“You may be a Primal,”—Holland’s attention shifted to him—“but you are not a Fate.” “Fate can go fuck itself,” Nyktos growled. His skin had thinned, revealing the swirling shadows underneath. “If only.” Holland’s smile was faint, clearly unbothered by the storm brewing within Nyktos. “Death always finds you, one way or another.” His focus had returned to me. “By the hands of a god or a misinformed mortal. By Kolis himself, and even by Death.”
