Though perhaps gone wasn’t the right word. Ashwood hadn’t destroyed Creije, he’d just destroyed everything it stood for. He’d just stolen the streets from the dreamers and taken the city Wesley had built on his back, and fed it to wolves.

Tavia’s lips parted and her eyes almost instantly filled with tears. She slipped her hand into Wesley’s and squeezed it tightly, tethering him to the ground so he didn’t crumple.

Wesley looked at the tattoos that danced up his arms: the streets of Creije painted on him so he’d always remember his home and fight to keep it.

Only, everything Wesley had made now belonged to Ashwood.

Maybe it always had.

“It is with joy that I make this announcement,” Ashwood said. “I, Dante Ashwood, a man born on the streets of this great capital, a man who lived through the war and has seen the wonders of the future, will usher us into greatness.”

Ashwood’s pale lips tilted to a smile and Wesley could feel every moment of his twisted delight.

“As the new leader of Creije, I summon any and all Crafters of the realm to my capital, where they will be welcomed and respected,” he said. “I put an end to bans on black magic and declare all charms legal in this city. And I officially recognize anyone who challenges my authority as an enemy of change. Including the so-called Doyen Fenna Schulze. This is a city of magic and it will be your city of respite.”

“He’s declaring war on Schulze,” Wesley said.

He felt the blood drip from his nose and then the scratch as Tavia used her sleeve to wipe it away. It was taking everything he had not to let Ashwood’s voice consume him completely.

“I can’t keep him out,” Saxony said, her palms flat against the floor as she keeled over. “It’s too loud.”

“The first step to eliminating these enemies is to begin at home,” Ashwood said. “I will conquer the rest of this realm, starting with the government city of Yejlath. My forces are already making their way there, but I know I must prove that I’m willing to start over. To enact change and punish those who once sought to harm you. I must prove that you are safe with me and that I’ll protect you from this realm and everyone in it. Including my own people.”

There was a flicker as Ashwood waved his shadow arm, and then the vision of him exploded into eight separate clouds of screaming and blood.

Wesley’s breath lodged in his throat as he saw the familiar faces.

Ilaria. Stelios. Felix. Luca. Chiara. Greta. Enori.

All of them dying in front of him.

“It’s the underbosses of Uskhanya,” Wesley told Tavia. “Ashwood is killing them all for the Crafters to see.”