It would kill Anton to do this. Jude had tried to spare him that pain, at least. He’d failed at that, too.

And now, here, this was the end. The path had run out. And Jude couldn’t let go.

In spite of his decision, in spite of everything, he wanted to live. Some deep, central part of himself resisted the call of Anton’s Grace. It fought against the Sacred Word. It fought to keep living.

“Stop!”

At first, Jude thought he imagined the voice calling out. That it was just a manifestation of his own heart, crying out for deliverance.

But then he heard it again.

“Stop!”

Instinctively, Jude stumbled back, his eyes blinking open to find Anton’s face staring at him, shock lighting his dark eyes, his cheeks wet with tears and rain. The silver-forked sky lit up around them.

“Jude! Anton!”

Jude startled at the sound of more than one voice calling out to them. And there, over Anton’s shoulder, through the sheets of falling rain, Jude caught sight of them. Hassan, Khepri, Hector, Ephyra, and Illya all sprinted toward them, waving their arms and shouting across the barren rock.

But before Jude could make sense of their presence, Anton let out a choked sob and collapsed to his knees.

“Anton!” Jude crouched beside him, hands hovering over his shoulders.

Anton just shook his head, trembling. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Jude, I’m so sorry.”

Hassan skidded to a stop, doubling over in front of them with his hands on his knees as Khepri slowed beside him.

Jude reached for Hassan instinctively. “Prince Hassan, what—”

“You don’t have to do this,” Hassan huffed. “You don’t have to sacrifice yourself. There’s another way.”

Everything seemed to freeze for a moment. Jude could only hear the wind, howling around them, echoing the rush of blood in his ears.

And then Anton launched to his feet, seizing Hassan with both hands.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice full of steel.

“Lethia,” Hassan said at once. “She knew that Pallas killed the Prophets. And she knew why. Pallas wanted to stop the Prophets from creating more of them. More Prophets.”

“You mean…” Anton trailed off, his grip going slack. “You mean I could make more Prophets?”

Hassan nodded. “It took Seven Prophets to defeat the god.” He spread his arms as thunder shook the sky. “We can defeat the god.”

Jude swept his gaze over the seven of them, understanding, at once, what Hassan wanted them all to do. His chest felt tight.

“How do you know Lethia wasn’t lying?” he asked. “And even if it is the truth, how do we know that it’s possible to create more Prophets? Maybe they failed. Or maybe—”

“If there’s a chance,” Hassan said fervently. “If there’s a hope. We have to try.”