Chapter One Hundred Thirteen
The fairies vanished as suddenly as they had appeared, their wind barrier dissolving into a soft sigh that drifted through the clearing. The air stilled. The forest held its breath.
Londrell remained kneeling at his grandfather’s grave, hands pressed into the trembling earth.
The visions the fairies forced upon him still burned behind his eyes — the rot spreading through the land, the dying rivers, the withering trees. All of it tied to him. To his choices. To the hatred he had been fed since childhood.
He felt the old anger rise in him, sharp and familiar. His grandfather’s voice echoed in his memory:
“Unity is weakness. Compassion is a lie. Power is your birthright.”
Londrell’s jaw clenched. He had lived by those words. He had built an army on those words. He had sent shades into the mortal realm on those words.
But now… the land itself recoiled from him.
And the fairies — ancient, neutral, unyielding — had shown him the truth he had refused to see. His power was killing the world.
He bowed his head, fingers curling into the soil, “What am I becoming….”
Footsteps crunched softly behind him. Varyn, his second in command, loyal, fierce, and one of the few who dared speak plainly to him, approached with caution, “My lord… what did the fairies want?”
Londrell didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the grave marker, tracing the carved runes with his eyes. Finally he rose to his feet. His expression unreadable - a storm held behind a mask, “They offered a summit. With Avery and her nates.”
Varyn stiffened, “A trap?” Londrell scoffs, “Perhaps.” Varyn, “A test?” Londrell smirks, “Certainly.” Varyn steps closer, lowering his voice, “Do you intend to accept?”
Londrell looked out over the clearing - the dying grass, the brittle leaves, the faint pulse of the land struggling beneath his feet. He felt the anger again, the hatred. The legacy of violence carved into him by the man buried at his feet, “We return to our base.”
Varyn blinked, “My lord?”
Londrell turned to him fully, eyes sharp with a new unsettling clarity, “I will address our people, all of them. The prophecy is coming to a head. We must decide our path.”
Varyn swallowed, “And what path is that?”
Londrell looked back at the grave - at the man who had shaped him, twisted him, weaponized him, “One that does not destroy the world we claim to love.”
Varyn’s eyes widened. Londrell continued, voice low and dangerous, “We will decide whether death and destruction are acceptable prices… or whether we have been following a ghost’s hatred for too long.”
The wind stirred, carrying the faintest whisper of fairy magic. The summit invitation hung in the air like a blade. Londrell turned away from the grave, cloak snapping behind him, “Gather the others. It is time to face what comes next.”
And for the first time, the villain of the prophecy walked not with certainty - but with the weight of choice.
Returning to the academy felt strangely surreal. After a week wrapped in warmth, family, laughter, and the kind of rest avery hadn’t realized she needed, the quiet hum of the school halls felt… different. Not bad, just real, grounded. A reminder that life didn’t pause just because she’d finally had a chance to breathe.
She and her mates moved through their quarters with the easy rhythm they had rediscovered at the cabin. Bags were unpacked, laundry sorted. Schedules synced. The mundane felt comforting after everything. Avery watched her mates move around and unpack, and felt that familiar warmth begin to grow, so she started to slowly remove her clothes as she walked into their bedroom. This has gotten the attention of her mates, and with one last look over her shoulder as she disappears into the bedroom, she drops the last piece of clothing, her panties, and looks at them over her shoulder, with the hunger she had for her mates blazing in her eyes.
Avery stood in front of her mirror the next morning, still feeling the love and desire from last night. She was brushing her hair, and trying to decide between two tops, when Emerald popped on her shoulder. “Avery, the fairies have issued an invitation for a peace summit with, Londrell.”
Avery froze. Her heart thudded once, hard. Emerald whispers, “He accepted.” Avery’s breath caught. She didn’t know what she expected - but not this. She turned toward the bedroom, “Guys… we have a situation.”
Lucien was the first to appear, shirt half-buttoned, hair still damp from the shower, “What happened?”
Riven stepped behind him, already dressed, already reading her expression, “Emerald?” Avery nodded.
Kael and Molly emerged from the kitchen, Kael holding a piece of toast in his mouth, Molly clutching a mug of tea. “Whats going on?” Kael asks.
Avery exhale, “Emerald came to tell me that the fairies issued a summit invitation to Londrell. And he accepted.”
Silence. Then- Molly, Kael, and Lucien spoke at the same time, “Oh crap!”, “That was fast.”, “Too fast.”
Riven’s jaw tightened, “We need to tell the council.” Avery nodded, already reaching for her communication device.
The device shimmered to life, projecting an image of the head of the Council - a stern, silver-haired man who rarely looked surprised. Today he did, “Avery, Riven, Lucien, Kael, Molly, I assume this is important.”
Riven stepped forward, “Londrell accepted the summit invitation from the fairies.”
Lord Damaric’s eyes widened, “He accepted? Did he give any conditions?”
Avery turns her head slightly, listening to Emerald, “Emerald says he asked for time to talk to his people. Then he will let the fairies know what they decide.”
Lord Damaric leans back, processing this information, “This changes everything. The prophecy may accelerate. We need to begin preparing for anything.”
Avery swallowed, “What do we do?” Lord Damaric’s gaze softened, just slightly, “You prepare. You stay together, and you wait for our instructions. The summit will happen when it happens.” And then he was gone, off to let the others know, and begin preparing. They had to be ready, for any and every possible outcome.
Avery sat on the edge of the bed, the weight of the moment settling over her. Molly sits down beside her, looping an arm around her waist, “Hey, You’re not facing this alone.”
Kael flopped onto the floor in front of her, resting his chin on her knee, “We’ve got you.”
Lucien sits on her other side, taking her hand, “Whatever this becomes, we’ll handle it.”
Riven stand in front of her, and looks her in the eye, “Together.” He says, with emotion.
Avery looks at all of them - her mates, her anchors - and felt the fear loosen just a little. The summit was coming. Londrell was moving. The prophecy was shifting.
But she wasn’t the girl she had been months ago. She had her mates. She had her family. And she was ready.