The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

by Carissa Broadbent

I had walked the path to divinity; I had walked the path to death. And yet, here, in her presence, I was overwhelmed. Here, in her presence, I knew worship.

“Mische,” I whispered. A prayer.

At last, Acaeja said, “Very rarely, there are souls that, no matter the thread, become the continuation of each other’s tales. Perhaps Mische Iliae meets you in the Shadowborn castle. Perhaps she meets you in the underworld. Perhaps she meets you upon the battlefield of a divine war. Perhaps she meets you by chance in a library, or a garden, or a city street.” In her wings, countless different lives blossomed—countless different versions of myself, and different versions of Mische, our threads intertwining.

I held Mische close. “Thank you, goddess,” I said, bowing my head. Acaeja stared blankly at me. “It is no kindness. Our interests align. One must be pragmatic in such times. Fate is forged, after all.” And with that, she was gone.