The voice was smooth, like silk draped over steel. It wasn't loud, yet it echoed everywhere, filling the empty void. The same voice from before. The one that had whispered to me as I lay dying.
Low. Patient. Amused, almost.
Like she had all the time in the world.
"I can feel your desperation," she continued. "Tired of being weak?"
She laughed.
A quiet, mocking sound, like she already knew the answer.
I looked down.
I was naked.
No blood. No wounds. Just bare skin, untouched and whole.
I looked around, searching—but there was nothing.
No Rikard.
No Mother.
Just darkness.
Just her.
I swallowed. My throat felt dry, even though I wasn't sure if I still had a body. "Am I dead already?"
She chuckled. A slow, warm sound, but something about it felt wrong.
"Only if you want to be."
Her fingers tapped against the arm of her throne, slow and deliberate, as if she were waiting for me to process her words.
Then, she leaned forward, her endless eyes locking onto mine.
"I'll give you a choice," she murmured.
Her voice dipped lower, smoother, enticing.
"An attempt to redo your life. To become something greater. To become what you've always dreamed of being—"
She smiled.
"Powerful."
The thought of it snapped my mind awake.
She knew.
She knew what I had always wanted.
I had dreamed of this very thing since the beginning—to be strong enough to stand alone.
No need for Rikard. No need for an army, a kingdom, or walls to protect me.
Just me.
Me, against anyone who dared to approach.
And she could give me that?
"How?" I asked, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be.
She smiled. A slow, knowing smile.
"I will grant you a gift, my child. A gift unlike any in this world."
She lifted her hand, fingers curling ever so slightly. "Whenever you kill, you will inherit the echoes of your victim's strength."
I frowned. Echoes?
"What do you mean?"
She leaned back into her throne, as if savoring the moment.
"An Echo is an imprint of power. A reflection of the soul left behind in death."
Her void-like eyes gleamed.
"It can take many forms."
She lifted one finger.
"Perhaps… a summon. A revenant of the fallen, restored in their prime, at the moment of their greatest strength—or even beyond, when their potential is fully realized."
She lifted another.
"Or perhaps… an ability. A skill, taken from the dead—but not as it was. No, it will be stronger. Greater. Enhanced."
Her lips curled.
"You will become a god among men."
She tilted her head, her inky, claw-tipped fingers resting against her cheek.
"And all it will take… is a single kill."
A god among men.
I let the thought linger, longer than it should have.
A part of me knew I shouldn't even entertain the idea, but another part—a darker, quieter part—was already grasping at it.
She continued, her voice slow, deliberate.
"The closer you are to your victim, the stronger their Echo becomes."
She spoke as if she was revealing some great truth of the universe, something inevitable and absolute.
"If you were to kill your parents," she mused, "they would return as summons of unimaginable strength—or you would inherit an ability far greater than it ever was. Their Magnum Opus."
A person's defining strength. The skill, the power, the very essence of what made them exceptional.
I frowned. My parents…
They were dead.
Long gone, taken by war and sickness before I was even grown.
I could feel her watching me, feel the weight of her presence pressing against my thoughts.
And then, she spoke again.
"But it doesn't have to be family."
Her voice was soft, almost kind—but there was something wicked beneath it.
She knew what I was thinking.
She knew exactly where my mind had gone.
Rikard.
I swallowed hard, my breath unsteady.
Rikard, my best friend.
Rikard, the one who saved my life too many times to count.
We had been together since we were kids, trained in the same barracks, fought in the same wars, stood side by side through every battle, every loss, every moment that should have killed us both.
He was more than a friend.
He was my brother.
And in that last fight, when I had hesitated, when I had frozen like the weak soldier I was—
He still fought for me.
Even as The Mother's claws tore through his chest.
Even as he bled out in front of me.
Even as I failed him.
I clenched my fists.
Would he have done the same in my place?
Would he have taken this offer, if it meant he could save me?
I already knew the answer.
Yes.
He would have.
Without hesitation.
So why did I hesitate now?
"Kill him."
Her voice was gentle, soothing—as if she were offering mercy, not damnation.
"And he might live."
She leaned forward, fingers curling slightly, her void-like eyes never leaving mine.
"As your summon."
The words dug into me, slipping into the spaces of my mind that I didn't want to acknowledge.
"But…" She tilted her head. "Your bond with him is unlike any I have ever seen. If you take his life, you may also inherit his Magnum Opus."
Magnum Opus.
A person's greatest skill, their defining strength.
I had no idea what Rikard's was.
I had always thought it was his reflexes, his impossible reaction speed. It was unnatural the way he moved, how he always seemed to react before danger struck.
Maybe that was it.
But I had no time to question.
Because I was left alone with my thoughts.
Assessing. Calculating.
If I somehow returned, if I made it back to my body—Rikard would still be dying.
The Mother would still be there.
And with a dying Rikard and a weak me?
We had no chance.
We would all die.
But if I killed Rikard…
If I took what she offered—
I would become stronger.
I could summon him again. It wouldn't be exactly him, but it would be close enough. A warrior in his prime.
And this was the only way to keep us both going.
"I leave the choice to you, my child."