The light that blazed between us was not the golden radiance of my power, not the silver glow of Ysolde's magic, but something older, something deeper, something that had been buried for a thousand years. It was the light of remembrance, of recognition, of a soul that had been lost in darkness finally finding its way back to itself. Erebus's hand trembled in mine, his fingers cold and warm at once, shadow and light swirling beneath his translucent skin.
His golden eyes, which had been blazing with ancient fury and the weight of centuries, began to change. The fire dimmed, flickering like a candle in the wind, and beneath it, I saw something else: a flicker of the man he had once been, the saint who had saved the world, the hero who had been betrayed by those he loved.
