And granted, now hearing it, it was something we should’ve figured out, especially after Keella told me that Eythos answering Roderick Mierel’s summons was no random opportunity.

“And that is where your father”—he paused to look at Ash—“made his mistake.”

“He asked for the first daughter,” Ash murmured, his arms unfolding and falling to his sides.

“Eythos was brilliant. He knew what Sotoria descended from. He’d figured out what she would one day become, but for some absolutely mind-numbing reason, he and Keella believed that having her soul reborn in a first daughter was the key to everything.” Aydun rolled his eyes, and, oh boy, that was a weird sight to witness, given those kaleidoscope eyes. “That was why she was not reborn. To be honest, I’m surprised Eythos didn’t damn the realms with that one act of stupidity. You were a first daughter, never meant to carry much essence in you, let alone embers of life. You should’ve died.”

A growl ripped out of Ash’s throat. “What did you just say?”

“It was no threat,” Aydun replied calmly. “Just a statement of fact. First sons and daughters are never meant to be, well, of much importance in the grand scheme of things. Which is why it always amuses me that mortals place so much emphasis on firstborns.” He shrugged. “But somehow, your tenacious little self survived, and here we are.”

The three of us stared at him, and for some idiotic reason, I blurted out the very next thing that entered my mind. “I’m actually related to that fucker Callum?”

Aydun frowned. “Distantly related, but yes.”

My upper lip curled. “Ew.”

“As disturbing as that realization may be,” Ash said after a moment, pulling his gaze from me to focus on the Fate, “and as interesting as this little history lesson has been, it doesn’t change why we summoned you. We want The Star.”

“Thank you for finding my history lesson interesting,” Aydun replied. “But as I said, it is too late.”

“No, it’s not,” I snarled. “All you have to do is go and get it from wherever one of your fellow assholes stashed it.”

Aydun blinked at me. “Look, you succeeded in preventing a full-scale war between the Primals. Barely,” he tacked on. “Many gods and Primals were lost, but a true war would’ve lasted years, if not decades or longer. So, congratulations.”

Attes snorted at that.

“You managed to stop the Ancients from being too disturbed,” Aydun went on. “But Eythos failed to stop the prophecy, as did you.”

“She did not fail shit,” Ash warned.

“Okay. Both of you failed, then. Does sharing the responsibility make it easier to swallow?” Aydun challenged. “You could’ve released Sotoria the moment her soul was placed in The Star. You didn’t.”

“It was too risky,” I argued.

“True. Kolis would’ve felt her. He’s had enough of her blood that every time she is reborn, he senses her,” he said, and disgust swept through me. “And now that he’s also had your blood, he would’ve definitely felt her because a tiny part of you has mingled with her and vice versa.”

I stepped back and then snapped forward when Ash moved toward the Ancient. I grabbed his arm, holding him back.

Aydun sighed. “Why are you mad at me for once again stating a simple fact?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I wrapped my arms around Ash’s. “What does is that you also know it was too risky to release Sotoria until Kolis was entombed. He would’ve burned through the realms to get to her and then disappeared into some hole with her.”

“Yes, he would have,” Aydun stated, glancing at one of the nearby chests. “What’s in these?”

“That’s not important,” Attes bit out. “We didn’t know that him having her blood from her prior lives was something he could’ve picked up on.” His gaze found mine. “That means if we had released Sotoria now and she chose to live a mortal life, Kolis would’ve felt her, even while entombed. It may have taken him a while to get his ass free, but he would have had one big motivation to do so.”

Meaning he wouldn’t have remained entombed for thousands of years. Not even hundreds. Or decades. “Gods.”

Attes dragged a hand over his face. “So, what does this mean?”

The Fate nudged a chest with his foot. “It’s pretty obvious if you would all give yourself five seconds to think about it.”

I opened my mouth, but Ash spoke. “She will be reborn from the Mierel bloodline.”

“She will be reborn as the second daughter of the Mierel bloodline,” Aydun corrected. “Whenever that happens.”

Ash looked down at me. So did Attes. My entire body was tingling, and not necessarily in a good way. I placed a hand on my stomach. Attes’s gaze followed my motion with a frown.

“Don’t worry.” Aydun tipped the chest, and something metal clanged around inside it. “You do not carry daughters.”

Ash’s head snapped to the Fate.

“Male twins tend to run in your bloodline,” he remarked. “Hopefully, they will turn out better than their predecessors and current company.”

I gaped at him.

“Sotoria’s soul is beyond your reach now. You all need to accept that. Now, we are left with only one way to prevent her from being reborn from the giver of blood and the bringer of bone, the Primal of Blood and Ash.”

Muscles up and down Ash’s arm tensed. “If you’re about to suggest what I think you are—”

“You will do what?” Aydun challenged, finally ceasing messing with the chests. “Attack me? Curse at me? Go ahead. It won’t change what will come. It won’t change that you will both continue to risk the safety of the realms out of selfishness to bring two babes into the realm that will eventually have babes of their own until one of them is the cause of millions of deaths—”

Ash broke my hold, lurching at the Ancient. My shout was lost in a rush of air that pushed Ash back to where I stood.

“For the third time, your anger is misplaced.” Aydun’s chin lowered as he fully faced us. “She will be reborn of your bloodline—the giver of blood and the bringer of bone—and she will carry within her the embers of life and death. Touched by life and death.”

I stood there, rooted to the floor, the spot on my shoulder where the crescent-shaped birthmark rested beginning to tingle.

“Her shroud will be that of crimson-and-gold and will bear a royal mark,” he said, sparks flying from his fingers as he moved his hand through the air. Faint silvery flames followed, forming a painfully familiar symbol.

The crown of elm and the sword—the slightly slanted sword.

The crown of life.

The sword of death.

But the flames changed, taking on more characteristics of the symbol of death. The crown became a circle, and the sword an arrow drenched in gold and surrounded by crimson.

Wrapped in the shroud of death.

My nostrils flared, and I gritted my teeth.

“She will be a Queen of Flesh and Fire, and she will usher in the end with the name of the true Primal of Life on her lips,” Aydun said as the flaming symbol faded. “Death and destruction will follow her.”

Silence fell then, settling over the chamber. Seconds ticked by.

“This isn’t fair to her,” I whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t want this for her, not after all her suffering.”

“She’ll likely have no knowledge of her past,” Aydun said, causing the three of us to look at him sharply.

“I don’t understand,” Attes said.

“Those who are reborn may have memories of their previous lives, but they often show as dreams or instances of déjà vu,” he explained. “But they almost always fade as who that person has become in their new life begins to take shape.” He paused. “They may be the same soul and look identical to who they were before, but they are not entirely the same person.”

“Well,” Attes sighed. “I guess that is a relief.”

“Doesn’t make it any better,” I said.

“No,” Aydun agreed. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

“Nothing is written in stone.” Ash curved his arm around my shoulders. “Prophecy or not. This may never come to pass.”