He's beautiful in the way an avalanche is beautiful: white, inevitable, and absolutely destructive. His form is translucent crystal shaped into something almost human, and when he smiles, light refracts through him in rainbow patterns that hurt to perceive.
"My apologies for the interruption," he says, voice like wind through ice caves. "But when I felt the bond strengthening, I simply had to visit."
Yorika scrambles off the bed, reaching for her knife. I catch her wrist.
"Don't," I warn. "He's not."
The door explodes inward. Mikaere charges through, all four arms raised, already moving to shield us. But the Collector just laughs.
"Ah, the faithful guardian. Still serving, I see. How touching." His attention shifts to Yorika, and his smile widens. "And the sister. Perfect. I have one crystal sculpture, and now I'll have the matching set."
"You fucking monster," Yorika snarls.
"Monster?" The Collector tilts his head. "I'm an artist. Your sister is my masterpiece, aware, eternal, perfectly preserved at the moment of exquisite transition. And you..." He inhales deeply. "Oh, you're delicious. All that rage, that pain, that desperate hope she might still be saved." The Collector's laugh echoes through the breaking reality. "Did you enjoy the hunt, little human? Three years of searching for the wrong monster?" His crystalline features shift into mock sympathy. "The Vorthan broker never mentioned my gifts to her, did she? Just enough truth to make it credible. Every grieving family member seeking revenge, I send them after him." He gestures at me. "You're the forty-third to fall for it. Though I must admit, you're the first to actually reach him alive. The others died trying. Less determined than you, perhaps. Or less lucky."
He takes a step closer, and I move between them.
"She's mine," I growl.
"Is she?" He laughs again, the sound like breaking glass. "How thoroughly you've marked her. Like an animal claiming territory. How primitive. How perfect." His eyes, pale blue of deep ice, fix on Yorika. "Did he tell you what marking means, little human? How you'll never be free? How you'll need him to survive?"
"I know what I chose," Yorika says, though I feel her emotions spike. Anger, fear, and doubt mixed into a cocktail of turmoil.
"Do you? Because from where I stand, you look like prey that's been seasoned for consumption." He gestures, and ice begins forming in the air around us. "But don't worry. I'll preserve you properly. You'll be aware forever, just like dear Melara."
That name on his lips breaks something in Yorika. She lunges past me, knife raised, a scream of pure rage tearing from her throat.
The Collector catches her easily, one crystal hand wrapping around her throat. "Perfect. That expression, that's what I'll preserve."
"No!"
I attack, shadow expanding into weapons, into claws, into void itself. But the Collector is ready. He throws Yorika aside and meets my assault with crystalline ice that cuts through shadow like light through darkness.
Mikaere joins the battle, his stone fists crashing against crystal barriers. The chamber tears apart under our combined assault, walls cracking, reality bending, the carefully maintained structure of my realm groaning under the strain.
But something's wrong. Every surge of emotion from Yorika, her fear for me, her rage at the Collector, her grief for Melara, he somehow twists into power. The incomplete bond broadcasts her turmoil, and he drinks it like wine.
"Fascinating," he says, deflecting both my shadows and Mikaere's stone. "The bond is incomplete but so very loud. Every feeling she has makes you both weaker and me stronger."
He's right. I can feel it. Yorika's emotional chaos disrupting my focus, making my form less stable. The tremors I've been fighting return with vengeance.
In the library, I sense Päivi desperately reinforcing reality's fabric, trying to keep the realm from collapsing entirely. But she's weak because I'm weak, her power directly tied to mine.
Another exchange of blows. The Collector's ice pierces my shadow-form, actual pain blooming where it strikes. Mikaere catches a crystalline spear through his shoulder, light leaking from the wound like golden blood.
Yorika gets back to her feet, that knife still in her hand, preparing to rejoin the fight.
No. She'll die. Without the completed bond, without access to my power, she's just human. Brave and skilled, but human.
"I'm sorry," I tell her, no more than a whisper.
Her eyes widen. "Don't you dare."
I wrap her in shadows, pouring energy I can't spare into transporting her away. She fights it, screaming my name, but I force the teleportation. She dissolves into darkness just as the Collector's ice spear passes through where she was standing.
"How noble," the Collector mocks. "Sending away your only anchor. Do you know what that costs you?"
I do. Without her proximity, even incomplete, the dissolution accelerates. My form starts scattering immediately, edges becoming smoke.
