The Conjuration Wizard

After three days the summit finally concluded.

Those three days had been nothing but lip service. Each ruler tried to squeeze just a little bit more out of deals prior made, and very little was actually done to improve much of anything really. There was very little for me to do during the proceedings besides sit next to Luna and look confident. Which was an easy thing to do, given my scarred face. I just had to sit, scowl occasionally, and sneak a squeeze of Luna’s hoof when no one was looking.

Chrysalis had vanished into her chambers after our last conversation in the summit meeting room and hadn’t emerged since. She claimed it was to remain nearby in case I required assistance with my efforts to feed her hive, but we both knew that was nothing more than a weak excuse. Accessibility was never an issue, I could reach her at her hive in seconds with a casting of Greater Teleport.

So why stay here with those she despised?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. A part of me itched to ask, but an even larger part hoped she’d keep her distance forever. If she wanted to shut herself away, I had no reason to stop her. That was fine by me. The less I had to acknowledge her existence, the better.

At her command, her honor guard had left Canterlot, and returned to the hive without her.

Now, with the summit over, and Chrysalis’ honor guard long gone, only two outsiders remained — Chrysalis and Thorax.

A single candle gave light through the castle library, casting long shadows against the towering bookshelves. The scent of old parchment and ink hung in the air, welcoming me like an old friend as I flipped through yet another alchemical tome from Farasi — a parting gift from Prince Abraxas himself. Since the summit’s conclusion, I had scoured these texts relentlessly, chasing the faintest whisper of an answer. Something. Anything. A foundation upon which synthetic love could stand.

At the far side of the room, Thorax sat cross-legged on the floor as he watched Mira bounce around him like an overexcited puppy. She still wore the Teashades of Night, the oversized lenses slipping down her snout as she giggled. Thorax, to his credit, endured her antics with a good-natured patience, though I could see the occasional twitch of his wings — a clear indicator that his instincts were telling him to flee.

“Again, again!” Mira chirped, hopping onto his back and holding onto his neck like a tiny, bat-winged barnacle.

Thorax sighed but complied, standing up and giving a slow, exaggerated spin in-place. Mira squealed in delight. “One more time, Mira, then I really have to help Sebastian.”

I smirked, barely glancing up from the text in front of me. “Don’t let me stop you. I’m sure your input on changeling biology is far less important than entertaining my little apprentice.”

Thorax shot me a flat look but said nothing as he completed another lazy spin before gently setting Mira down. She huffed, clearly unsatisfied, but plopped down beside him with a pout.

Turning my attention back to the tome before me, I frowned. The idea of a potion seemed like a viable one at first. If love was an energy that could be harvested, perhaps it could also be distilled, concentrated into a form that changelings could consume like a tonic.

But the more I thought about it, the more problems I saw.

First, the ingredients — what would I even use? Any components that carried emotional resonance would need to be carefully monitored to ensure purity, and where would I even find such a steady supply? Love wasn’t something that could simply be plucked off a shelf after all.

Second, someone would have to brew the potions. It would require precision and consistency — something I could not entrust to just anyone. Not to mention the logistics of distribution. Who would oversee it? Who would ensure the potions weren’t tampered with? The potential for sabotage was simply too high.

Third, cost. Equestria was not in need of funds by any stretch of the imagination, but to supply the changelings with synthetic love via potions would dwarf any price tag that any nation on Equis has paid in recent memory by multiple factors. That price would be to start the mass production of synthetic love potions, to keep said production going indefinitely would likely bankrupt Equestria in a few decades, likely sooner.

I exhaled and pinched the bridge of my nose with my silversheen fingers. No, this simply wasn’t sustainable.

“Hit a wall?” Thorax asked, his voice breaking through my thoughts.

I nodded. “Potions won’t work. Too many variables, too much room for error, too expensive. We need something self-sustaining that won’t bankrupt Equestria.”

Thorax drummed a hoof against his chin. “Love isn’t something you can just easily bottle up, you know. It’s not a material thing — it’s felt, shared. That’s why Chrysalis does more than just collect it. A queen circulates it, feeding the hive through herself..”

That fact hadn’t changed. The hive still needed love to survive, and Chrysalis played a key role in it. Thorax had explained when we first started on this search for synthetic love that changeling queens are biologically attuned for the distribution of love. I clenched my jaw. I wanted to circumvent her entirely, to render her obsolete in this regard, but without her, it would take me far longer to figure out an alternative solution.

That was a problem.

The hive’s survival still depended on love, and Chrysalis was central to its flow. When we began this endeavor, Thorax had explained that changeling queens were biologically tuned for this process — natural conduits for the emotion that sustained their kind. I ground my teeth. My desire had been to cut her out entirely, to make her unnecessary. But as the hours dragged on, the truth pressed down on me — I might not be able to do this alone. If time weren’t an issue, I knew I could uncover a solution without her. But time was an issue, and I was running out of it.

Time was not a luxury that we have. The hive’s existence hung upon whether or not I could provide them with food. Without it they would continue to starve, they would continue to die.

My gaze turned to Mira, who was now sprawled across the floor, drawing nonsense shapes in the air with Prestidigitation. Then, an idea began to form — something that didn’t require constant brewing, monitoring, the risk of outside interference, the inevitability of an economic collapse, or Chrysalis.

The Crystal Heart.

Not the real thing, of course. But something similar — something that could radiate synthetic love, drawing from memories and magic instead of true love.

I leaned back in my chair, my mind already piecing together the spellwork. The Share Memory spell could provide the initial emotional imprint, and Intensify Psyche would amplify the imprint, making it something tangible. Originally I was planning to incorporate the spells into the potion making process, but if I could weave those spells together into an artifact instead…

Thorax tilted his head. “You’re thinking about something.”

I met his gaze and smirked. “I think I just figured it out.”

_~_~_~_~_~_~_

That was a lie. I had figured out absolutely nothing.

As it turned out, distilling memories into a single pure emotion, and trying to implant said emotion into a vessel to be food for an entire species was far more complicated than I had anticipated.

The process started with modifying Share Memory to isolate only the emotional imprint, severing it from context and detail. That alone took me a few days of tinkering and spellcraft. Then, with Intensify Psyche, I could amplify the extracted emotion, ensuring it was strong enough to be used. That part, at least, was easy.

Then came the real challenge: containment. The vessel needed to be resilient, something that could endure the passing of time and sustain the strain of an entire hive feeding from it. But no matter what I crafted, each attempt failed. The first shattered under the weight of the spellwork itself, unable to handle the strain. The next two failed upon activation, and unraveled into useless fragments.

It was frustrating.

No other magical item had ever resisted me like this. Complex? Certainly. My Belt of Physical Perfection and Laurel of Vision had taken many weeks of meticulous labor to reach the point that they’re at now, but I had never once doubted that I could complete them. This? This had me questioning myself.

When the third vessel crumbled to useless fragments of silver and gold, my patience was nearing the breaking point.

I exhaled sharply, scraping the ruined remains of my latest failure off the table. Fine motes of silver and gold dust caught in the candlelight as it formed into a loose pile on the floor, evidence of another wasted attempt. Mira watched from the floor, her ears twitching in silent understanding, but she remained focused on Thorax, keeping him entertained as best she could. She knew what was happening to him, and his siblings. She never once asked, but I could tell she knew.

Thorax was laughing — an exhausted, thin kind of laughter — while Mira animated little floating lights in the shape of tiny creatures. They danced in the air, mimicking his movements as he flicked a hoof through one. He looked tired.

No. Not just tired.

Hollow. Hungry.

His chitin was far duller than it had been when he first arrived, and his ribs were beginning to show beneath the plates of his chitin. The hunger was eating him, same as it was eating his hive. I had told him to feed on me when he needed to, but he refused. He was adamant to never feed on another living being again. To be honest, I was glad that he refused. The thought of being fed upon again was unthinkable, but the thought of losing another friend was worse.

Time was running out.

We needed this to work.

But it wasn’t working.

My mind cycled through every possible alternative, trying to find an answer that didn’t lead back to Chrysalis. A different spell maybe? A different material perhaps? If I could replicate the exact properties of the Crystal Heart—

No.

The Crystal Heart functioned as it does because of Cadance’s bloodline. It had been created with magic that directly tied it to her very being. That was why no one else could use it the way she could. That was why it worked.

And that was why my Synthetic Heart wasn’t working.

It needed an anchor. A connection to the changelings strong enough to make it more than just an average magical item. More than just a simple repository of emotions.

It needed to be attuned to a queen.

My silversheen fingers curled against the table’s edge, while my flesh hand tightened until my knuckles ached. I had spent all this time trying to circumvent Chrysalis, trying to craft a solution that didn’t involve her. But in the end, all roads led back to her.

If I wanted this to work — if I wanted Thorax and his hive to survive, if I wanted the face of the youngling to leave my mind's eye — then I would have to face the one creature I never wanted to see again.

I would have to speak with Chrysalis.

I exhaled slowly, forcing the tension from my shoulders as I turned away from the wreckage pile of another failed experiment. The remains of silver and gold glinted under the candlelight, mocking me.

Another wasted effort. Another dead end. Another physical manifestation of time squandered.

Thorax and Mira were still occupied, her little floating lights weaving in playful loops around his hooves. He wasn’t laughing anymore, though. He was watching me, his tired, sunken eyes filled with a quiet understanding that made my stomach twist.

He knew where I needed to go. He knew what would happen if I didn’t. He looked ready to accept either choice.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.

Thorax’s ears flicked, his gaze shifting toward the door. “I’ll take Mira back to her room,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “She’s had a long night.”

Mira huffed and pushed the teashades further up her snoot. “But I’m not tired, and it’s still early in the night!”

Thorax gave her a look.

“…Fine,” she muttered, her wings drooping slightly as she extinguished her floating lights. She glanced at me, her fangs pressing into her lower lip. “Are you gonna be okay?”

I flexed my silver fingers, and flashed her a smile filled with a level of confidence that I did not feel. “I’ll be fine, Mira.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue. Thorax nudged her toward the door, leading her out of the room. The door shut behind them with a quiet click, leaving me alone with candlelight and my failure.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, then exhaled sharply and left the castle library.

The castle was quiet.

Most of the guests had left after the summit, leaving only the guards and staff to inhabit the empty halls. The vast corridors stretched before me, their emptiness made more pronounced by the flickering glow of wall-mounted sconces. My footsteps were quiet against the polished stone, but even that slight noise seemed to intrude upon the stillness.

I took my time.

I didn’t want to do this. Every step felt heavier than the last, my instincts urging me to turn back, to walk away. My skin felt tight, stretched over too much tension. My pulse thrummed, too loud, too fast. Being near Chrysalis had always been unpleasant, but now? Now, it was unbearable.

But there was no other choice.

What would become of Thorax, his hive, and the youngling haunted me, leaving me with no alternative.

As I neared her guest quarters, I slowed. The hallway was empty now. The blackened wood of her door stood alone against the pale marble walls, an unwelcome landmark at the end of my path. The changeling guards who should have stood vigil here were gone, sent away with the rest of her honor guard.

She was alone.

Good.

I didn’t want an audience for this.

I took another step — then stopped.

A sound drifted through the heavy wood door.

Faint. Muffled. Unmistakable.

Crying.

I stood there, listening.

It wasn’t the guttural, rage-filled kind of someone furious at the world. It wasn’t the exaggerated, performative wailing of a manipulator seeking pity.

It was quiet. Raw. Fractured.

The kind of crying one does when they believe no one is listening.

I lingered, caught in hesitation, simply listening. I should leave, give her time, return later when she had composed herself. But would she? And how many more changelings would die while I waited for her to pull herself together? How many lives would be lost because I hesitated again?

A shuddering sob slipped past the door, and my frown deepened.

Gods, I hated when people cried.

Slowly, I moved forward.

I raised my left hand and rapped my knuckles against the door.

No response.

I knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing.

I exhaled through my nose, forcing down the unease curling in my stomach. My heart was already hammering from just being here, my pulse quickening with every second I lingered in this hallway. Every instinct screamed at me to leave, to put as much distance as possible between myself and whatever had shattered Chrysalis’ carefully cultivated mask.

But I stayed. They needed me to stay.

Gritting my teeth, I called out, “Chrysalis.”

Nothing.

The crying didn’t even hitch. No sharp intake of breath, no sudden silence. Either she hadn’t heard me, or she was too far gone to care.

My silver fingers twitched at my side, instincts urging me to turn away. This wasn’t my problem. This wasn’t my concern. I had done what I came to do — I had offered her the chance to engage, and she had ignored it. That should be enough.

But it wasn’t.

Because I knew the truth now.

I had seen the hollow faces of her hive, the illusion of strength she clung to like a lifeline, the way she had gone nearly catatonic the moment the status of her children had been laid bare before me. She wasn’t ignoring me out of spite. She wasn’t ignoring me out of arrogance.

She was breaking.

But, I needed her whole. They needed her whole.

I exhaled sharply through my nose and reached for the doorknob.

It turned easily.

Unlocked.

I frowned. I had expected it to be locked. For all her arrogance, Chrysalis wasn’t careless. She wasn’t the kind of creature who left herself vulnerable — not willingly. So why…?

The door swung inward without a sound.

The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains. The air was thick, stale, like she hadn’t moved since she initially locked herself away.

Then I saw her.

She was on the bed, curled in on herself, her form barely more than a shadow against the silk sheets. Her long, tattered mane spilled over the pillows in a tangled mess, its usual gleaming green dulled in the dim light. Her singular wing trembled with each breath, the thin membrane shuddering as another sob wracked her.

She didn’t notice me.

Didn’t hear me.

Didn’t care.

Chrysalis, Queen of the Changelings, terror of Canterlot, was crumbling.

And for the first time in my life, I could not see her as a monster, but as something far more dangerous.

A mother on the verge of losing everything.

I stood in the doorway, watching the one I hated most in this world as she wept.

I didn’t know what to do.

I had come here expecting resistance — barbed words, bitter laughter, the same venomous mockery she always used. But this? This was something else entirely. There was no fire left in her, no sharp-edged arrogance. Just a broken thing drowning in silence.

The sight unsettled me far more than her spite ever had.

I should leave. That thought pressed against the back of my mind, persistent, logical. I had done my part. I had come here, I had knocked, I had spoken. I had no obligation to stay.

And yet… I stayed. The Geas subjugated her to me, and Thorax, the youngling, and the rest of her hive needed us to find a means to feed them. Leaving would mean more would die.

I took a slow step forward, then another, barely registering the sound of the door clicking shut behind me. The room felt too still, too suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in. Chrysalis’ sobs had quieted, but she hadn’t noticed me. Not yet.

I approached the bed cautiously, stopping just short of where she lay curled in on herself. Up close, I could see the way her body shook, the way her hooves clutched at the silk sheets as though holding herself together by force alone.

Her mane spilled over her face, obscuring most of her expression, but I didn’t need to see it. I had seen it before, in Luna’s lowest moments.

Pain like this wasn’t foreign to me.

It was different, yes. Luna’s sorrow had been weighed down by guilt, by a millennia of isolation and regret. Chrysalis’ was something else entirely.

Desperation.

Shame.

Fear.

A mother about to lose her children.

I let out a slow breath, my flesh fingers curling at my side. I still didn’t know what the hell I was doing here, what I was supposed to say. But I had made my choice the moment I stepped through that door.

I moved closer, sitting down beside her on the bed.

She didn’t react.

For a moment, I hesitated. My flesh hand hovered just above her, uncertain. This was a mistake. It had to be. I wasn’t the kind of person who did this. I wasn’t built for comfort, for warmth.

But I had done it before.

For Luna.

For Meridin.

For Citrine Dream.

And, begrudgingly, I forced myself to do it again.

I laid my hand on her shoulder.

Her chitin was smooth beneath my fingers, trembling ever so slightly beneath my touch. She still didn’t react.

She just kept crying.

I sat there for a long, weighted moment, my left hand still resting on her trembling shoulder. The silence stretched between us, punctuated only by the soft, shuddering sounds of her grief. My mind raced — memories of Aldin’s final moments, flashes of that cruel, twisted day, and the cold, unyielding reality of my own death. Each memory was a shard of glass, jagged and painful, slicing through the thin veneer of resolve I had clung to since that fateful day.

It was almost laughable — me, the one who had once clung so desperately to strength, now sitting here, struggling to offer comfort to the one who had caused so much destruction in my life. Chrysalis lay there, wordless, and despite everything, I felt the familiar pull of guilt. I had reached for Luna when her shadows threatened to consume her — offered her the comfort she hadn’t dared to ask for. But now, with Chrysalis before me, I hesitated.

Could I offer that again? Did I have the right?

But the hunger of her children, and the silent stare of the youngling had bound me to her in this tangled web of magic and sorrow that left me no choice. I could not simply walk away, not when there was so much at stake — lives, memories, and the fragile hope that something, however synthetic, could replace the love that was so desperately needed to stave off their starvation.

I cleared my throat softly, an awkward sound that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet room. I tried to recall the words I might say — something that might bridge the gulf between her despair and the possibility of hope. But every thought was quickly consumed by a paralyzing hesitation. I was no stranger to brokenness, but comforting someone like Chrysalis was something new, something I could never have prepared for.

Slowly, I leaned forward a fraction, my remaining eye fixed on the delicate, unguarded contours of her face. I could see the glistening trails of tears, the way her once-proud posture had crumbled into a paragon of utter surrender.

“What—” I began, my voice wavering with uncertainty. I hesitated, then let my left hand rest there a moment longer, feeling the cold hardness beneath my palm. I was acutely aware of every sensation — of the chill that came from her isolation, of the tender, almost fragile warmth beneath her sorrow. My mind reeled back to the nights I had spent with Luna, offering little more than my presence and my love, hoping it might somehow be enough.

A part of me rebelled against the intimacy of this moment. Every instinct screamed for me to retreat, to bury myself in the familiar armor of indifference and disdain. Yet something deeper, something that connected me to the ideals of redemption, urged me to stay.

I cleared my throat again and finally spoke, my voice quiet even in the silence. “Chrysalis… I—” My words trailed off, swallowed by the weight of our history.

For several long seconds, I said nothing, letting the silence wrap around us. I could practically feel the tension in the air, a storm of emotions I wasn’t sure I could weather. I thought about the lives hanging in the balance, the starving hive that depended on something I couldn’t provide without her. I thought about Aldin and how his death still echoed painfully in my damaged soul. I thought about Luna, whose memory was both my anchor and my wound. And through it all, I realized that my own suffering — my fears, my regrets, my paranoia — had brought me here, to this precarious intersection of hope and despair.

I took another deep breath, the cool air filling my lungs, trying to steady myself. “I know you’re hurting,” I said softly, unsure if my words could ever be enough. “I know… I know you’re hurting.” I repeated the words like a mantra, hoping that they might somehow begin to fill the void of desolation that lay between us.

Still, she lay motionless, lost in her own grief, her breathing ragged. I shifted closer, and reminded myself of the harsh reality that we couldn’t simply wish such darkness away. I placed my hand a bit lower, in a tentative gesture of comfort, recalling all those times I had offered solace to those who had no one.

I wasn’t sure if she would ever understand that I was here not as an enemy, not as the one who had cut off her wing and subjected her to the Geas, but as someone who had seen the depths of despair and still clung to a spark of hope. A part of me trembled at the thought that she might never forgive or even understand my presence here, that all of this might be for nothing and I might one day have to kill her.

And then, Chrysalis stirred.

Her sobs subsided, and her head lifted slightly, eyes red-rimmed and unfocused as they took in the figure sitting beside her. Her gaze finally met mine, and for a moment, I saw the tumult of emotions reflected there — pain, confusion, and the faint glimmer of something else.

“Why… why are you here?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and guarded curiosity.

I swallowed hard, the weight of the question pressing against the stillness. I hesitated, unsure of how to answer, caught between the compulsion to flee and the desire to save those who have no one.

I inhaled slowly, gathering my thoughts, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Because I need your help.”

Chrysalis blinked at me. She looked as if I had struck her, as if the very idea of those words coming from my mouth was impossible.

A bitter laugh forced its way past her lips. “My help?” she echoed, voice hoarse. “You—” She sucked in a sharp breath, as though trying to hold herself together. “You, of all creatures, need my help?”

My silversheen hand curled into a fist, but I didn’t let the reaction show beyond that. “Yes.”

She turned her face away, her tangled mane obscuring a portion of her face. “Then you really must be desperate.”

“I am.” I let the admission settle between us. There was no use pretending otherwise.

Chrysalis let out a slow, shuddering exhale, but she didn’t say anything. The silence stretched between us, thick with everything unspoken — hatred, regret, necessity.

I shifted my position, letting my left hand fall from her shoulder to rest on my knee as I leaned forward. “The Synthetic Heart isn’t working,” I continued, knowing very well that she had no idea what a ‘Synthetic Heart’ even is. “It has everything it needs — magic, stability, love — but it isn’t connected to the hive. It’s nothing more than a vessel for emotions. It needs something real to attune to. It needs…” My throat tightened around the words. “It needs you.”

Her shoulders trembled, but she didn’t move. “You want me to help you craft a mockery?” she whispered, her voice barely holding together. “A soulless imitation of what we need to survive?”

I clenched my jaw. “It’s the only way to stop them from starving.”

She let out another bitter laugh, though there was little humor in it. “And what if I refuse?”

I studied her carefully, watching the way she curled into herself, how her hooves clutched at the blankets around her. The cracks in the mask she wore were a mile wide now — the fear, the exhaustion, the self-loathing — were all easily visible to me. And now that I had seen those cracks, the mask would never fool me again.

“I don’t think you will.”

Chrysalis tensed.

I let my words settle before I continued. “Because I saw them. I saw what’s happening to them.” My breath was steady, but my heartbeat wasn’t. “And I know you did, too.”

Her breathing hitched.

“You can lie to yourself all you want,” I pressed. “Pretend that this is about pride. Pretend that you’re still the same queen who tried to conquer Canterlot and Equestria, who convinced herself she was invincible. But I know what I saw.”

Finally, she turned to face me, her slit-pupiled eyes filled with something raw.

“I know what it’s like to lose family, Chrysalis,” I murmured. “And I know what it’s like to live with that. You don’t want to lose them. You don’t want this.”

She inhaled sharply, the sound almost wounded. “You—” Her voice wavered. “You think I don’t know that? That I haven’t thought about it every waking second?” Her hooves shook. “Do you think I want to watch my children wither away? Do you think I want them to look at me like I’m the reason they’re dying?”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

I didn’t move. I just watched her, letting the storm inside her rage.

Her breathing was uneven, ragged, but she didn’t lash out. She just sat there, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven motions, caught between fury and despair.

And then, in the quiet that followed, I asked, “Why did you leave your door unlocked?”

The moment the words left my lips, I saw something flicker in her expression.

Something I didn’t understand.

Chrysalis froze. Whatever storm had been raging behind her eyes went deathly still, like the moment before a structure collapses in on itself. She turned away, staring at nothing, her hooves gripping the blankets with a strength that belied the exhaustion weighing her down.

Seconds passed. Too many.

Then, in a voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear it, she said, “Because I thought you would come to kill me.”

The words sank into my mind like a dagger. I blinked, unsure if I had misheard. “What?”

Chrysalis exhaled, a bitter, fractured sound. “That’s what you and the moon princess want, isn’t it?” The bitterness in her tone did nothing to mask the hollow certainty beneath it. “I knew the moment you found a way to sustain my hive without me, you’d have no reason to let me live. No reason to suffer my existence.” A mirthless chuckle scraped from her throat. “And you’d be right.”

A slow dread settled in my chest, but I kept my silence.

She shifted, pulling the blankets closer as if they could shield her from the truth. “I failed them,” she whispered. “I let them starve. So many are already... I—” Her voice faltered, something fragile breaking beneath it. “If I had been stronger… if I had been wiser… if I hadn’t been so stupid—” She cut herself off, her words catching in her throat.

Still, I said nothing.

Her remaining wing trembled against her sides, something previously unthinkable from someone that had once carried herself like a queen above all others. “You’ve seen them,” she forced out, each word scraping out like a confession torn from her soul. “You know what I’ve done to them. How I let them suffer because I was too proud, too blind—” Her voice cracked. “They shouldn’t have to look at me anymore. They shouldn’t have to see the thing that failed them.”

Her jaw clenched, fangs pressing together hard enough that I could hear it. “I left my door unlocked,” she admitted, voice void of anything but quiet resignation. “Because I wanted you to do what I cannot.”

The confession pressed down like a stone in my chest. I studied her — the way she curled inward, the way the once-imposing figure before me had shrunk into something that barely resembled the creature I had fought, hated, feared.

She wasn’t lying.

She had wanted me to end this, to kill her.

The realization curdled something in my stomach. It wasn’t just that she thought I would do it. It was that she had wanted me to. That she had expected me to.

I thought of Luna, of the nights she sat with me beneath her moon, when the world felt smaller and safer. The whispered truths we shared, so fragile yet so unbreakable. That the past was not a cage. That even those who saw themselves as monsters could choose another path.

I thought of Aldin. His snark. His unwavering loyalty. His final moments, stolen by the same creature curled before me now. Would he forgive her? Could he? I recalled our final moment together in Pharasma’s court — he had already moved on.

I thought of Thorax and his siblings, starving and desperate for a future that teetered on the edge of a blade.

I thought of Nocticula, a being once consumed by evil, now walking the long road of redemption. If even she could claw her way out of the Abyss, defy her succubine nature, and seek redemption…

I thought of myself. The scars I carried. The pieces of me that would never grow back, that would never heal. The ghosts that followed my every step.

And then, finally, I thought of Chrysalis.

Of the choices that had brought her to this moment, each one a wound, each one a bleeding consequence. Of the pain she had suffered, the pain she had inflicted. Of the weight of ruling she carried, a jagged crown of her own making, pressing ever deeper into flesh and chitin.

I inhaled slowly.

“No.”

Chrysalis flinched as if struck, her head snapping toward me. Her expression twisted — shock, anger, disbelief. As if she hadn’t once considered the possibility that I might refuse.

“I’m not going to kill you,” I said.

Her lips curled, her voice a sharp, bitter thing. “Why not?”

I met her gaze, steady and unwavering. “Because, after everything that’s happened, I understand why you did it.”

She tensed, but I saw it — the flicker of something behind her eyes, something uncertain

“You’ve left wounds on me that will never truly heal,” I continued, my voice steady despite the rawness of the truth. “You took things I can never get back. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hate you for it.”

Chrysalis remained still, but the tremor in her hooves betrayed her. A silent readiness, as if she expected the worst — that I would extend my Wizard’s Arm, let Decay take hold, and let Decay consume her without a word. Not long ago, she would have been right to assume that. Before the summit, I wouldn’t have stopped myself.

“But,” I continued, my tone softening, “you didn’t do it for yourself. You did it for them. And maybe… maybe that means there’s still something left in you worth saving.”

Her expression was unreadable, but she didn’t look away.

I didn’t either.

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. Chrysalis didn’t move, didn’t breathe — not in any way I could see. Her slit-pupiled eyes searched mine, looking for the lie, the trick, the hidden dagger waiting to strike. But I gave her nothing. Only the truth.

I had meant every word.

I wasn’t here to kill her.

Her lips curled, but the usual bite was missing. “You’re a fool.”

I let out a breath as I nodded. “Yeah. Turns out dying isn’t much of a cure for that.”

Another beat of silence. Then, finally, I repeated my earlier request, “Will you help me complete the Synthetic Heart?”

She stared at me as if I’d spoken in a language she didn’t understand. Her shoulders rose, her exhale slow and drawn out. “You’re asking me to help you make something that renders me irrelevant.”

“No. I’m asking you to help me create something that will ensure that your children never go hungry again.” I lifted a silver finger, pointing at her. “And you won’t be irrelevant, Chrysalis. The Synthetic Heart isn’t a replacement for you — it needs you. Without you, it won’t even work. I can’t even make the damned thing work without your help.”

Something shifted in her expression, too fast and too subtle for me to name. She inhaled sharply through her fangs, and turned her head away. The blankets pulled tighter around her, her remaining wing pressing tight against her side. I didn’t rush her.

Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet but clear. “Fine. I’ll help you.”

I should have felt relief. Maybe even satisfaction. But all I felt was a quiet sort of exhaustion settling deep into my bones.

Chrysalis exhaled, straightening slightly. “Give me a few minutes,” she muttered, her voice scraping at the edges of something I couldn’t quite name. “I need to make myself ready.”

I nodded once and stood. She didn’t watch me go. I stepped toward the door, my footfalls steady against the cold stone, and let myself out without another word.

As the door shut behind me, the dim hallway stretched before me, empty and quiet at this hour. My body felt too tight, too restless, my pulse a steady hum of tension beneath my skin.

I started walking.

Back to the library. Back to the work that would change everything.