of him performing would have shifted the focus away from the heart of the story, which always belonged to the characters and their unraveling.
The ending was something I imagined differently at first. But halfway through the book, I realized the story was carving its own path. It had its own gravity. The original ending no longer fit. The new one felt inevitable, like a thread I had been pulling since the first chapter, knowing that eventually it had to snap. There was no version of this story that could have ended happily. It would feel dishonest. People can get away with terrible things sometimes, but not forever. And Hugo had run out of time.
There is also something I want to say about the ending, because Hugo's final choice carries more weight than the act itself. His last wish before dying was to revisit the memory of him and Riley, the night of their shared kiss. The same kiss Riley mentioned in his final moments, when he apologized for making Hugo feel like he was nothing more than a friend. Riley regretted not saying more, not giving Hugo the clarity he deserved. And in that memory, the truth of Hugo's heart becomes clear. He did not only want to see Riley one last time. He wanted to return to the moment where both of them wished for an escape. Two boys in the dark, holding a cigarette like a borrowed star, whispering a hope that the world never allowed them to keep.
That revelation matters. It shows that Hugo's dying wish and the wish he made in that memory were the same. To hold Riley close one last time. To tighten the bond. To return to the one moment where his life felt like it could have turned in a different direction.
The relationship between Hugo and Riley holds a complexity that unfolds gently in the story. On the surface, it might appear natural, effortless, even tender. But beneath that ease lies something deeper. Something shaped by the circumstances that bound them. Hugo's pattern of attachment defines it. Throughout the story we see how frighteningly obedient he becomes once he feels rescued. The moment anyone extends a hand to him, he clings to it because he has spent his life drowning. Every small act of care becomes a lifeline. Every kindness becomes a contract.
Riley was Hugo's first lifeline.
His first terrifying night on the streets convinced him he would die alone. And then Riley appeared. He turned around. He took Hugo with him. For Hugo, this was the first moment he saw Riley as a savior. Everything that followed was built on that foundation. And while Hugo's attachment can be interpreted as dependency, it was more than that. I choose to believe his feelings for Riley were genuine. I also believe Riley's feelings for Hugo were genuine in return. Their bond holds a purity that does not exist anywhere else in the story. Every other emotional connection is stained by grief, fear, hunger, bitterness, or self-loathing. But Riley and Hugo had something small and bright hidden beneath all of that. The purest emotion in the entire book.
And it is true that Hugo depended on Riley in many ways, but he also went out of his way to protect him. Not only from danger, but from Riley's own thoughts. He saw Riley walking toward an edge. He did everything he could to keep him from falling. That kind of instinct does not come from simple dependency. It comes from genuine care.
Hugo wanted to escape that life with Riley. He wanted Riley alive beside him. He was ready to start something with him. But Riley's resistance came from his own history of trying to leave the gang, trying to find jobs on the outside, only to be beaten, injured, and forced back every time. He believed he could never truly escape. His life narrowed itself into a corridor that ended the same way no matter which door he tried.
So their relationship becomes one of those stories that can be read from many angles. Right person, wrong time. Wrong place. Maybe not the right person at all. A codependence shaped by fears. A savior complex mirrored between them. A bond built from shared desperation. It can be interpreted in countless ways. But what matters most is the place Riley holds in the story.
Riley is the catalyst.
Even though he dies before the present timeline begins, his memory is the single force that moves Hugo forward. His ghost does not haunt the story literally, but he haunts Hugo's every action. He is the echo that shapes Hugo's hopes, fears, guilt, and longing. He is the last memory Hugo clings to before stepping into death, and the memory Hugo chooses to return to before taking Corvian's hand.
Riley remains the one place Hugo's heart stayed soft.
There is another thread I want to acknowledge, one that runs parallel to the story of Riley. Harry was also a lifeline in Hugo's world. A quieter one, a steadier one, and perhaps one Hugo never properly understood. Harry tried to help him. He tried to be present, tried to offer support in his own limited ways. And although Harry's presence was not as emotionally charged as Riley's, Hugo still saw him as someone he could turn to during moments of need.
This brings us to the choice Hugo made when he marked Harry instead of Audette or any of his other cousins. Hugo explains it with practicality. Harry was the easiest. Harry trusted him. Harry was available, reachable, and convenient. But beneath that practicality sits something darker. The truth is that Hugo sees every person who bows toward him, every person who extends a hand, every person who obeys him, as a target rather than a helper. Not because he is naturally wicked, but because this is what his corrupted worldview has shaped him into.
Hugo learned early on that when someone bends toward you, you can take from them. When someone trusts you, you can latch onto them. When someone opens a door, you can step through without considering what you leave broken behind you. It is not born from malice. It is born from survival. And survival, in Hugo's life, has always come at a cost.
Riley taught him this, without meaning to.
In the memories, we see that Riley bowed his head to Cole. Riley obeyed Cole out of fear, out of need, out of exhaustion. Cole, in his cruelty, did the simplest thing and the most harmful one: he handed Riley back to the gang that wanted to destroy him. And Hugo learned something devastating from watching that unfold. He learned that obedience is dangerous, that vulnerability invites exploitation, that kindness becomes a weapon in the wrong hands.
This observation becomes a template for Hugo's thinking. Hugo becomes a ticking bomb for anyone who comes too close.
If someone as strong, as capable, as warm-hearted as Riley could be reduced to obedience, then anyone could. If Riley could be taken advantage of, then so could Harry. So could anyone who offered Hugo trust or love or softness.
Hugo's pattern is shaped by this corrupted understanding. It is shaped by instability, by fear, by the belief that the world is full of predators and the only way to survive is to strike first. When he marked Harry, it was an act that blended cowardice, convenience, desperation, and an imitation of what he had witnessed. Harry became a vessel not because Hugo hated him, but because Hugo's worldview had shrunk to a place where trust and opportunity looked identical.
And yet Hugo's regret at the end feels genuine. His apology to Harry is not a performance. It is not manipulation. It is the last echo of the boy he once was, the one Riley rescued in the dark. But that regret can also be interpreted differently. Some readers may see it as the grief of losing a tool, or the guilt of a man who finally sees the weight of what he has done only when escape becomes impossible. Both readings hold truth, because Hugo is not a clean character. He is a fractured one. His remorse is not pure, but it is not false either. It stands exactly where he stands: in the gray between longing and cruelty, between love and possession, between what he meant to do and what he ultimately did.
Harry represents the tragedy of proximity.
The closer someone stands to Hugo, the more dangerous it becomes.
And Hugo, tragically, does not know how to stop reaching for the hands extended to him.
Even when his touch ruins them.
I have thought about a second book. I am not sure yet if I will write it or whose story it will follow. Part of me wants to dive into Kent's life. Another part wonders what Hugo has become in Hell, and what it means for Corvian now that he has stepped through those gates. Both possibilities live quietly in the back of my mind.
This story was inspired by mythology and fragments from multiple religions. I did not pull from a single place. The devil names were reshaped from existing mythic figures: Amadeus becoming Deus in the beginning, Mephistopheles reborn as Opheles from the mountains, Leviathan softened into Thea. It was my first attempt at fantasy realism, and I found myself loving every strange, dark, beautiful part of it.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for walking beside Hugo through his rise and fall, through every shadowed corner of Ebonreach, through every moment that hurt to write.
I'm sorry if it was too heavy at times —I know the feeling— hope everyone who read it, took it at their own pace.
Also if you have any questions, please feel free to ask, I'd love that!
I hope you enjoyed this story, and I hope you will join me for the next one.
I will see you there.
With much love,
-AG✍️(◔◡◔)