THE LAST DAWN
Chapter 13: The Weight of Choice
The room was silent.
Morwen stood before Rowan, her silver eyes fixed on his face, her dark hair floating in a wind that did not exist. Her hands were silver, her skin was pale, her lips were parted as if she were about to speak. But no words came. Only the hunger. Only the memory. Only the grief.
Rowan looked at the door.
At the darkness beyond.
At the end.
“Become the hunger,” he said. “That’s what the Council wants. That’s what Morwen wants. That’s what the hunger wants.”
“No,” Morwen said.
He turned.
“The hunger wants to be fed. The Council wants to be saved. I want to be free.”
“Free from what?”
She looked at her hands.
At the silver skin.
At the endless hunger.
“From this. From the Citadel. From the hunger. From the end.”
“How do I free you?”
Morwen stepped closer.
Her bare feet made no sound.
“You take my place. You become the hunger. You feed the end.”
“That’s not freedom. That’s sacrifice.”
She smiled.
It was a sad smile, small and tired and full of years.
“Sacrifice is freedom. Freedom is sacrifice. They are the same.”
Rowan looked at the door.
At the darkness.
At the hunger.
“The Council said the trials would prove I’m worthy.”
“The trials are not to prove worth. The trials are to break you.”
“Break me?”
Morwen nodded.
“Break your will. Break your hope. Break your heart. So that you are empty enough to hold the hunger.”
Rowan’s blood went cold.
“The Council wants me empty.”
“The Council wants you hollow. A vessel. A shell. A sacrifice.”
“And you?”
Morwen’s silver eyes were wet.
“I want you to choose.”
“Choose what?”
She took his hands.
Her fingers were cold.
“Choose to live. Or choose to die. Choose to become the hunger. Or choose to become the end.”
“There’s no difference.”
“There is always a difference. The hunger consumes. The end releases.”
“Releases what?”
Morwen looked at the door.
At the darkness.
At the nothing.
“The world. The hunger. The pain.”