“That can’t happen.” Nyktos thrust a hand through his hair, dragging the strands back from his face. “There has to be a way to stop it.”

“There isn’t.” I gripped my knees as I looked between Holland and the goddess. “Is there? No special potion or deal to be made?”

Holland shook his head. “No. There are some things that not even the Primals can grant. This is one of them.”

“She won’t—” Nyktos cut himself off as he turned to me. I’d never seen him so pale, so horrified.

“This isn’t your fault.” I stood, surprised that my legs weren’t shaking. “I did it. You didn’t. And it’s not like you had any way of knowing that would happen.”

“So reckless. Impulsive,” Holland murmured.

A laugh choked me. “Yeah, well, you’ve always known that is my greatest flaw.”

“Or greatest strength,” Holland countered. “Your actions could’ve given whatever it was Eythos believed upon hearing the prophecy a chance to come to fruition.”

Both Nyktos and I stared at him. “What?”

“Look closer at this thread.” Penellaphe lifted a finger once more to the string that had broken off. “Look.”

Nyktos’ head lowered as he stared. At first, I saw nothing, but when I squinted… I saw it—the shadow of a thread, barely there and ever-changing in length, stretching farther than any of the other threads and then shrinking to the length of the others.

“What is that?” I asked.

“It’s an unexpected thread. Unpredictable. It is the unknown. The unwritten,” Penellaphe explained. “It is the one thing that not even the Fates can predict or control.” The corners of her lips turned up. “The only thing that can disrupt fate.”

“And what is that?” Nyktos asked, his hands closing into fists at his sides. “And how do I find it?”

“It can’t be found,” she said, and I was one second from screaming my frustration. “It can only be accepted.”

“You’re going to need to give us a little more detail,” Nyktos snapped.

“It’s love,” Holland answered. “Love is the one thing that not even fate can contend with.”

I blinked.

That was all I could do.

Nyktos appeared to be as dumbstruck as I was, unable to formulate a single response.

“Love is more powerful than fate.” Holland lowered his hand, and all but one thread disappeared. Only the broken one, and the shadow of an ever-changing string remained, glittering in the space between us. “Love is even more powerful than what courses through our veins, equally awe-inspiring and terrifying in its selfishness. It can extend a thread by sheer will, becoming that piece of pure magic that cannot be extinguished by biology, and it can snap a thread unexpectedly and prematurely.”

“What exactly are you saying?” I asked.

“Your body cannot withstand the Culling. Not without the sheer will of what is more powerful than fate and even death.” Holland looked to Nyktos. “Not without the love of the one who would aid her Ascension.”

What Aios had told me about the godlings and the Culling resurfaced. “You’re talking about the blood of a god. Saying that I would need the blood of a god who loves me?” I couldn’t believe I was even speaking the words.

“Not just a god. A Primal. And not just any Primal.” Penellaphe’s blue eyes fixed on Nyktos. “The blood of the Primal the ember belonged to—that and the pure will of love can unravel fate.”

Nyktos jerked back another step, the shadows churning around his legs, and I…I sat down again. Or fell down. Luckily, I landed on the edge of the dais. Heart twisting and squeezing, I watched Nyktos’ head slowly turn toward me. His eyes were as bright as the moon as he stared down at me, and I didn’t need his power to read emotions to know that he was horrified.

And I didn’t need to be a Fate to know that I truly would die.

Nyktos could never love me.

Even if I hadn’t planned to kill him. Nyktos was incapable of love. It was simply not in him. He knew that. I knew that.

“This isn’t fair,” I said hoarsely, angry at everything. “To do this to him.”

“To do this to me?” he rasped as silvery streaks of eather appeared in the shadows swirling around him. “This isn’t fair to you.”

“It’s not fair to either of you,” Penellaphe stated softly. “But life, fate, or love rarely is, is it?”

I wanted to punch the goddess for telling me what I already knew.

But I drew in a deep breath, briefly closing my eyes. There was a lot of information to digest—a lot of knowledge that was ultimately irrelevant and overshadowed by the fact that I would die, sooner rather than later—and painfully, too. Anger sparked in me again, and I latched onto it, holding it close. The burn of that was familiar and felt better than the sorrow and hopelessness.

“There is more,” Holland stated.

I laughed. It sounded strange. “Of course, there is.”

“You have had as many outcomes as you’ve had lives,” he told me.

“Many lives?” I repeated.

Holland nodded, and then the shimmery cords appeared once more. Dozens of them.

“What does that mean?” Nyktos’ gaze flicked from the strings to Holland. “Her soul has been reborn?”

Holland also stared at the strings. “Fate doesn’t know all because the actions of one can alter the course of fate. Just like she altered the course with a single drop of blood.” He looked up at Nyktos. “Just like your father altered fate, as did the Primal Keella, when they stopped a soul from entering the Shadowlands, leaving it to be born over and over.”

“You’re speaking of Sotoria,” I said, and he nodded. “What does that have to do with this?”

Holland’s gaze shifted to me. “You are a warrior, Seraphena. You always have been. Just like she learned to become.”

Tiny bumps rose all over my skin. “No.”

He shook his head. “You have had many names.”

“No,” I repeated.

“You have lived many lives,” he continued. “But it is that one, the first one, that Eythos remembered when he answered Roderick Mierel’s summons. He always remembered her.”

Nyktos had once again gone deathly still. “You’re not saying what I think you are.”

“I am.”

“Eythos could be considered impulsive by many, but he was wise,” Holland said, sadness creeping into his eyes. “He knew what would come of Kolis’s actions. Kolis was never meant to be the Primal of Life. Those powers and gifts could not remain in him. What he did was unnatural. Life cannot exist in that state. Eythos knew they would fade, and they have. That is why no Primals have been born. Why the lands in the mortal realm are beginning to die. Why no gods have risen in power. He knew that Kolis’s actions would be the end of both realms as we know them.”

“Your father wanted to keep you safe,” Penellaphe restated. “But he wanted to save the realms. He wanted to give the mortals and the gods a chance. He wanted to give you revenge,” she said, looking at me. I shuddered. “So, this is what he did. He hid the ember of life, where it could be safe and where it could grow in power until a new Primal was ready to be born—in the one being that could weaken his brother.”

“I can’t be her. There’s no way. I’m not Sotoria. I’m…” My words faded as the rest of what she’d said broke through.

A new Primal was ready to be born…

“‘Born of mortal flesh, a shadow in the ember,’” Nyktos repeated slowly, and then his chest rose in a sharp breath. “What Holland said about no gods rising in power is true. That hasn’t happened since my father placed the ember in your bloodline. But you did it.”

“I…I didn’t mean to,” I started. “But I think that’s the least of my concerns right now.”

“You’re right. That is the least of our concerns right now, but it is what that means.” Nyktos turned to the Fate. “Isn’t it? It’s her.”

Holland nodded. “All life—in both realms—has only continued to come into creation because the Mierel bloodline carried that ember. Now, she carries the only ember of life in both realms. She is why life continues.” Holland’s eyes met mine and held. “If you were to die, there would be nothing but death in all the kingdoms and all the realms.”