CHAPTER 172: [172] THE TWENTY-METER MARTYR

He looked up at them, and Naomi saw something in his eyes that made her want to step back. Not fear—Xavier had faced down Thornbeasts and ancient knights without flinching. This was something deeper, more personal.

"Duke Haverford knows everything. He’s known from the beginning. The caravan attack, our arrival in Hearthome, even our infiltration tonight—all of it was planned. He’s been studying us, mapping our neural pathways, learning how divine consciousness interfaces with mortal vessels."

"Why?" Margaret’s voice came out as a whisper.

"Tomorrow night," he said, his voice raw. "The Masquerade. He’s not just celebrating. He’s... harvesting. He’s going to bind the souls—the children’s souls—to these bodies. Permanently. And then he’s going to use Calypso... channel all of us through her... like a damn battery."

Naomi felt the blood drain from her face. She’d known Haverford was ambitious, but this went beyond mere political maneuvering. This was cosmic blasphemy.

"He let you escape," she said, understanding the larger pattern. "You finding this information, bringing it back to us—that’s part of his plan too."

Xavier nodded grimly. "He wants us to know how hopeless our situation is. Wants us to feel the weight of our powerlessness before tomorrow night’s grand finale."

Margaret sank back into her chair, her hands shaking. "Seven children. We’re wearing the bodies of seven murdered children."

"Not murdered," Xavier corrected. "Displaced. There’s a difference."

"Is there?" Margaret’s voice cracked. "We’re living their lives while they wait in some cosmic waiting room. How is that better?"

Before Xavier could answer, Ashley’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

"Because we can send them home."

All three of them turned to the bed. Ashley sat up slowly, her movements careful and deliberate. The golden fractures along her skin pulsed brighter, creating patterns that reminded Naomi of circuit boards or neural networks. Ashley’s eyes—once warm and protective—now held something harder, more dangerous.

"Ashley, you should rest," Margaret said, moving toward the bed. "You’ve been unconscious for hours."

"I wasn’t unconscious." Ashley swung her legs over the side of the bed, testing her balance. "I was learning. Understanding what my power has become."

She stood, and Naomi noticed the way the air around Ashley seemed to shimmer, like heat waves rising from sun-baked stone. The golden fractures spread down her arms, visible through her thin shirt, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat.

"When I created that interference field in the archives, I felt something I’d never experienced before. My Guardian Covenant didn’t just block the wards—it unraveled them. Took them apart at the quantum level and scattered the pieces."

Xavier leaned forward, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "What are you saying?"

Ashley held up her hand, and golden light gathered around her fingers like liquid fire. "I’m saying I can do more than create dead zones now. I can project an active interference field that neutralizes other Essentia abilities within a twenty-meter radius. Not just block them—destroy them completely."

Margaret’s face went pale. "Ashley, that kind of power output would—"

"Kill me, yes." Ashley’s voice remained steady, matter-of-fact. "The fractures feed on pain, on trauma, on the echoes of everyone I failed to save. The more I push, the more they spread, until eventually they’ll reach my heart and stop it."

Naomi felt her mouth go dry. "Then we can’t ask you to—"

"You’re not asking." Ashley’s eyes blazed with golden light, and for a moment she looked less like their friend and more like an avenging angel. "I’m volunteering. I spent my whole life trying to protect people by absorbing their pain. Now I can protect you by becoming a weapon."

She looked directly at Xavier, and Naomi saw something pass between them—an understanding born of shared guilt and mutual respect.

"I won’t die uselessly in a bed while my friends face impossible odds," Ashley continued. "If I’m going to burn out, I’ll do it on my feet, fighting for something that matters."

Xavier studied her face for a long moment. Naomi could see him weighing options, calculating risks, trying to find another way. But they all knew the truth—they were outmaneuvered, outgunned, and running out of time.

"What’s your range?" he asked finally.

"Twenty meters at full power. Maybe twenty-five if I’m willing to die for it." Ashley’s smile was sharp as broken glass. "Enough to neutralize every guard and mage in the throne room while you get Calypso out."

"And then what?" Margaret demanded. "You collapse and die while we run away? That’s not protection, Ashley—that’s suicide."

"Sometimes they’re the same thing." Ashley’s voice softened slightly. "Margaret, you’ve seen what I’ve become. These fractures aren’t healing—they’re spreading. Every day I wake up with new lines of gold under my skin. I’m already dying. This way, at least my death means something."

The room fell silent again. Outside, Hearthome’s bells chimed the hour—midnight. Twenty-four hours until the Masquerade began.

Naomi found herself thinking about Nessa, the girl whose body she wore. What had Nessa been like? Had she enjoyed working at the Golden Fox, or had she dreamed of something better? Did she have family who missed her, friends who wondered where she’d gone?

"There’s something else," Xavier said, his voice cutting through her thoughts. "Something I haven’t told you yet."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment—thick, expensive paper embossed with the Flameheart seal. Margaret’s eyes widened in recognition.

"I procured this earlier," Margaret said. "From Brother Marcus’s desk. He was supposed to deliver it to the temple’s senior staff."

Xavier unfolded the parchment, revealing elegant script written in gold ink. At the top, the Flameheart crest blazed in red and orange, surrounded by intricate border designs.

"An invitation to tomorrow night’s Masquerade," he said. "For the temple’s senior healers and their chosen assistants."

Naomi leaned closer to read the flowing script:

Lord Torval Flameheart and Duke Cedric Haverford

request the honor of your presence

at the Grand Masquerade

celebrating new alliances and eternal bonds

Hearthome’s Great Hall

The Eve of the Winter Solstice

A night of new beginnings