They’ve all offered.

Mira, with her fierce eyes and hunter’s determination. “I’ve been chasing shadows my whole life. Let me become one. Let me make my family’s death mean something.”

Theron, with his weathered face and weary hope. “I spent years being useless. Hiding. Failing. Let me finally do something that matters.”

Wren, with her ancient calm and gentle wisdom. “The forest will endure without me. But this… this is why I was born. To complete the circle Thornwen began.”

Even Neve, young and brave and terrified. “I’m not special like you. I’m not a warrior or a scholar or a guardian. But I can do this. I can be the one.”

And beneath their words, an unspoken option.

You could offer yourself.

The gem created you. Perhaps it makes sense that you should return to it. Perhaps that’s the ending Seraphine always intended—the child becoming the mother, the answer becoming the question.

Your original ally watches your face. They know what you’re thinking.

“This isn’t a decision anyone should have to make,” they say quietly. “But it’s yours to make. Not ours.”

You look at each of them in turn. Friends. Allies. People who have fought beside you, bled beside you, believed in you when belief seemed foolish.

One of them won’t be here when this is over.

Or none of them will be, because you took their place.

The fire crackles. The stars wheel overhead. The weight of the choice presses down.