Page 60 of The Illuminated
Tell me, young Lucius, about your new world.
From within the tornado of shadows, I saw Lucius lying very still.His eyes were white as snow, seeing beyond—beyond the version of himself that had died with his parents—the version that was too weak to save his mother, to stop his father, or to stand up to the cruel lords.
“The fortress is now a castle, and I am its King. The Order is dead, and all knowledge of the origin of my new power is dead along with it. I have been ordained by the high realms, the unknowable heavens that rule above all false gods. The old ways are nothing compared to my power, so no heretic may be powerful enough to seek revenge for my father’s deeds. My castle and I will remain untouched, and the new generation will overtake the old, and they will be allowed to fuck whoever they want and drink however much elixir they wish. They will finally be free. They will love their new King, for he will reward those who support his reign. They will believe the Kingdom is all there is and all there ever will be. The wars will be a distant memory, largely forgotten by the cities and the castle. And they will be remembered as a net good, as all have been conquered, freed from their ignorance and superstition by their just and wise King.”
Lucius rose from the altar and stared down at his hands as they flexed and unflexed, as if he were using his body for the first time.
Angelina’s palms were still raised face-up as she channeled, blood pouring from her nose as the unnaturalness of the act broke her body down from the inside out. She continued to speak to Lucius from inside his mind, unable to use her voice any longer.
And so a binding spell will wash over the land to alter history’s memory, so that you, the new King of Aradia, will be the sole source of truth, and eventually, the sole source of magick. This is our new world order. The heretics will soon fade like the myths of old. Your power will only grow, feeding from the atrocities of the war and new atrocities still to come. Finish the construction of the dungeons and fill them with your dissenters. Find all unconquered peoples who hide from your rule and blaspheme your name. For if you don’t, they will lead a rebellion against you. The shadows you cast will only fortify your power, so you must continue to cast them, lest you grow weak and open yourself up to a great fall.
Your father has records of a child, smuggled into the human realm by her heretic mothers. This girl is exalted as a savior among the heretic covens. You must destroy her before she tries to destroy you.
As he listened to Angelina’s voice, Lucius saw a blackened mist spread out over the land, melting away the life from the forest beyond the circle of flames. The trees grew sickly and shriveled, the earth scorched and barren. Like a shockwave it expanded, carrying with it the new reality Lucius envisioned—buried truths and fabrications, the deaths of the old and the love and adoration of the new, a blindness to history and suffering that goes on and on—pain that would strengthen Lucius with each scream and each death, pain he himself would never have to feel again. But also, pleasure. Pleasure so great and intoxicating that his subjects wanted for nothing, and they would never know the atrocities it had taken to build their reality.
Angelina’s body continued to disintegrate. Blood streamed from her nostrils and her mouth—which was frozen into a silent scream—down the front of her gown, and it pooled on the ground below.
It has been an honor to help you change the world, just how I knew I could since I was a girl. My weak, ignorant coven stifled my greatness for too long. Even the Order was unable to seize the opportunity I offered them. But you, young King—you have stepped into the hidden powers like no other witch before you, and it has made you an immortal fixture of the universe. Alas, the birth of this new magick requires my death. I will live on in the power that now courses through your veins, and you may seek me out for wisdom whenever you need it. Now rule. Do not entertain weakness. Live inside your painless strength for all of eternity.
Angelina fell, and the ground itself swallowed her up like she’d come from dirt and was always meant to return to dirt. The flames extinguished, leaving Lucius alone under the light of the full moon.
The first thing he did as King Lucius the All-Powerful was dig a grave and bury his mother.But he felt no pain, no grief. He felt nothing but an unrelenting itch to go to his new Kingdom, to harness more power, and to defend his reign by any means necessary.
Chapter19
Isat in the Akashic library in a stunned silence for several long minutes, acclimating to my newfound truth.
“The dungeons… they only make him stronger,” I whispered.
“All great suffering does, yes,” Dr. Bordo answered helpfully. She stood close to the television, facing me.
“He really was different. Before the ritual, I mean. I didn’t want to believe it. But I understand now. That magick erased everything good in him. Katherine thinks that if we can eradicate this unnatural shadow magick, there would still be a normal Lucius buried underneath.”
“But you don’t believe he’s savable?” Dr. Bordo asked.
“No. I don’t. Because we all have a shadow, don’t we? It’s part of us, even if we repress it. Everything he’s done has still been done byhim. He still chose to kill his own mother and channel that evil. He chose to become the worst version of himself and succumb to paranoia and greed to sustain his rule.”
“Perhaps,” Dr. Bordo murmured. “What does your shadow want, Áine?”
I frowned. I remembered how his power felt when it had coursed through my veins, like lightning and deliverance from all suffering and all weakness. I knew it wasn’t right; it wasn’tme, and yet I’d wanted more. I always wantedmore, when I was the worst version of myself. But never through pain. Never through mass suffering or exiling people from the land they’d inhabited for centuries.
I thought of the time I lost myself to the pleasure of my magick and elixir, when Lucius and I had spent the day together as if we were friends. In Clarice’s magick mirror I’d worn a dress made of shimmering gold and a crown to match, and if only for those fleeting hours, I was blissfully painless and elated. I’d felt like a goddess, especially after restoring the entire forest to its former glory.
Then I thought of the magnetism of Lucius’s energy that day I cut my own wrists, the only time I’d ever given in to its predatory pull. I’d done exactly what I was told, like I was caught in his undeniable riptide like Christine and his countless other lovers. The thought of it was enough to pull me out of my daze.
Why did it feel like I was the one on trial? Didn’t we both just watch the same horror film? Who cares what the worst version of myself wanted? This was about Angelina’s and Lucius’s evil. This was about what the best parts of all of us wanted—true freedom, community, love, and magick. A return to a peaceful realm, rich with tradition and beauty.
“I don’t know what my shadow wants,” I said finally.
“Might do you well to find out,” she said. She replaced the old video with a new one—from the key I didn’t remember receiving.
“The cities… they’re different now. A strange darkness has overtaken them, like the kind that plagues humans on Earth. They’re no longer filled with travelers, seekers, and curious youth, all sharing ideas, art, and culture or seeking new community. They’re filled with lost witches who have permanently settled there. Generations of them over the years. And they believe that covens like ours are deliberately hoarding power, even starving them of it. There’s a group that’s taken shape, seemingly from nowhere—and they call themselves the Order of the Shadow. They’re building an army.”
Jane and Celeste sat on white blankets on the shimmering sand, watching the High Priestess deliver her message. The air around the gathering of witches dressed in white was tense and fearful, as if the darkness from the cities had found its way to them already.
“An army?” Jane asked in disbelief. The others echoed her confusion.
Witches didn’t engage in the same wars as humans on Earth. Conflict was rare and contained, never en masse. There was no need for it. Peace had been carefully maintained for centuries through mutual reciprocity within and between covens, from the wonder of living in a world teeming with magick, from ancient wisdom and rich ties to the land and to each other. The witches felt a sense of duty to preserve this realm, especially as they watched what had become of the humans.
