“This is the day the Chosen One dies.”

The words echoed through the ruins of what was once Draconia Academy. The courtyard had been reduced to shattered stone and splintered glass, littering the scorched lawn. This place had been Owen’s sanctuary, his home for the past seven years. Now, all he could do was watch as it burned around him.

Owen’s grip tightened around his wand, his knuckles white and trembling as he fixed his gaze on the figure looming above him.

Lucian Darkona stood amidst the inferno of his own making atop the crumbling skeleton of the clock tower, silhouetted against the fiery funeral pyre of Draconia Academy. Lucian stared down at Owen, nothing more than a grotesque parody of the person the Chosen One had once known.

Lucian was many things to Owen—a bully, an arrogant snob, a rival whose very existence seemed designed to make his life a living nightmare. Yet, despite it all, Owen had believed that, deep down, there might still be some love between them. They had almost been friends once, hadn’t they?

Had Lucian really hated him so viciously all this time? Hated him enough to turn himself into this?

Lucian’s skin was pale as bone. His pitch-black eyes had been green once. Now, they were devoid of light—endless, gaping voids that swallowed any last hint of his humanity. Dark, pulsating veins snaked across his body, shadows given flesh.

Which meant it had really happened. The Great Darkness had melded with him.

Lucian raised his arms, and the darkness he commanded rushed forward—a wave of black fire cascading from his palms with unfathomable fury.

Owen gripped his wand with trembling hands, swinging it forward. A shield burst from the tip, enveloping him in a radiant, pulsating dome. The air crackled with magic as light clashed violently with darkness. The shield hissed and sputtered, fighting to hold back the relentless surge of Lucian’s black fire.

The air shimmered with energy as Owen’s feet dug into the ground, struggling desperately to avoid being flung backward. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps as he braced against the overwhelming onslaught. Gritting his teeth so hard his molars ached, he summoned every ounce of magic he had, making the shield blaze with blinding light.

At last, the fire was smothered, snuffed out with a soft hiss.

The wind picked up, whipping viciously around Owen and Lucian. Smoke billowed from the burning wreckage, thick and suffocating, as sparks and embers rained down. The harsh, flickering light illuminated their faces as they stared at each other across the campus-turned-battlefield.

“Lucian, please,” Owen cried, his voice carrying over the crackle of flames. “It doesn’t have to be this way!”

“No, this is how it was always meant to end,” Lucian growled, throwing out his arms.

Tendrils of dark fire erupted from his outstretched fingers, writhing and lashing through the air like serpents.

“Only one of us can survive. It’s the prophecy.”

Owen’s heart pounded in his ears, adrenaline spiking as the tendrils hurtled toward him. He swung his wand, and the rocks that had once formed the clock tower shot up. The broken slabs of stone hurtled through the air, smashing into the dark fire with a series of sharp impacts. The tendrils hissed and writhed, fragments of dark fire scattering and dissolving into the night.

Owen’s eyes stung from the smoke—or perhaps from the tears he was struggling to hold back.

“Lucian…” he shouted over the wind, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And that’s always been your problem, Owen Thorn!” Lucian snapped.

His dark hair whipped wildly as flames roared in every direction, consuming the remnants of their world.

“You never want to hurt anyone, but sometimes that’s what it takes for the greater good. Think of how many lives you could have saved if you hadn’t clung to your pathetic ideology!”

Owen couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. When they fell, they fell without mercy, streaming down his cheeks as he stared up at Lucian.

“I’m sorry,” Owen sobbed. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you. I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent him turning you into… this.”

“It’s too late for apologies,” Lucian screamed over the roar of the fire. “Too late for promises and good deeds. The Great Darkness and I are one now, and we can’t save the world until the Chosen One is dead.” A sneer twisted at the corners of his mouth. “So… are you ready to die, Owen Thorn?”

And Owen knew then that Lucian was beyond saving.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and when he lifted his head, his eyes burned as brightly as the fire. “Better to die a hero than to live as a coward.”

Lucian’s lips curled into a smirk. “Brave words for a child.”

Owen met him with a furious smile of his own, backlit by the glow of the raging flames. “Touché.”

Owen swung his wand just as Lucian thrust his arms out. Bursts of magic exploded from both of them, racing toward each other, on the brink of collision when—

“STOP!” I yelled, diving toward the remote. “Stop the movie!”

“No way!” My sister Bridget’s ponytail whipped around as she held the remote high over her head, just out of my reach. “It’s almost over!”

I stretched my arms toward the remote. “But I don’t want to watch this part!”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Bridget taunted, sticking out her tongue as she lifted the device higher. “You can’t make me turn this off.”

I lunged at her. “Watch me!”

What followed wasn’t exactly a ‘classy’ fight. Bridget’s socked foot connected with my gut, knocking the wind out of me. I doubled over, gasping, and was immediately bombarded by a flurry of throw pillows—which really lived up to their name—as Bridget hurled them at me like feathery missiles. I swatted them aside and managed to land a kick on her shin.

Bridget let out a yelp. “Why you obnoxious little—”

“Niko, Bridget, what have I said about fighting in the house?” Mom’s voice called from the other room.

“We’re not fighting!” Bridget and I called out in unison, then immediately went back to wrestling.

Bridget flung herself off the couch, clutching the remote to her chest in a desperate bid to escape.

But I wasn’t about to let her win! Gritting my teeth, I sprang from the couch. The springs creaked beneath me as I leapt forward. My legs wrapped around Bridget like a monkey’s, and we both crashed to the floor with a resounding thud.

“Niko! Bridget!” Mom yelled.

“Still not fighting!” we called again.

The living room erupted back into a battlefield of flailing limbs and scattered cushions. We waged a tug-of-war over the remote, pulling it back and forth between us. Then, summoning every ounce of strength, I gave a final, desperate yank and wrenched the remote from Bridget’s fingers.

Grinning, I sprang to my feet, panting and disheveled as I held the remote victoriously above my head. With a decisive press of my thumb, I hit pause.

The room fell into an abrupt, almost surreal silence. Owen Thorn’s beautiful, determined face filled the screen, flooded by the light from the spell he was mid-casting.

Bridget crossed her arms, and her face scrunched into a scowl. “Why would you make me marathon all eight of the Owen Thorn movies if you’re not going to let us watch the final fifteen minutes of the last one?”

I pulled a face back at her.

“Because I’m going to cry in front of you, and it’s going to be super embarrassing, and you’re totally going to make fun of me for it!” I sighed, picking up my iPad from where it had toppled to the floor in the chaos. “Plus, I don’t want to see Owen die.”

“You’re such a baby.” Bridget rolled her eyes, flopping onto the only couch cushion that was still intact. “That’s the whole point of the series. It’s foreshadowed that the Chosen One has to die all the way through.”

“But there were a ton of ways he might have been able to live,” I insisted.

I turned on my iPad to swipe through the more-than-fifty images of Owen Thorn fanart I’d drawn, making sure nothing had been accidentally deleted in the scuffle.

“If he had been able to get his hands on the plane sifter from book three, or if he’d used one of the good luck potions from book five—”

“Newsflash, Niko, it’s a kids series!” Bridget said, flinging her arms wide. “I’m sure the author didn’t think too hard about it. And besides, it’s not like Owen died in vain. By sacrificing himself, he released enough energy to trap the Great Darkness in an alternate plane forever. If he hadn’t done it, then the Great Darkness would have just gone into hiding until he was strong enough to merge with another brainwashed wizard.”

This time it was my turn to roll my eyes. “Ugh, why do you alway defend Lucian? He wasn’t brainwashed. He totally knew what he was getting into.”

I swiped to the single drawing of Lucian on my tablet—a caricature with exaggerated X’s for eyes, his tongue flopping out, and a triumphant Owen Thorn standing on top of him.

I shoved the tablet in her face. “See? Even I can draw better endings than the real one.”

Bridget crossed her arms, letting out a huff. “You’re totally mischaracterizing Lucian. He didn’t know what he was getting into. The Great Darkness tricked him into thinking he could bring his mother and friends back if he joined him.”

“Well I think he only did it because he was jealous of Owen.” I grabbed my stylus pen from the floor, drawing a dick on his face. “He’s seriously the worst character in the series.”

“He’s just misunderstood,” Bridget argued. “He has a really tragic backstory.”

“You just like hot villains!”

“Okay, fine, you got me! I like him because he’s super hot.” Bridget wrapped her arms around herself, kicking her legs dramatically over the back of the couch. “I mean, that blue-black hair, those cheekbones… Oooooh, and you can’t forget that one scene in the seventh movie when he’s showering and you see his six-pack.”

I groaned, adjusting my wire rimmed glasses. “You’re not edgy for liking a villain, Bridget. Lucian merch probably makes up half of Hot Topic’s income because of his crazy fangirls.”’

A mischievous smile spread over my sister’s face. “What if I bought you a bunch of Lucian stuff for your birthday tomorrow?”

I met her with a dark stare. “I would burn it.”

“You would not.” Bridget sprung from the couch, making her way toward me. “As much as you hate to admit it, you would hoard literally anything that came out of the Owen Thorn franchise.”

“I think you underestimate my hatred for Lucian Darkona,” I replied flatly. “I literally run a hate account for him.”

Bridget snorted, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “Oh yeah, as if you wouldn’t be all over a hottie like Lucian if he was real.”

“If Lucian Darkona was real, I would punch him in the face,” I said. “And that’s a promise.”