Chapter Eighty-Three:

  “Plans Through Fear”

  Lord Sterling sat upon his throne of bones, his fingers idly tracing the ridges of the skull in his palm. The throne room stretched around him in looming darkness, lit only by the ember-like glow pulsing from the deep cracks in the stone. The scent of undried blood and decay lingered, a permanent fixture of his domain. He could feel it returning, his strength, his power. Almost whole again. Almost ready.

  His burning blue eyes settled on the one figure standing at his side.

  Hex.

  His useless daughter. The failure he had tolerated for far too long.

  How many times had she disappointed him? Too many to count. She had failed to kill the Key Player, the same Key Player who had burned him, humiliated him, who had dared to defy his will. And within that very same girl’s heart lay the Guardian of Flame, the piece of power he needed to break free of this accursed Realm, to finally bring an end to this never-ending game.

  And Hex had failed him yet again. She had let the blade slip through his grasp, Souleater, the very weapon forged to ensure his triumph. He had been so close. He would not allow failure again. Not now. Not ever.

  She stood there as she always did, hands folded neatly, eyes lowered in quiet reverence. The image of obedience.

  His voice cut through the silence, cold and absolute. "Don’t fail me again. You may be my daughter, but I will not tolerate another loss from you."

  Hex lifted her chin, her lips curving just slightly, her eyes wide with something that could be sincerity, could be something else entirely. A daughter seeking approval, a girl shaped by loss. She placed a hand over her heart, lowering her lashes in a display of feigned devotion. "Yes, Father. I will not fail you again."

  Then came her smile, wide, sweet, poisonous. She let out a light, airy laugh, tilting her head just so, the picture of a loving, loyal daughter.

  "I promise, Daddy!"

  Sterling closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He reached out, feeling their presence. They were already here, stepping into the final act of this grand design. The remaining Key Players. The ones who had defied him again and again, clawing their way through his game, surviving when they should have broken. He had broken them before. He would again.

  They thought they had come to destroy him.

  How foolish. How lucky.

  He opened his eyes once more, the throne room stretching before him in its silent, expectant darkness. Shadows fled into the towering stone. The sluggish churn of molten rock seeping through the fractured veins of the broken palace. His fingers tapped against the armrest of his throne, calm, deliberate, patient.

  They had arrived in Mar’abar.

  Or at least, what remained of it. The illusion was gone, the city stripped bare of its former deception. No banners, no markets, no faith left to guide the lost. Just ruin. Just decay.

  Good. Let them see the truth of the world they fought so hard to save.

  The Guardian’s gemstones were with them, he could feel their presence, their power like embers in the dark. All the pieces were here now. Everything he needed to win.

  Sterling’s lips curled into something that might have been amusement, might have been something far worse.

  “They believe they are the executioners,” he said, his voice once again smooth, once again dripping with certainty. “But they are only walking toward their graves.”

  Hex stood where she had been, hands folded neatly, face as still as glass.

  Sterling did not look at her. He did not wish to. His words were not for her, not really. They were a promise—to Gameweaver, to this realm, to the throne beneath him, to the very bones that would soon be drenched in their failure.

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  He leaned forward slightly, the cold glow in his eyes flaring brighter.

  “This game will end as all have before, with me standing victorious.”

  Hex kept her hands neatly folded, her face the perfect picture of quiet obedience as her father spoke.

  "Go and prepare for our guests' imminent arrival," Sterling said, his voice carrying the weight of expectation, of inevitability. Another task. Another command. Another chance to do his dirty work. As always.

  She tilted her head just slightly, her eyes wide with imitated devotion. "At once, Daddy!"

  With a graceful turn, she pivoted away from him, moving toward the towering doors of the throne room. The moment her face was out of his sight, the mask cracked.

  The obedient daughter was gone.

  Her lips curled, not in a smile, not in amusement, but in something more sinister, something certain. He thought himself untouchable. He thought she would always play the part he had written for her.

  How very wrong he was.

  She would prepare for their guests, just as he ordered. But this time, it wouldn’t be for him.

  Someone was going to win this game.

  And it would be her.

  Heat pressed the remaining Key Players as they stepped into the remains of Mar’abar. The scent of scorched stone, and something far worse, lingered around them. The streets were a graveyard.

  Not a single voice stirred in the ruins, only the hollow whistle of wind through collapsed archways, the crackling of distant fires refusing to die. Bones littered the roads, some nothing but dust and brittle fragments, others disturbingly intact. Skulls grinned from the gutters, fingers curled into frozen pleas. A city that had begged for salvation and received only silence.

  The deeper they went, the worse it became.

  Lucinda covered her nose with her sleeve, but it did little against the stench, the fusion of sickly death and scorched flesh. Raya walked ahead, silent, her eyes sharp, scanning for movement. Ani’s paws made no sound as he prowled beside her, his breath visible in the unnatural heat, his fur bristling.

  Leo’s fingers drifted to his ring, spinning it absently, a habit as old as his fear. No, this wasn’t fear, fear was something he understood, something he could name. This was worse. It ate through him, insidious, chilling, sinking into his ribs, something undead inside his soul.

  It was the feeling of being seen by something that should not exist. Of knowing that whatever waited ahead did not belong in the world of men. Fire had never done this to him. Nothing had. His breath shortened, his pulse hammering against his skin, too fast, too loud.

  This was the kind of dread that turned strong men into believers. The kind of terror that made them kneel.

  Emily’s fingers tensed around the worn grip of her bow as the same dread invaded her being. It wasn’t just Leo, it was all of them. She could see it in their eyes, the weight in their steps, the way their breath came uneven, caught in their throats. Whatever this was, whatever caused this horror had to be overcome.

  She swallowed hard and forced herself forward. Fear didn’t matter. What mattered was getting through it, pushing past it. Her fingers brushed against the medallion beneath her tunic, the one her father had given her, the only thing Gameweaver had never touched. A relic of something real, something that had always been hers.

  Was he here? Was he alive?

  She had felt something when Raya spoke of the old man, Wiz. Could it have been…?

  No. That didn’t matter now. What mattered was the people depending on them. What mattered was stopping Sterling, no matter how impossible it seemed.

  She straightened, setting her stance firm, and turned to the others. "Listen to me," she said, her voice steady despite the gnawing dread that tried to pull her under. "I know you feel it. I feel it too. It wants us to crumble, to break before we even make it to him. But we’ve come too far to let fear decide our fate now. We keep moving. We stand. We fight. Because if we don’t, then who will?"

  Lucinda exhaled, closing her eyes for the briefest moment. She could sense it now, the unnatural sense of fear pressing against them, it was something more. A curse. A spell meant to unravel their courage before the battle even began.

  Lucinda gripped her staff, its warm wood grounding her as she raised it slightly, tracing symbols into the air with its tip, magic humming to life at her command. "No," she declared, lifting her hands. "Not today."

  She raised her staff higher, releasing a wave of magic across them all. "Soothe."

  The terror didn’t vanish, it melted, seeping from their bones, dissolving into mist. Strength returned to their limbs, breath came easier, and the oppressive force that had clung to them like rot dissipated.

  Raya inhaled deeply, scratching behind Ani's ears. "That’s better. Huh, boy?"

  Leo cracked his neck, summoning twin fists of blue flame that flared to life, their light casting hope against the darkness of the ruined city. "Yeah. Much better."

  Asha gave Lucinda something she hadn't had to give a long time. A smile of gratitude. "Thanks, I never felt fear like that in my entire life."

  "It wasn't fear, it was a curse. It wasn't real." Lucinda reminded her. Reminded all of them.

  They weren’t broken. They weren’t beaten. And they would not kneel.

  The path before them narrowed, the streets twisting into a labyrinth of decay. Buildings leaned inward, skeletal remains pressing against the sky as if trying to shut out the world. Shadows shifted where they shouldn’t, deep pockets of darkness untouched by the molten glow seeping through the cracks in the stone.

  And then, the way forward ended.

  They stood at the edge of a vast chasm, where the veins of lava that had carved through the city finally converged. The molten river roared, thick and churning, surrounding the base of Sterling’s Dark Palace like a moat of fire. The fortress towered beyond, a monolith of blackened stone and wicked spires of pure death, its gates waiting, watching.

  No bridge. No passage. Just the relentless, searing abyss between them and the end of the game.

  Ankit exhaled, setting his hands on his hips. “So… anyone got a plan?”