The City of the End stood at the southernmost tip of Endomyar, where the sea met the dark sky and the first sun, pale and sad, shone without warming. The walls were high, of white stone, and the towers, pointed, looked like fingers pointing to the void where once two suns had shone.
Lirius Remadís arrived first.
His retinue was small – two councilors, three guards, a servant carrying scrolls. The prince, with dark hair and cold eyes, wore black clothes embroidered with gold, and his expression, as usual, was one of poorly disguised contempt.
The Pope received him in the throne room, seated on the ivory chair, his hands in his lap, his deep eyes fixed on the void. The stained glass windows, which once told the story of the world, now reflected the darkness.
"Your Holiness," said Lirius, with a bow that barely hid his impatience. "I come to ask for your support. The throne of Endomyar is mine by right."
"Right is not inherited," replied the Pope, his voice calm. "It is conquered."
"My father was king. I am the eldest son. The law is clear."
"The law was written by men. Men die. Laws also die."
Lirius clenched his fists, but did not answer.
The Pope stood up. He walked to the window. The sky outside was dark.
"Your sister arrives tomorrow," he said. "I will speak with both of you. Then I will decide."
"Decide what?" asked Lirius, his voice tense.
"Whether the kingdom deserves a king. Or whether it deserves to burn."
Lirius left. The Pope stood alone, staring at the void.
---
Elisa Remadís arrived the next day, with a larger retinue – discontented nobles, loyal knights, a retinue of servants carrying silver chests and scrolls.
The princess, with black hair and green eyes, wore simple clothes, without embroidery, without ostentation. Her face, tired, maintained the same calm, rational expression that the nobles recognized from the meetings of the deceased king.
The Pope received her in the same hall, on the same ivory chair, with the same deep eyes.
"Your Holiness," said Elisa, with a bow. "I come to ask for your counsel. Not your support."
"Counsel is more valuable than support," replied the Pope. "Support can be bought. Counsel cannot."
"Then advise me."
The Pope stood up. He walked to the window. The sky outside remained dark.
"The kingdom is divided. The people are afraid. The nobles are choosing sides. And the second sun has died."
"I know that."
"What will you do?"
"I'll try to keep the peace. As long as there is peace, there is hope."
"What peace? And hope doesn't feed anyone."
"Neither does war."
The Pope turned. His deep eyes fixed on Elisa's.
"Your brother Lirius wants the throne at any cost. The peasants are revolting in Mercius. Ierály, the so called Shadow Queen, is conquering villages in the south. And Zirinos, the hero who killed Trussum, is in hell."
"Zirinos is no hero."
"He is. Worse than you. Better than you. It's the same to be honest."
Elisa did not answer.
The Pope sat down again.
"Tomorrow, I will convene the nobles. I will decide the succession. Until then, rest."
Elisa bowed and left.
The Pope was alone.
---
At Derylini Academy, Ethan and Ana trained together in the empty yard.
The first sun, pale and sad, illuminated the worn stone. The wind, cold, brought the smell of wet earth and pine. The candles in the lamps, lit since the previous afternoon, trembled with the drafts of air.
"Show me again," said Ana.
Ethan raised his hand. The flame – larger than in previous days, more stable – lit up in his palm. Blue-white, warm, alive.
"Can you control the intensity?" asked Ana.
"I try."
The flame grew. Then diminished. Then went out.
"Not yet."
"Not yet," repeated Ethan. "But I will learn."
Ana touched his shoulder. Her hand, cold, weighed.
"Your divine power, how is it?" asked Ethan.
"Unstable. Sometimes it works. Other times, not. The mark burns when I think of destruction."
"Then don't think about it. It's really not that hard, you know?"
"That's not how it works."
Ethan fell silent. The wind blew. The cold tightened.
"The repulsion," said Ana, after a long time. "The one I had for you."
"Did it disappear?"
"It did. But I don't know if that's a good thing."
"Why?"
"Because the disgust protected me. Now... now I feel other things."
"What things?"
Ana did not answer. She only looked at him.
Her brown eyes, where fear and trust mingled, fixed on his.
"I don't know," she said finally. "But I will find out."
---
Irina Graylor watched from the top of the north tower, her arms crossed, her red hair with silver reflections shining in the faint light of the first sun. The stained glass windows behind her told stories of gods and heroes.
A servant climbed the stairs, panting.
"Director," he said. "The nobles of the City of the End have convened a council. The Pope will decide the succession."
"I know."
"Your children... your students..."
"Let my students prepare. War does not wait. Let this serve as a 'lesson' to them."
The servant left. Irina stood alone.
She looked at the dark sky. The first sun, pale and sad, seemed smaller than the day before.
---
In Lunos, Linda Lunos received the news that the Krakeriares had been reborn.
The four cubs, which once slept in the Graylor islands and on the desert island of ice, had awakened. The father, the original, remained sealed, but the children – the children that Zirinos and Ana and the others had killed – were alive again.
"How is that possible?" asked Linda, pale.
"Hell returned them," replied the messenger. "They say it was the masked one. Or the second sun. Or both."
"Both?"
"Both."
Linda clenched her fists.
"Send soldiers to the coastal villages. And call Alór."
"The knight without a master?"
"Andy's son. The one with the egg."
"He is already on his way."
Linda turned. She looked at Luna, who remained in a coma, her amputated arm wrapped in clean cloths, her face pale.
"Wake up, daughter," she whispered. "I need you."
Luna did not wake up.
---
Near the borders of Mercius, Ierály received the news of the council with a smile.
"The Pope wants to decide the succession," she said to her captains. "The nobles are all going to the City of the End."
"And we?" asked a cultist.
"We attack. While the wolves argue, the hyenas hunt. Isn't that how nature works?"
"Yes, it is, but... where do we even attack?"
"In Eladir. In Graylor. In Mercius. Everywhere."
Ierály unrolled a map on the stone table. Her cold green eyes traced the routes, the villages, the castles.
"The people are weak. Afraid. Hungry. Offer them protection. Food. Shelter."
"And if they refuse?"
"Then kill them."
The captains nodded. Ierály was left alone.
*The world is burning*, she thought. *And I will be the queen of ashes.*
---
In the City of the End, the Pope convened the nobles in the throne room.
Lirius and Elisa sat on wooden benches, each with their supporters. The remaining places were occupied by envoys from Decatry, from Lunos, from Mercius, from Graylor, from Eladir. Andy did not come. Linda did not come. Mercudoth did not come either.
They sent letters. Apologies. Promises. Fear.
The Pope stood up.
"The king is dead," he said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "The second sun as well. The kingdom needs a ruler. Are you willing to?"
"I am," said Lirius.
"I am," said Elisa.
The Pope looked at both.
"The succession will be decided by a tournament of knights. The winners of each house will fight each other. The last one standing will be crowned king."
"And if neither of us fights?" asked Lirius.
"Then there will be no king."
"And who will govern?"
"No one. Chaos. Death. Famine. It's the same thing."
Lirius fell silent. Elisa as well.
The Pope sat down.
"The tournament begins in one month. Until then, pray."
"Pray to what?" someone asked.
"To what remains."
The nobles stood up. Letters flew. Alliances changed.
Chaos had only just begun.