Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

HANNA

When I was younger, I liked to think that if I was ever in any kind of emergency, I would turn into one of those people where others would say, “Wow, she was so calm and poised. She really kept her head.” Of course, I didn’t really have many emergencies back then, but it was tested when I thought I left my phone behind in an Uber. Turns out, I do not keep my cool when tested. I completely lose my shit.

Which was why, when I was able to harness the sun and swoop down onto the battlefield outside Castle Syntri and literally smite everyone like the fucking God I am, I actually felt like I was finally one of those people. I mean, I sent those bitches up in flames, and I did so without my pulse even quickening.

Cool as a cucumber.

Of course, that only happened because I didn’t really know who these people were or understand what they meant to me. Being a Goddess of the Sun means you’re a little too cool instead of hot. The irony.

Regardless, I wish I could have kept some of that fortitude, because even though I’m able to call upon my powers a tiny bit, like a glorified night light, I’m internally losing my shit.

The battlefield has become a place of darkness and howling winds, of screaming souls and clashing swords, and I am lost to the chaos, floating between fear and purpose. This eclipse brought on by an Old God presses at my senses, trying to smother the memory of sunlight. My father, Lovia, Tellervo—everyone is struggling blindly in the blackness. I feel my powers flicker inside me, waiting to be unleashed, yet doubt coils around it, yanking it back like a choke chain. I know what I should do, what I could do, but I would lose these people and who they are to me.

I watch as Tuoni drives his sword through a couple of skeletons and then slices at the darkness that is the moving eclipse. Fighting erupts from all around me, and I have no idea who is winning. I pick up a sword from the ground, wanting to rely more on it than my powers, and step back away from the front line, trying to figure out what to do next.

I stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Tapio, barely able to make him out in this suffocating darkness. I sense the Forest God more than see him—he smells of pine and damp leaves, a living fragment of these woods. He’s trying desperately to rally his domain, forcing green sparks from his fingertips, coaxing half-dead branches and wounded trees to fight back. But the eclipse overhead mocks him, the Old God twisting night and shadow into something that smothers all growth.

A skeleton lunges at him. Tapio cries out and parries with his wooden staff, snapping one undead limb, then another. He’s good, much better than I gave him credit for, but then a root lashes out from the darkness. Yggthra? It coils around his leg, biting into flesh. He gasps, horror coloring the sound, his eyes gleaming as he stares at me for help.

I feel the sun-gift flare inside me. If I unleash it, I might burn through this darkness—briefly. But what if I lose control and scorch my allies too? That would be even worse than losing any sense of my humanity.

The thought paralyzes me.

“Help!” Tapio’s voice scrapes the air. Panicked, I step forward and raise a trembling hand. I could fire a clean beam of sunlight, cutting the snare off him.

Do something! Anything! I yell at myself.

I hesitate, heart pounding, before I raise my sword and run at him. I start hacking away at the root, trying to slice it in half. I call for help, for someone to pull Tapio away while I try to get the monster to let him go.

Tapio cries out again, weaker, being dragged downward. Zelma’s eclipsing night thickens, shadowy shapes closing in. My muscles shake as I continue to hack away at the root, panicking, unsure of what else to do. A soldier runs over and grabs Tapio, holding on to him, but that soldier is dragged away too, heels carving ruts in the dirt.

“Father!” Tellervo yells, running toward him. Her palms are out, coaxing the forest to help, but only a few vines shoot up and wrap around his arms, not enough to make a difference. The rest of the forest is too weak and corrupted by the battle.

I force a spark of light onto my palm—I could free him.

The fear has me in a vice, but I know what I must do.

I raise my hand.

Too late.

In that instant, an Old God I’ve never seen before erupts from the dark—a looming silhouette of chitin and tendrils. It moves too fast. One dreadful slash, and Tapio’s scream cuts through me. A wet crack, a splatter—then silence. The Old God vanishes as swiftly as it appeared, leaving nothing but dripping gore and empty space where Tapio once stood.

I surge forward, grasping at nothing. Tears sting my eyes; I had the power to save him, but fear held me back. Now, he’s gone . He’s gone , torn apart in seconds.

“No,” I whisper, hands shaking. “No!”

But my useless words are swallowed by Tellervo’s awful scream as she collapses to her knees beside what remains of her father.

“Hold the line!” someone shouts nearby. Everything becomes a blur while my heart lurches in horror. My own father’s voice rises in strange syllables, and I glimpse faint glowworm lines of ward magic taking shape. Rasmus joins him, their chants blending. Together, they push back Zelma’s crushing shadows and Thaerix’s shrieking winds—not banishing them entirely, but carving out a bubble of safety. Soldiers stumble into this pale sanctuary, gasping with relief.

But the relief doesn’t reach me.

I stand at the edge, shaking, guilt clawing at my throat. Tapio is dead because I froze. The wards flicker around my father and Rasmus, my father barking orders, Lovia’s blade flashing, the Magician twisting galaxies beneath his hood. They all rally as best they can.

Ilmarinen appears, bloody and breathless, clutching the sampo. “I must try now! The ley line’s here!” he yells. My father, battered and grim, nods. Ilmarinen sets the sampo down, runes glinting, and I stand there, hollow, replaying Tapio’s death again and again. I can’t stop seeing it.

My father and Rasmus deepen their chant, straining to hold this fragile bubble of calm as the skeleton army hammers at the wards. Soldiers brace for another strike. The Magician mutters about fate. Lovia paces, staring down the enemy, blade at the ready.

A soft chime from the sampo cuts through the chaos. The ground trembles, energy racing up my legs as the sampo’s crystal core swirls with color, tapping into the ley line. The Old Gods sense it—Zelma’s shadows tremble, Thaerix’s vortex howls in panic, skeletons rattle forward. The wards waver.

“Hanna!” a voice cries out. I can’t tell who, but I know I’m needed. My fear still grips me, but I force out a faint glow of warmth, just a drop of sun. It fuses with the ward, holding back spears and clawing hands. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.

Ilmarinen works frantically. The ground cracks, ley energy sparking like fireflies. The Old Gods recoil; Zelma’s eclipse loosens, Thaerix’s winds falter, skeletons stumble.

For the first time, hope surges.

Then, the sampo’s glow flickers. Ilmarinen curses, adjusting the spheres. A crack appears in the crystal, and he tries to steady it, but it’s too late. The sampo vibrates, fractures webbing across its surface. “I can’t hold it!” he shouts, leaping back.

A flash of multicolored light blinds us, hurls us to the ground. I gasp for air. When my vision clears, I see skeletons collapsing into bone piles, Zelma’s darkness thinning, Thaerix’s vortex narrowing to nothing. The Old Gods, momentarily sealed away by the broken sampo’s surge, are sucked into the cracks, vanishing underground. Silence falls, broken only by ragged breathing.

We did it.

The sampo worked.

We survived.

But at what cost?

Tapio is gone. Too many soldiers have died. Despite working enough to disable the Old Gods, the sampo is shattered, leaving the ley line half-fixed, our victory incomplete. Ilmarinen kneels amidst crystal shards, trying to gather them with shaking fingers. Soldiers groan and wipe sweat from their brows, some of them waking up from the sleep Zelma put them in. My father and Rasmus, drained, lean on each other as the Magician stands apart, silent.

Did he see this all?

Did he know?

I push myself up, numb, limbs shaking. Tellervo’s anguished cries burn into my soul. She sees me, eyes blazing with accusation. “Hanna!” she sobs. “You could have saved him!”

My throat locks. I have no excuse. I’m not a Goddess—I’m a coward. My terror killed him as surely as that Old God’s claws. She turns away, cradling her father’s staff, hatred radiating from her every sob. The forest itself seems to cry along with her, branches shaking violently, leaves and needles falling to the ground like tears.

I drop to the cold ground and fold inward, hugging my knees, tears sliding silently down my face. I’m the Goddess of both the sun and death—and I failed. I had one chance to save Tapio, and I froze, choking on fear. Now, he’s gone, and I’ve lost more than an ally. I’ve lost trust, confidence, and perhaps the right to call myself their savior.

Tuoni comes to my side, hauling me up to my feet and putting his arms around me. He holds me tight, telling me it wasn’t my fault, that I did the best I could, but I don’t believe a word he says. I’m not sure he believes it either.

As the camp tends to wounds and grieves, I remain hollow and ashamed. The Old Gods retreated for now, but there will be others in our future. The path to Shadow’s End remains perilous, the ley lines broken, my courage and conviction beyond shattered.

I don’t know how to face them—or myself.

In the silence that follows, I weep into my husband’s arms, holding my guilt close, like pressing on a wound that won’t stop bleeding.