Page 39 of Wild Ivy
“Except me,” I whisper, feeling that revelation hit my guts hard. “I’d be the only thing left.”
The souls swirl faster, their whispers becoming a chorus of understanding. They’re not just watching anymore - they’re waiting. For me.
“But there’s something else,” I say, sensing it in the way the void responds to my presence. “Something Life didn’t consider when she trapped me here.”
The void pulses harder, and the souls’ whispers grow urgent. They know what’s coming. What has to happen.
“Life thinks she knows everything,” Mazzarat says, his form shifting like smoke. “She thinks wild magick will save her, that she can control death itself. But she’s blind to what’s really happening.”
“She doesn’t see it,” I say, watching as something new mingles with the darkness around my hands - a faint glow, barely perceptible but growing stronger. “She’s so focused on saving herself, on maintaining her control, that she can’t see what she’s actually done.”
The silver-haired Death moves closer, her eyes fixed on the light threading through my darkness. “She trapped you here thinking it would contain you. Weaken you. She never considered that the void would respond to you like this.”
“That by trying to imprison Death itself, she’d give me access to something more.”
The souls swirl faster, their whispers becoming a chorus of understanding. Life doesn’t know. She’s desperate to steal Morrigan’s power, to purge herself of the mortality that’s killing her. But she’ll never change. Even if she succeeds, she’ll keep trying to control death, to disrupt the natural order.
“Balance,” Mazzarat says softly. “That’s what she never understood. What she’ll never understand.”
Power surges through the void, through me, and I understand at last. This isn’t about saving Life. This isn’t even about stopping her. This is about what comes next. What has to come next.
“Both sides of the coin,” I say, watching as light and darkness dance around my hands. “Not fighting for control, but existing in harmony.”
The Deaths around me watch as the light grows stronger, weaving through the darkness like threads of dawn breaking through night. It doesn’t fight the void’s power, it enhances it, completes it.
“Life would never willingly share her power,” Mazzarat says. “She’s held it too long, become too corrupted by her own fear of ending.”
“But power isn’t meant to be hoarded,” I say, understanding flooding through me. “It’s meant to flow. Like the cycle itself. Birth, death, rebirth. Everything connected.”
The void shifts, and I feel something new stirring within it. Within me. Every soul that’s ever passed through here has left an imprint. Not just of their death, but of their life. Their beginnings, their endings, their transformations.
“She’s playing with forces she doesn’t understand,” David says, drawing my attention to him. “Thinking Morrigan’s wild magick can save her. But wild magick isn’t meant to be controlled.”
“No,” I agree, feeling the power build. “It’s meant to be part of the balance. Just like death. Just like life.”
“And what happens when Life finally fails? When her desperate grab for power destroys her?”
“Someone has to maintain the cycle,” I say, watching as the light and darkness swirl together around me. “Someone who understands both sides. Someone who’s lived it, died for it, been reborn in it.” That’s what happened when I was torn apart. I know that now. I died. It’s why Tate died. We are bound together by a fate so powerful, one can’t live without the other. It’s also why everything got so fucked up in the aftermath.
The souls press closer, their energies merging with the void’s power, with my power. They’re not just witnessing anymore - they’re contributing. Every life they lived, every death they experienced, flowing into this moment.
“Life thinks she’s won,” I whisper, feeling the transformation begin. “She has no idea what’s really coming.”
20
TORIN
Understandingdawns on Bram’s face. Whatever has been going on with him since he obtained Morrigan’s magick, it finally has a purpose, it seems.
“Bram?” I prompt as he remains still as a statue. “What is it?”
“It’s not just Morrigan’s magick Life is after,” he says slowly, his voice tight with revelation. “It’s where that magick comes from. The source.”
“What do you mean? I thought Morrigan’s magick was the source of the Death power. That’s what she said.”
“No,” Bram says, shaking his head. “Older than that. Morrigan has to get it from somewhere, goddess or not.”
“The balance point,” Blackthorn says, standing abruptly and sending his chair scooting back to hit the wall behind him. “The place where life and death meet. Where wild magick originates.”
