Page 206 of The Blood Rites

“The winners,” it says, or at least that’s the closest translation my brain can manage. The words overlap, coming from every angle at once.

Kael stands his ground. “Who are you?”

The thing makes a motion like a shrug, and the movement sends a pulse through the air. The beach ripples in a line toward the sea, every droplet of rain bending inwards, pulled by gravity that doesn’t belong to this world.

It holds up a hand—five fingers, then seven, then none at all—and pinches the air. The death counter above us compresses between its fingers, shrinking from a blazing beacon to a red spark, then to nothing at all.

“There will be a cost,” the thing says, the words rattling my bones.

Kael glances at me. I can feel his questions, and I don't have any answers.

My fear is still there. It just isn't enough to stop me anymore. I step out from behind him as the thing watches, all of its attention fixed on me.

"What cost?" I ask.

The thing only smiles.

My stomach twists. Whatever it is, I already know the answer. "I'll pay it."

The thing laughs again, the noise bleeding into the sound of the storm. It points towards the crystal tower. Towards the sleeping figure suspended within. Then it points at me.

“Witness,” it says. “See what you have wrought.”

Fear coils through me, cold as a ghost.

I force my eyes open. I don’t blink.

Beside me, Kael reaches for my hand, and I hold on.

I will not look away.

Lightning stitches the clouds, carving the sky into shreds, and for a heartbeat the world holds still. The thing shivers in and out of existence.

Kael keeps his body slightly in front of mine, jaw set, hands up, even though he can’t seem to steady the shaking. I’m not sure if it’s rage or terror.

I look at the figure and, faced with the unknowable, repeat Kael’s question. “Who are you?”

I don’t expect an answer. Kael doesn’t even blink.

It laughs, its face blurring through a dozen iterations, each one worse than the last. Its voice comes out as a child’s.

“Not Mother. Not Father. Not Crown. Not Vein. Not God.”

It raises a hand, the shape shifting and warping as if proving its immateriality. “I am the edge between things,” it says.

The rain stops falling. Each droplet hangs, then slides away, refusing to obey.

“You may call me Ruin.”

The name shouldn’t mean anything, but somehow, it does. Not a thing, then. Not exactly. They smile with a face that cannot decide how to be.

Kael’s shoulders stiffen. He lets a shadow rise—not his precise threads, but a knife, jagged and hungry, extending from his fist. He hurls it at Ruin in a blur, the movement so fast I don’t register it until the blade is mid-flight.

Ruin catches it between two fingers. The shadows liquefy, running up their arm, and are gone. Not even a trace left on the air.

Ruin tilts their head, almost amused. “Not as you are now, Shadow.”

Kael stiffens. "What does that mean?"