Simari broke the quiet next, and her words carried weight. “The Lawgiver’s aggression is increasing,” she said. “His Order has expanded its patrols. His awakened have grown in number. He is tightening his grip around Aerth like a fist.”

  Freydis nodded. “It was only a matter of time,” she said. “He has never understood restraint. Even when we ceded the world to him, he continued to test boundaries. Now he is no longer testing. He is claiming. What I’ve never understood was why he so severely limited the number of awakened on that world. It is a core world from the beginning of the system, and could have sustained many. Even ascendants.”

  Ajasanna’s eyes flashed. “Aerth is ours,” she spat, as if the words were a spell. “It was born under the Ways. It was seeded under our authority. He has no right.”

  Simari’s expression did not change. “Right has never mattered to him,” she said. “Only control.”

  Freydis allowed herself a small exhale. This part they all agreed on, which made it dangerous. When summer and Void aligned, winter’s margins narrowed. Winter survived through balance, through being necessary, through ensuring that her sisters never became strong enough together to dismiss her. In the past, she had thought that she and Simari were a better match, and that perhaps someday they would do away with Ajasanna altogether.

  Ajasanna’s hands clenched. “If we cannot go to Aerth,” she said, “then we must send someone. Someone powerful enough to act without us.”

  Simari’s gaze sharpened. “My son is trying to breach the barrier. He doesn’t realize that I know and thinks he is defying my orders yet again, but if he succeeds, he will easily defeat the enemy ascendant. Tion is without match among ascendant fey.”

  Ajasanna clearly wanted to argue that, but Freydis held her tongue, and for once so did the fiery Summer Queen. Freydis had her own opinions. Tion was strong for sure, but each of the queens had their own favored children. She watched the flicker that passed between her sisters at that. It was fast, but Freydis had been born in seasons that measured time by frost forming along a leaf’s edge. She missed nothing.

  “Speak plainly,” Freydis said. “What have you not told me?”

  Ajasanna stiffened, and for the first time her bravado faltered. Simari’s composure held longer, but she hesitated, which told Freydis the truth mattered more than pride.

  “It is about our children,” Simari said finally.

  Ajasanna’s jaw tightened, then she lifted her chin like a queen preparing to endure humiliation. “Fine,” she said. “You already know, anyway.”

  Freydis did not react or give them the satisfaction of confirmation. She simply waited.

  Simari’s voice lowered. “Adrianna and Tion,” she said, naming her son and Ajasanna’s daughter. “They had an illicit relationship. Not a flirtation or passing weakness. They had a bond.”

  Ajasanna’s hands flexed as if she wanted to tear the table apart. “They claim they’re in love,” she said bitterly. “They still claim it, even now.”

  Freydis held her face still, though inwardly she felt the familiar cold satisfaction of certainty. She had known. She had always known. Winter saw what others ignored, and remembered what others wished to forget.

  Simari continued, and the words tasted like iron. “They produced a child,” she said. “A son.”

  “A mutt,” Ajasanna muttered reflexively, then flinched as if the insult hit her as well. “Or at least that was what I thought at first. I banished Adrianna for twenty years when I learned of her actions. The child was taken from them, and even now, I’m not sure how. Since then, I have paid attention to my grandson. The system calls him the Twin Prince, and he is… well, let’s say he shows promise.”

  Freydis kept her hands folded. “Yet you and your children lost him,” she said, not as a question.

  Simari nodded once. “Yes,” she said. “Taken before they revealed him to us. Hidden from both Courts. Our children were punished, but the grief they held in their hearts was greater than any imprisonment or banishment. Even then, they didn’t trust us enough to reveal him. It was only when his own actions brought him to the attention of the system that we learned about him.”

  Freydis let them vent just enough, then spoke softly. “And you fear what his existence could mean,” she said.

  Simari’s gaze did not waver. “I fear what it means if summer and Void align around him, but just as Ajasanna, I’ve paid attention to the boy. He has great promise, and that is no exaggeration,” she said, honest enough to be dangerous. “I know that you fear what such an alliance would mean for winter.”

  There it was. Freydis almost smiled. They all played the same game. They all spoke truth only when it served them.

  Freydis inclined her head slightly. “And yet you came to me without threats,” she said. “So you must fear the Lawgiver more.”

  Ajasanna exhaled sharply, like air forced through flame. “He is a problem,” she admitted. “And our children’s foolishness has made the problem worse. Tad, our grandson, will be an excuse for war to break out and spread across all the worlds of the system.”

  Freydis gave them nothing. She did not tell them the plans she had already set in motion, the princess she had prepared, the threads she had begun weaving to ensure that if Tad returned, winter would not be left outside the bond that formed around him. She would not speak of courting strategies or subtle loyalties. That was winter’s work, and winter did it best when no one realized it was happening.

  Simari shifted slightly, and Freydis felt the room tilt. The Void Queen was preparing to reveal something else.

  “There is another factor,” Simari said. “An outsider.”

  Ajasanna’s eyes narrowed. “We sensed them,” she said. “Three, perhaps. The ones we sensed before. On Aerth.”

  Simari nodded. “One of them matters more than the others,” she said. “He is from another system. He has gained the favor of the Ways.”

  Freydis felt her own stillness crack for the first time. “The Ways favor him?” she asked, and the faintest edge entered her voice.

  Simari’s gaze flickered, pleased to have landed the blow. “Yes,” she said. “And he is not merely an adventurer.”

  Freydis leaned forward a fraction. “What is he?”

  Simari’s mouth curved slightly. “An Architect of the Heavens,” she said. She laughed then. “The Heavens, in their arrogance, call him an Architect of the System, as though there were only one.”

  Freydis’ breath caught before she could stop it. The words echoed inside her like thunder trapped in ice. She had known an outsider had arrived, had felt the flash, had suspected Eternity’s remnants and system interference, but she had not known this.

  Ajasanna’s eyes widened. “You mean like Gallarosa?” she demanded, voice sharp with recognition. Both she and Freydis paid attention to Simari’s next words. Gallarosa might have been from another system, but she was a goddess who was old enough to have been around when the Fey System was conceived. She was not one to be trifled with.

  Simari nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said. “Like Gallarosa.”

  For a long moment, none of them spoke. Freydis felt the implications unfurl in her mind with the precision of frost spreading across a pond. An Architect. A being capable of rewriting systems, of bending rules, of creating exceptions. A mortal tool used by the Heavens, or perhaps a mortal who had become something else entirely. Yet there might be something of value here, because he was a mortal and not a god.

  This could change everything.

  Ajasanna recovered first. “Then we have two objectives,” she said, voice suddenly focused. “We save Tad.”

  Simari’s eyes hardened. “Yes,” she said. “We reclaim what was stolen.”

  Freydis nodded once, allowing agreement without revealing her own secondary motives. “We save him,” she said, “and we ensure he does not become a pawn of the Lawgiver.”

  Ajasanna’s expression shifted, then she gave a grudging snort. “If he returns,” she said, “we will allow a winter princess to court him. Don’t bother denying that you’ve been making preparations for the same.”

  Freydis kept her expression neutral, though inwardly her satisfaction sharpened. “You will allow it,” she repeated. There was an edge to her words.

  Simari’s voice carried reluctant acceptance. “We will not force marriage,” she said. “Our children would never accept it. Tad would not accept it. From what I’ve seen of my grandson, he is as belligerent as his father, but if your daughter is skilled at all, she should be able to tame him. Ajasanna’s daughter was able to seduce my son, after all. Men are weak in that regard, no matter their lineage.”

  Ajasanna might have wanted to argue about who seduced who, but the three queens all laughed at the statement. The system didn’t require queens, but there was a reason there had never been a King of the Fey.

  Freydis inclined her head. “Then it will be persuasion, not compulsion,” she said, as if it were a shared principle.

  Ajasanna leaned back, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “As for the second objective,” she said, “we recruit the Architect.”

  Simari nodded. “He must be brought into the Fey System,” she said. “Either by agreement or by opportunity. His presence is too dangerous to ignore.”

  Freydis felt the cold certainty settle in her chest. An Architect would not be easily controlled. An Architect would not be easily bought. But an Architect might be convinced, especially if he believed it was in his best interest. Mortals were predictable that way, even when they became powerful. They simply lacked the scope of vision which immortality granted. By the time he ascended, he would be well and truly under their control.

  “And the Order,” Ajasanna said, voice dropping into something darker. “We wipe it from Aerth.”

  Simari’s gaze sharpened. “And reclaim the world,” she said.

  Freydis folded her hands again, returning to stillness. “Which means war with the Lawgiver,” she said, stating the truth without flinching. “Full war.”

  Ajasanna’s smile was fierce. “Good. I’m tired of pretending that he is our equal

  Simari’s expression was colder. “Necessarily, we’ve resisted this. Each of our mothers passed down that command to us. Respect the pact. But they also went on about how everything changes in time. At least mine did.”

  Freydis did not smile. She had seen wars that burned worlds, but not since before her time had there been a war between gods. The current state of matters with the Lawgiver was something of a cold war, which suited her just fine. It appeared that time was coming to an end.

  Outside, beyond their sealed meeting chamber, reality continued, ignorant of the machinations of gods and queens. Freydis let that thought settle, then looked at her sisters with quiet authority.

  “Then we proceed,” she said. “Carefully. Patiently. And without assuming we control outcomes we have not yet earned.”

  Ajasanna snorted. “Patient, yes, but the boy only has limited time, so we can’t move too slowly.”

  Simari simply nodded, eyes already distant, already calculating.

  And Freydis, Queen of the Winter Court, began planning how to make sure that when Tad returned, winter would not be left standing alone in the cold.

  Chapter Fifty-Three: Decimus

  The warehouse felt smaller once we committed to what was coming. We cleared the central space methodically, dragging tables and crates back to the walls until the stone floor lay bare in a wide circle. The air already carried a faint metallic tang, as if something infernal was bleeding through before it had even been invited. I could feel my Hell-aligned instincts stirring, not with anger exactly, but recognition, the same way a scar aches before a storm.

  We positioned the two Mercury Mirror Golems with care. One stood slightly forward and to Tad’s left, angled to intercept anything that rushed him directly, while the other took a broader stance behind us, its presence cutting off approaches from the rear. Even at rest, they felt alert. Spirit Sight showed their internal lattices humming quietly, Void Flame coiled but dormant, Judgment Rejection forming a subtle distortion in the air around them. The golems understood why they were here. I wanted to bring out the duplicate sitting in my storage, but the Fey System was firm in its resolve that I not do so until I was back home. I had already tried several times.

  Tad moved with a calm that belied the tension coiling within him. He let people know where they needed to be, and everyone fell into place without argument. Fara stayed close to him, never more than a step away, her posture loose and ready. Selena stood on my other side, reality already thickening around her in subtle ways I’d learned to recognize. Samvek lingered farther back, spear in hand, his expression unreadable but his aura sharper than it had been moments before.

  The scepter felt wrong the instant Tad drew it out. It bent the ambient mana around it in a way that made my skin crawl. The sphere at its head pulsed faintly, and I caught a glimpse of layered space inside it, like a folded wound that refused to heal. Samvek stiffened, just a fraction, and I made a mental note of it without calling attention to the reaction. If something was already pushing at him, I didn’t want to give it a name yet.

  I reached out with my senses, careful not to make contact with the scepter directly. The Hell System class within me reacted immediately, generating a low, simmering anger. Whatever it represented was much older, and deeply offensive to the structured cruelty I’d grown accustomed to. I understood then why my earlier reaction to demonic creatures had been so visceral. Devils and demons might share a lineage, but they were not the same, and my instincts knew the difference.

  The dungeon felt it too. The space around us tightened, like the dungeon was bracing for what was to come. The walls and floor remained unchanged, indestructible as ever, but the flow of mana grew deliberate, measured. This was an examination in progress, and the dungeon wanted to see what we were about to unleash. That alone told me this was not a casual experiment.

  “We should be glad Lexa hasn’t returned,” Fara said. “Remember the way she reacted to the crab demons?”

  Tad nodded but was otherwise entirely focused. He glanced up at me before he began, his eyes holding a firm resolve tainted with a hint of weariness that came from carrying too much responsibility too young. He seemed to be treating this with the resignation of a man taking a necessary but bitter pill. The air thickened immediately, pressure building as I felt him channel mana into the scepter. “Okay. I’m summoning Decimus.”

  Whatever was about to happen was not going to be subtle.

  Mana folded inward, spiraling toward the sphere at the top like gravity had learned some new dance moves. The air darkened, as if something or someone was deliberately swallowing the light. I felt the pull of it in my bones, a pressure that resonated with my Hell-aligned core and made my teeth ache. The fading of light whispered of something I hadn’t expected… Night’s Fall. Self-Propagation tingled inside of me, but I pushed it aside.

  The sphere flashed brightly, then let out a sound like fracturing glass as something vast pushed through from the other side. Heat rolled out first, dry and brutal, carrying the stench of ash, scorched blood, and old violence. Then Decimus followed, unfolding into the space with deliberate slowness, as though he were savoring every inch reclaimed. He was enormous, easily twice Tad’s height, his ebony skin like carved stone, muscles layered over one another in brutal symmetry. At a closer look, I decided he was actually a very deep purple. He was fascinating to look at.

  Great horns curved back from his skull, ridged and cracked, framing a face that was almost handsome if you ignored the predatory angles and the molten gold of his eyes. His arms flexed as he stretched, each corded with power, talons clicking softly as they found the stone. Vast wings unfurled behind him, leathery and scarred, the membranes veined with faint red light that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Every breath he took sent ripples of heat through the room, and the dungeon walls drank it in without complaint.

  Decimus took one slow look around the warehouse, nostrils flaring as he tasted the air. He stretched for a moment as though completely at ease. His gaze lingered on the golems first, and I saw a flicker of genuine interest cross his face. Then his eyes slid to Selena, to me, and finally to Samvek, where they narrowed just a fraction longer than the others. Whatever he saw there made his lips curl in something between amusement and hunger.

  He turned back to Tad and dropped into a deep, formal bow that made the floor creak under his weight. “Cousin,” he rumbled, voice like distant thunder echoing through a canyon. “You have grown. And you summon with more authority than the last time we spoke.” He straightened and glanced around again, head tilting slightly. “And you have guests. Dangerous ones.”

  Tad didn’t flinch. “You’re stronger than you were,” he said evenly. “And so are we. In fact, I’m certain that you’re stronger, because the one summoning you is stronger, allowing you to manifest more of your true potential.”

  Decimus laughed at that, a harsh, delighted sound that made my Hell bits stir uncomfortably. “Yes, quite clever of you,” he agreed. “You and the little scaled shadow especially. I was told there were few awakened here. It seems that was… misleading. But perhaps you don’t know about all of that.”

  I stepped forward before the conversation could drift further. “Tad thinks you might be useful,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “There’s a battle coming against the Order, and more importantly, against one of their ascendants.” Decimus’ attention snapped to me fully then, eyes burning brighter as he assessed me in a way that felt invasive. Before he could respond, I felt it.

  Hell mana surged around Samvek like a rising tide, thick and red, crawling over his skin in jagged veins of light. The air around him vibrated, sharp and hungry, and I recognized the telltale resonance instantly. It was Hunger, flaring hard and uncontrolled, reacting to Decimus’ presence like gas fumes to a lit match. Samvek’s grip tightened on his spear, and I saw his posture shift from readiness to predation.