The light in the chamber had grown brighter than ever before, golden and silver intertwined, pushing back the shadows that had haunted the Rift for a thousand years. The darkness that had clung to the walls, that had pulsed from the crystals, that had whispered in our ears since the moment we descended, was retreating, dying, and crumbling like ash in the wind.
Erebus stood at the center of it all, his form no longer flickering between shadow and light but steady, almost peaceful. His golden eyes were wet with tears, and his hand still held mine, trembling. The silver hair that had once floated around him like a banner now lay still against his shoulders. The hard lines of his face had softened, and for the first time, I saw not a monster, but a man.
Ysolde stood at his other side, her silver hair glowing, her amethyst eyes bright with hope that had been buried for a thousand years. She was his prisoner, his victim, his tool. And now she stood beside him, offering forgiveness.
