—HEAD, MY stomach, everything. Everything hurt after hearing Vadoma speak about the prophecy, after she bad-touched me and blew that fucking dust in my face at the knights’ training fields. I didn’t want to believe her. I didn’t want to believe anything she was saying.
But even when she’d first appeared in the hallway and sent me to stand before the Great White, to the gym where everything was frozen, and back out to the field where she showed me the death of Ryan, the destruction of Meridian City and the City of Lockes, I thought…. Well. Part of me still thought it was fake. I mean, it had to be, right? If it was, if she was full of shit, then I could go back to the way things were. Ryan and I were living our happily ever after. Gary and Kevin were living their grossly ever after. Tiggy was just… happy. My parents were healthy. The King was just and kind. The Prince was my best friend 5eva. Morgan was my mentor. Randall was… Randall.
But if it were real….
That meant everything I’d known before had been a lie.
That my life as it was now, everything that led to me being who I’d become, was built upon the untruth.
And I couldn’t have that. Because that would mean I could no longer trust a word that came from Morgan’s mouth. That I couldn’t believe anything Randall would tell me. And that was… unacceptable. I needed Morgan. I needed Randall. I needed them both to be real.
They were. They were real. They are.
But I couldn’t see it then. And there is part of me that still can’t see it now.
Because they did lie to me.
They let my parents suffer in the slums for years.
They pretended not to know who I was.
Maybe Morgan didn’t exactly follow what Vadoma wanted, maybe he did try and let me live the life I chose, but he still didn’t tell me about any of this. Granted, he shouldn’t have led with this from the very first day, but what about when he first gave me the Grimoire? What about when he named me Sam of Wilds? Why not when he knew about Ryan? Or when he first suspected how powerful he thinks I could be?
But then it was made all the worse that day in the dungeons, with Wan the Dark Hunter. How is it, after everything the Darks have done to me, that I can still find empathy with them? Maybe Wan wanted nothing more than to kill me. Maybe he was acting on behalf of Myrin, but he was my age. He chose a path for himself that led to his death. And I can’t help but feel that was partially my fault. Could I have done more to save him? I don’t know. But hearing Myrin speak through him, Wan’s skin stretching like the shadow man was in him, it changed… well. It changed everything.
What was it he’d said?
“Because there has never been anything like me before. Isn’t that right, little brother?”
Yes. That.
That changed everything. And I—
—LOOKED UP at Randall in surprise, having successfully dodged his latest attack. I was about to gloat, but then came the secondary attack, a column of ice shooting out from the wall, smashing into my shoulder, and knocking me to the side. I crashed onto the floor, skidding wetly until I came to rest on my back yet again.
“Should have seen that coming,” I groaned, blinking up at the ceiling. “Everything hurts. Pretty sure I’m dying a little bit.”
“You’re not dying,” Randall said drily. “Not yet.”
“So you admit to the possibility of me dying.”
“Everything dies, Sam.”
“Of course you can be philosophical. You’re not the one who just got ice-punched. Which, by the way, hurts like a motherfucker. Maybe we should take a break from Beat Up Sam Time and have some Let Sam Heal For a Little Bit Time.”
“That was all capitalized, wasn’t it?”
“Most of it.”
“You ready to talk yet?”
I pushed myself to my feet, maybe a little more slowly than I had before. “Are you?” I asked.
For once, he didn’t resume attacking me right away. If anything, he looked surprised. “About?”
“Why we’re here.”
He sighed. “I’ve told you why we’re here, Sam. It’s about control—”