In the end, Nyxis lied to her.

Xanthy watched him run up to the Heiress and interrupt her spell, watched him haul himself into the cliff and disappear to the edge with the Heiress in tow.

She might have ran, might have stopped him, but she was too far away. Tears sprang from her eyes and clouded her vision. Her heart wrenched until it throbbed in her chest. This wasn't how it's supposed to be. She shouldn't have let Nyxis run on his own. She knew. Gods, she knew that none of them was ready to face the Heiress.

But he promised, didn't he? He promised that he would follow shortly.

Like the idiot she was, she believed him. Nyxis had never once lied to her and this was how he spent his first time. She couldn't even stop him. She's too far away. She...

What was Nyxis thinking? How could he do that? She even...

Sobs racked Xanthy's shoulders as strength left her limbs. Xanthy didn't even drive the sword into April. The future Cirasa's sickness showed her, she changed it. The people who were fighting at the edge of the cliff. Those were Nyxis and the Heiress. That's another fate that she couldn't change.

Nyxis was dead.

He couldn't be alive after that. He interrupted an unfinished spell. She saw it backfiring on him and the Heiress. She heard his pained screams as it hit him. He fell into the water from this high up. The Heiress, along with pointed rocks and churning waves, accompanied him on the way down. There's no way he could have survived it all. His magic...

His magic left him the moment he leaped off the cliff. Xanthy had tried leashing it, tried stopping him, but it only gave her a glimpse of how bad it would end for Nyxis.

He's dead. Because of her.

He died because he had to choose between saving her and saving himself. He died because he thought saving her was the best thing he could do. It's not. Never in a million years would it be.

Xanthy slapped the dirt. Her tears turned it into mud. This shouldn't have happened if she didn't meet any of them. This was all her fault. The Virtakios shouldn't have existed. If all it did was bring division, greed, and war, then what use was it? In this rotten world, what use did she have if she couldn't even stop it from birthing such vile circumstances?

What was she except a tool to declare wars and kill innocents?

Xanthy dug the chalice from her satchel, wiped her tears, and closed her eyes. Ravalee. The other half of her soul was the only one who could help Xanthy right now. The one whom she trusted enough for this job. Ravalee. Answer.

Her consciousness speared through vacant space, trying to find its way to the other part of her soul. Focus. Find Ravalee.

Hello?

Xanthy gave a small chuckle. Ravalee.

You found me. Where are you?

Xanthy opened her eyes to find June slumped on the ground. He wasn't breathing. There's no time, Xanthy thought to Ravalee. Listen to me. This is important. From there, she told Ravalee everything. Across the space between them, across magic and territories, she told her soul everything.

Ravalee inhaled and was poised to say something when Xanthy severed their connection. Xanthy tamped down at the regret gnawing on her gut. Ravalee would do what she asked. Her half has to. For the sake of the world.

It seemed selfish, with Xanthy passing the responsibility to someone else, but it's the only thing she could do. If she continued to live, they would have to deal with emotions and choices—her choices. If Xanthy were to survive she'd just be another choice that would have to be taken into account every time.

If the Virtakios was nothing but a relic—a treasure—they could haul it anywhere, store it the way they wish. It's easier to hide and also easier to seize.

That's why Xanthy needed Ravalee for the job. Ravalee was ingenious enough to do what Xanthy asked. It wasn't like Xanthy had any other choice but to believe.

Faith and hope. That's all that's left for her to do.

She rummaged for the water skin containing the water from the pool of knowledge and laid it beside the chalice on the ground. If things didn't work out the way she intended it, just like with Nyxis, she'd gladly stab herself in the heart and accept Pidmena's punishment. She had been responsible for too many deaths already.

There was no turning back. She'd staked everything to stop now. It was the right choice. The war will be won without her. It should.

She poured the water into the chalice, watching its gossamer flow splash into the cup. It reflected not just her face but her fears, her hesitation, and ultimately, her choice. She glanced at June and at his ebbing life in front of her.

A soul for a soul. Only this time, the soul she was going to give was one riddled with pain and regret.

She laid her hands on the cup, called her magic to the surface, and took a deep breath. "Cleanse," she chanted. Nothing happened. The water remained as it was. The chalice was only a dark shadow in her hands.

Xanthy blew a shaky breath. Her hands shook as she cradled June's head with her hand. He looked so peaceful and oblivious of the chaos that happened around him. There. That's the kind of peace Xanthy had been wishing for ever since she had been thrown into this havoc of magic and fate and of chaos and destiny.

Was it fair to ask this of him? He did say yes. But only because he didn't know the price it entailed. Xanthy had to do it. She had to give him what he never had in the first place. Consider it as the last sacrifice for the person she loved.

She laid her forehead against his, her skin against his fading warmth. Soft breaths tickled her cheeks as June strived to get his last ones. Xanthy kissed his nose and whispered, "Remember me when I'm no more."

Xanthy closed her eyes and breathed the last whiff she'd ever gotten from him. "Thank you. For showing me how to live," she drew away, grasped the chalice, and tipped it into June's lips. She didn't try to stop the tears that escaped once again. June emptied the chalice and color slowly went back in his cheeks. Soon, he'd open his eyes and Xanthy would not be there to see it.

A wave of darkness slammed into her, claiming the soul at stake. Her hands reached out for June, to hold him one last time. All she grasped was cold.

Just the unforgiving cold that ate at her fingertips and stole her soul from the world. A smile bled to her lips. This was freedom. This was a wish fulfilled.

The girl named Xanthiene ceased to exist. She didn't feel her body hit the ground but she heard her own voice riding the wind. Just two words. "Fare well."

Then, as her soul was ripped from its anchor, Xanthy smiled and let whatever was left of her consciousness join the wind—unseen, unfelt. Untouchable.

Greetings, Virtakios. Welcome to the Realm of the Lost.