It had been over a decade since Aurora had come here. Back then, she had been a child. Hadn’t been an Empress. Hadn’t been anything.

Now, her rich clothes fell out of place among the rubble of the Blade Kingdom.

It's inevitable. He threatened to find and kill my kid... Hah, so we’ve come to end this.

Ahead stood Christopher, the man she had once called father, the one who had once saved her during the Inferno War only to abandon her at the orphanage over twenty years ago. The sky was gray, fitting for a grim occasion like this.

And then, a decade ago, he made her the world’s villain. Insisted on putting the crown on her head. He had told her that the world needed a monster to draw their hatred. To stop them from fighting each other and instead unite against her.

Her clothes and her crown were basically handed to her by him, planned meticulously by the man who’d watched her grow into a weapon for his own gains.

“It’s been a while since we came here,” she said, gesturing theatrically. “You chose the rubble of our old home...sentimental much, are we?”

Her dark energy crackled, sputters of lightning dancing along her fingers. Her eyes scanned the area, assuming a trap. Was Samantha here? No, it was just her and him. Good, but not for long. A sharp pulse hit her skull. She staggered, hand to her head. Her dark magic screamed. Darkness clouded her vision. Red bled into her thoughts—unbridled hate.

“I’m not going to kill you,” she gasped, fighting the dark energy. I’m not Milo. I’m nothing like who I used to be.

Christopher watched her, an amused smile gracing his lips. He remained unmoving. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly. “You’re not acting like the good monster we both know you are.”

She didn’t answer because the pain screamed. Her energy shielded her just in time to block a surge of ice and water. Shit, he’s still strong. Then surged the memories.

“No,” he agreed, voice tight. “I’m not the one who’s going to die.” A glint of insanity gleamed alongside his twisted grin.

He never cared about me. He’s proven that much. Now that I’ve served his purpose, he wants to take the crown from me.

Twenty years of resentment lit her veins. You left me. You made me this. You are the villain, not me.

Her energy exploded outward, and she struck—hand driving into his chest, her magic pouring in.

She expected him to shield easily, move aside maybe. But… he didn’t resist!

To her horror, his face didn’t twist in pain. Instead, it twisted into… softness? His eyes gleamed with empathy she had long forgotten. Flashes of when he’d held her hand after saving her from her burnt village. When he’d told her it was okay to cry.

But now, the darkness inside her was spilling into him, an inevitable consequence of directing murderous intent with Cerceras’ energy. She tried to stop it. His hand reached up. She flinched as he patted her head.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispered. “I asked too much from you…but, in the end, you did it.”

She shook her head. “What are you doing?”

“I can take him with me,” he murmured. “Cerceras won’t be able to reach you anymore. He needs a vessel. Let it be me.”

“No—”

“You don’t have to carry it anymore. You deserve to finally be free.”

His body convulsed as the corrupted magic passed into him. The air thickened. Black smoke curled from his eyes, his mouth, and finally his chest.

And within? Cerceras screamed.

She pulled her hand back as he collapsed to his knees.

“I’m sorry…about everything,” he said hoarsely. “But I… had to take accountability.”

Why? Stop. No!

“I already told the kingdom the Empress is dead. Nobody will try to find you…” He collapsed deeper toward her causing her hand to plunge deeper into his chest. She pulled him back quickly, his blood warm against her hand. “Aurora…” he whispered. “It’s time for you to live.”

The light faded from his eyes as she pushed him away. He dropped to his side with a sickening thud.

Nothing made sense. He was the villain… He had to be.

But no matter how she tried to rationalize it in her head, she knew that villains don’t die with their hand resting gently on your head. They don’t smile when you stab them. They don’t whisper, “I’m proud of you.”

She felt an additional wave of nausea as she drew parallels to how her ex Milo had died. But he had been the one who poured Cerceras’ dark energy into her. As if it was supposed to be a welcome inheritance.

Her hand and arm were still warm and bloody. She collapsed to her knees, eyes wide in horror. And now Christopher had died similarly, finally taking the dark curse away.

"Why do you assholes always trick then leave me?"

She looked at her hand. Her vision was clear. Even her headache was gone, taken with him. She didn’t understand it—couldn’t. But she knew one thing, as she backed away:

The Empress is dead.

Let her stay that way.