The waters lifted into the air until the ground beneath was bone dry—no moisture left on leaf or twig. Rubble from the burst dam tumbled down the hill and settled in piles. Coralythe cowered behind Luuk. People out in the garden gazed toward the sky. Waiting. Waiting to drown once the waters crashed back to earth. Waiting to die when one or the other came out victorious and poured its wrath upon the unfaithful.

The world stilled like a held breath.

Then the sky beast burst like a star shot with an arrow. Green mist detonated outward. It covered the sky like an enchanted wall of morning fog. And then it descended. Slowly but swift enough that none could escape it.

Screams rent the air and people fled. But there was nowhere to go. I was not afraid. I released Bastiaan and stood, face toward the sky. It was unclear which well the mist came from. But I did not fear the Nightwell, and I did not believe the Well of Talents could be defeated.

The mist met the earth, and bursts of purple and silver-white popped around us as Talent and Bane alighted upon every person.

No change came over me. I already had both. But around me I saw the crackle of Talent Marks finding their homes on the skin of surprised militairen.

A great wind blew the hair away from my face and struck me so hard, my clothes were nearly dry by the time it passed. I spun to see the mist sweeping over the land, back toward Fairhoven.

There was no more water. No more Well.

The Well of Talents hadn’t entered the fray to defeat the Nightwell; it entered the fray to finally give people the ability to choose between Talent and Bane.

No one would be a slave to their Bane or to their king unless they chose to be.

Everyone watched the departure of the mist as one. It was a slow movement, pushed by the wind, but no man or animal or Talent or Bane could stop it now. It traveled away from the kleinschloss, stretching until there was no end.

Traveling to all the lands.

I did that . . . with my final wish. I made it possible—the Well of Talents and me joining together as we should have from the beginning. I could have made that same wish years ago from the comfort of my home—brought Talents to Fairhoven. To the world.

But there was no use lamenting passed time. Only learning from it. Growing from it.

Now my Wishtress Talent was gone. I could feel it. The Well still resided in me, but my tears were just tears. The Wishtress was gone until men inevitably tried to take control of the Well again.

When that happened, a new Wishtress would rise up. And this time, I’d make sure she was prepared. It was time a Wishtress shared her full story in that journal from Oma.