It has been three months since we retrieved the Relic of Dusk. Three months since we all made our sacrifices. Since Cassidion vanished. Since the world seemed to hold its breath. Since I felt the shift in my magicks—the moment I surrendered the power to preserve life in exchange for understanding the Twilight. I always knew I would walk a path different from that of my mother and foremother, but I never imagined it would lead me here.
The adjustment has been far more difficult than I ever anticipated. For a time, I questioned why Sune would lead me to this precipice, why the path of love had to twist through shadow. But then I remembered a poem penned by my foremother: “The rose must bleed to be made true.” It reminds me that for love to be real—truly real—it must bloom alongside pain, loss, and sacrifice. Struggle is the crucible that shapes beauty, that makes it ours. It’s easy to love when the world is kind. But how sacred is love when it endures through sorrow? When it remains, even as everything else begins to fall away?
Enialis sacrificed his voice for the sake of this world. He gave up something he cherished deeply, so that something he loved even more might endure. The longer I walk among mortals, the more I am astonished by their resolve—their refusal to surrender, even in the face of despair. When Enialis first came to me, he was desperate, and I took pity, offering him a fragment of my power. But to see him now… He had my respect. Now, he holds my admiration. And it is through that admiration that I grant him the means to channel his magic—not through speech, but through resonance with the Weave itself. Though his voice may never rise again, his will—and mine—will echo through the world, made manifest in every spell he casts.
My dear husband, Haruki, gave up his strength. To trade might for wisdom is no easy task—especially for one who has spent a lifetime in pursuit of power. It takes great courage to recognize the quieter strengths within ourselves, and greater still to live by them. He crossed continents chasing the pinnacle of martial mastery, believing strength alone could shape his destiny. But what becomes of strength when the true battle lies within? When I met him, just a decade past, love was a luxury he saw little use for. And now—now he understands. He sees that love is its own kind of strength, and that there is power in vulnerability, in connection, in choosing something greater than oneself.
And then there’s Skoll… poor Skoll, who surrendered his memories. In some ways, it feels like a mercy—relief from a life steeped in pain. A curse veiled as a blessing. He carried so much sorrow, and now he walks with the freedom of a blank slate. Yet… our memories shape us. They are the threads that weave our identity, that guide our steps and anchor our choices. Who are we, if not the sum of our joys, our wounds, our lessons? If we lose our memories, do we lose ourselves? He made that sacrifice not for himself, but for the love of his guild—for the family he chose. And in that, perhaps, his truest self remains.
Finally… there is Mordekai. Of us all, he may have lost the most—and still stands to lose more, should he falter. He severed his pact with Adramalech, forsaking the infernal bargain that once granted him knowledge beyond mortal ken. He cast off the chains of guilt and shame that bound him for so long. But now he bears a new weight: the mark of a traitor. And in this uncertain chapter, he turns to me—to all of us—not to carry his burden for him, but to walk beside him as he carries it. He entrusts us to catch him should he stumble. And I will. He treads the hardest road of all: the road of redemption, the journey of becoming. And I shall be there—through shadow and storm—to see him through.
The burdens of sacrifice are heavier than any of us could have foreseen. It is far easier to lay down one’s life for another—to die so that someone else might live. Dying is simple. Finding a reason to live? That is the true challenge. Especially when the sacrifice you’ve made lingers, reshaping the life you must now carry forward. And yet… despite it all, despite everything we’ve given up, I feel our bonds have grown stronger—strangely, beautifully stronger. Stronger than they have ever been, if I am being honest. We’ve shared decades of struggle, of triumph and grief… but only now do I feel as though we are truly bound together. And even as the horizon darkens, I step forward—with hope, with resolve—not in spite of the sacrifices we’ve made, but because of them.