The sun no longer rises over Eldermoor.

The dome returned the moment you accepted Varek’s power—but this time, you hold it. This time, it’s yours. A protective shell, you tell yourself. A necessary darkness.

You sit on a throne of shadow beside Varek’s. Two kings for an eternal night.

“You’re brooding again,” Varek says. He sounds different now—less menacing, more tired. As if centuries of villainy have finally caught up with him. “The city is stable. The threats are contained. What more do you want?”

“Nothing.” The word tastes like a lie.

“Liar.” But there’s no malice in it. Almost affection. “You still think there was another way. That you could have saved them without becoming this.”

You don’t answer. The founders’ voices used to haunt you—screaming, pleading, begging for release. But they’ve gone quiet now, absorbed into the power you wield. Are they gone? Are they still in there somewhere? You don’t know. You’re afraid to look.

Your former allies are enemies now.

Mira leads a resistance in the wilderness—guerrilla attacks, supply raids, the kind of war that can last decades. You’ve sent forces to stop her. They always come back defeated.

Theron runs a smuggling network, ferrying refugees out of Eldermoor’s shadow. He won’t meet your eyes when your paths cross. He won’t fight you, either. But he won’t stop.

Wren has barred you from the Thornwood. The forest itself rejects you now—trees moving to block your path, animals fleeing your presence. The Seed you once carried has become a weapon against you.

And Neve…

Neve serves you. But there’s something in her eyes—something that wasn’t there before. Waiting. Watching. Planning. You don’t know what she’s planning, and that terrifies you more than any resistance could.

Some nights, you remember.

The choice. The moment of acceptance. Varek’s shadow wrapping around you like a serpent’s embrace. It felt necessary then. It felt inevitable.

But deep inside, something still fights. Something that remembers what you were before.

You made a mistake, it whispers. But mistakes can be unmade.

You don’t know if that’s true. You don’t know if anything can undo what you’ve become. But sometimes, in the darkest hours, you allow yourself to hope.

And hope, you’ve learned, is the most dangerous thing of all.