“Let?” Lucien scoffs. “The Mist Continent was on the verge of ruin. They did what they thought was the right thing—they used the most powerful tool at their disposal.”

“And the most mysterious,” Fione agrees. “I didn’t…I didn’t even know it was real. All these trees, lost to time, to the crumbling of Old Vetris, and then consumed in the fires of war.” She inhales deeply. “No doubt the Old Vetrisians had little clue as to what would concretely happen if the Tree of Souls was split. But they decided the short-term benefit was worth the unknown consequences far down the road. And that ‘far down the road’ is our reality, right here and right now.”

Her periwinkle eyes dart over to me, and we share a silent moment. We talked earlier of consequences, too. About what would happen if we destroyed the trees. Both of them. That’s what I want above all. I want the valkerax and the Heartless to be free. But if it means I destroy all magic, too, I—

I don’t know if it’s worth that.

All magic. All magic, ever. Forever.

It would change the world. There wouldn’t be any more witches. The valkerax—who knows how they actually fly? Maybe that’s magic, too. Maybe the Wave that gave the celeon sentience… Would that go away? Would the celeon revert? Would Windonhigh come crashing to the ground? What would happen on the other three continents I can’t see? They have magic there, too. Everywhere. Different magic, everywhere. All gone.

Because of me. My decision.

There’s a stretched-thin silence, like old worn skin over an older drum. One too-hard beat, and it will break—gape open into darkness.

“We need more information,” Fione says first. “We could be jumping to illogical conclusions without all the facts. Or even the majority of facts. Once we’re at the Black Archives I can translate more—we should wait to decide until then.”

“Sure, whatever.” Malachite puts his hands behind his head. “I’m leaving the thinking to the rest of you, honestly. Just keep in mind I’m team ‘don’t-let-the-valkerax-out.’”

I look over at Lucien, his face drawn tight. I can see the wheels of his brain working, quietly, swiftly. What would it mean to get rid of magic? What would it mean for Cavanos, for his kingdom?

What’s left of his kingdom?