"What is—"

My words die on Eriksson's tongue as the sky above cracks open like shattering glass.

The pitch-black heavens fold inward, caving upon themselves, a wound in the firmament tearing wider with each heartbeat. Light descends—no, someone. A being of light, radiant.

Another follows.

They fall from the rent in the sky, wrapped in Golden armor that burns brighter than the moon itself.

The light of them mocks the heavens; it mocks everything beneath. For a moment, it feels like the moon has been reborn as a sun, Golden and wrathful.

The two descend slowly, until they hover above us, their glow turning the night into day.

"The flood will come and take everything with it. No remorse, and no exception."

Harmon's voice cuts through the wind, his tone almost serene. A smile stretches across his face—wrong, too calm, too knowing. "They might bring back Cassandra… or Malea."

The names burn like brands. My heart falters.

A wife and daughter I do not remember—because they are not mine. Yet the ache is real, raw enough to hollow me from the inside out.

Their faces flicker in my mind like ghosts seen through smoke. I bite my cheek until Eriksson's blood tarnishes my tongue.

Harmon doesn't even look at me. He stares skyward; eyes locked on the descending gods.

Two of them. Shining. Blinding. Their armor is Gold, but more alive than metal—like molten sunlight. Even their skin and hair glimmer with it, radiant in the Black void. They hang above us like judgment incarnate, one higher, one lower.

"Where are you?"

The voice isn't spoken—it's inside me. Not heard but thought. Each word ripples through the marrow of my bones—elegant, dreadful, the tone of a singer at the end of the world.

"Where are you, Sebastian?"

The name slams through me, reverberating like a bell. Harmon shrieks beside me, his cry drowned by the chorus of others.

"Do not forgive me for what happens next," Harmon mutters, trembling. "But it had to happen. All of it. For Selina. I miss her too much, old friend."

He still doesn't look at me. His pupils twitch, his mouth spasms, words slipping into the Gods' tongue. I know it now. I shouldn't, but I do.

"Apollo," he says, voice breaking. "I've done everything you asked. From the beginning—gathering them, bringing them here, every step, just as you willed."

I stare at him, numb. This body moves on its own, fists clutching Harmon's collar, arms shaking uncontrollably. "What have you done, Ham? What did you—"

Before I can finish through Eriksson's lips, the voice returns—louder.

"Where is the Golden Reaper?"

Pain detonates in my skull. My ears rupture, the sound vibrating through the inside of my head like thunder in a metal cage. Warm blood fills my palms as I touch them.

"I'm afraid—" Harmon starts, but his words dissolve into divine noise.

"Why isn't he on this island?" the God demands, his tone jagged. Then another voice joins from behind—soft, almost reverent. "Father, the moon will soon change its orbit."

My pulse surges, hammering faster than the seconds can count. I can't move. This body, this prison of nerves and breath, is frozen in place.

"My patience thins, mortal."

The words scorch the air. The two beings turn toward us—toward Harmon—and in a blink, they vanish.

Whoosh—

The world bursts into light. One of them stands before me. Not stands—floats. The Sun incarnate. The heat of him burns my skin, his radiance bending the shadows around us all.

For the first time since waking in this body, I move. Not the body. Me. My jaw drops open, a gasp I can't control.

Thunder cracks—not sound, but memory. Recognition. I know this man.

"You," the Golden figure says, his voice deep enough to shake the island. His gaze pierces not the eyes of Eriksson—but mine. Through flesh and bone into soul. "How?" he growls, fury bleeding into confusion.

Then his gaze shifts over my shoulder. I turn with him; Aston stands behind me, eyes wide, mouth trembling, as if he, too, has been seen through.

"How do you two carry a fragment of the Golden Reaper within you?"

The words freeze the air. My heart stops, starts, then races.

The Sun himself tilts his head; the brilliance around him dims just enough to show his face, the divine features cutting sharper with each heartbeat.

Then his radiant eyes widen—expanding, devouring everything. And in the light of the Sun, I am being swallowed whole.

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