Chapter 51: The Last Night

WE GATHERED AT Anker’s.

Not in the common room—in a private space at the back, away from curious ears. The group was smaller than I’d hoped. Larger than I’d feared.

Denna. Simmon. Wil. Devi. And to my surprise, Fela.

“I changed my mind,” she said, when I raised an eyebrow. “Not about the ritual. About running.” She sat beside Simmon, their shoulders touching in a way that spoke of comfort and familiarity. “If the world is ending, I’d rather face it with friends than hide alone.”

“The world isn’t ending,” Devi said. “Not yet. We still have options.”

“Name one.”

“We stop Cinder before he can complete his transformation. Without him channeling the energy, the doors’ opening will be slower. More controlled. Maybe controllable.” Devi spread a map on the table—Renere and the surrounding countryside. “I’ve been researching. Cinder’s ritual requires specific conditions. If we can disrupt even one of them—”

“He’s had three thousand years to plan this,” Wil said. His voice was steady, practical—the voice of someone who had long ago learned to face hard truths without flinching. “You think he hasn’t accounted for disruption?”

“I think he’s arrogant. I think he’s so certain of his success that he hasn’t considered failure.” Devi looked at me. “That’s what makes you valuable, Kvothe. You’re unpredictable. Even the Cthaeh couldn’t tell him exactly what you’d do.”

“The Cthaeh sees everything.”

“It sees possibilities. Branches of what might be. But even it admitted uncertainty—you told me yourself.” She tapped the map. “Cinder expects resistance. He’s planned for it. What he hasn’t planned for is improvisation. Creativity. The ability to make choices that don’t follow any pattern.”

“You’re betting a lot on my chaos.”

“I’m betting on the fact that you’ve surprised everyone who’s ever tried to predict you.” Devi smiled thinly. “Why should Cinder be any different?”

The planning continued for hours.

Denna drew the layout of the ritual space. Devi analyzed weaknesses. Wil calculated travel times and supply needs. Fela contributed what she knew about the old magics—things she’d studied in her work with Master Kilvin, things that touched on the boundaries between worlds.

But Simmon was quiet.

He sat at the edge of the table, staring at his hands, contributing nothing to the conversation. When I finally caught his eye, he looked away.

“Sim?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” I moved to sit beside him. The others continued their planning, giving us a fragile privacy. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” He laughed bitterly. “Everything. The world is ending, my best friend is planning to sacrifice himself to stop it, and I’m sitting here useless. What could possibly be wrong?”

“You’re not useless.”

“Aren’t I?” He finally met my eyes. “I can’t name things like you. I can’t research like Devi. I can’t read Yllish knots like Denna or build things like Fela. All I’m good at is alchemy and mediocre sympathy. What exactly am I supposed to contribute to stopping an apocalypse?”

I didn’t have an easy answer. So I told him the truth.

“You’re supposed to be my friend,” I said. “You’re supposed to remind me that there’s something worth saving. That the world isn’t just darkness and doors and three-thousand-year-old monsters.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Do you remember the first day we met? In Hemme’s class?”

“You called the wind and nearly got yourself expelled.”

“And afterward, when everyone else was staring at me like I was some kind of freak, you came over and introduced yourself. Asked me where I learned that.” I smiled. “You didn’t care that I was dangerous. You just thought I was interesting.”

“You were interesting. Still are.”

“My point is, you were kind when you didn’t have to be. You’ve been kind every day since. In a world full of people trying to use me or hurt me or figure out what I could do for them, you just… liked me. For no reason. For no benefit.” I squeezed his shoulder. “That matters, Sim. It matters more than naming or research or any of the rest of it.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

“I’m scared,” he admitted finally. “I’ve never been in a real fight. Never faced anything more dangerous than a chemistry experiment gone wrong. What if I freeze? What if I make things worse?”

“Then you’ll freeze. Then you’ll make things worse.” I shrugged. “And I’ll still be glad you were there. Because at least I won’t be facing it alone.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“It’s not meant to be reassuring. It’s meant to be true.” I stood. “Come on. Let’s go tell the others what you can do with alchemy. Explosive compounds might be exactly what we need.”

For the first time that evening, Simmon smiled.

Denna drew the layout of the ritual space.

Her hand was steady, but I could see the effort it cost her. Every detail she remembered was a detail she’d learned while bound to Cinder’s will. Every line on the paper was a reminder of what she’d been forced to become.

“The ritual will happen at the Renere ball,” she said. “The palace’s great hall. It’s built on the site of the first sealing—the place where the original Namers closed the first door.”

“Why there?”

“Resonance. The energy from the original sealing still echoes in that place. Cinder will use it as… a foundation. An amplifier.” She drew a circle in the center of the hall. “I’ll be here. The channel. When the doors open and the energy begins flowing, he’ll direct it through me into himself.”

“And you’ll be destroyed.”

“Unless you can stop him first.” She looked at me. “The ritual takes time. Minutes. Maybe longer. There’s a window—a period after the doors open but before the energy reaches its peak. If you can disrupt the channel during that window…”

“The energy disperses. The transformation fails.”

“Yes. But Kvothe—” She hesitated. “The energy won’t just disappear. It has to go somewhere. If you break the channel, if you stop me from directing it into Cinder…”

“Then it goes everywhere.”

“It tears through reality. The seals, the doors, the boundaries between worlds—all of them shatter at once.” Her voice was barely audible. “Stopping Cinder might end the world faster than letting him succeed.”

The room was silent.

“Then we need another solution,” Simmon said finally. “Something that stops the ritual without releasing the energy.”

“Or redirects the energy somewhere safe,” Devi added.

“Or contains it,” Wil said. “Traps it before it can spread.”

They looked at me.

“There might be a way,” I said slowly. “But it would require someone to become the container. To absorb the energy instead of letting it disperse.”

“Absorb it how?”

“By becoming part of the seal. Like the founders. Like the Chandrian.” I met their eyes one by one. “Someone would have to give themselves to the binding. Become the new door.”

“You’re talking about human sacrifice,” Fela said.

“I’m talking about willing transformation. Chosen, not forced.” I looked at my hands. “I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if anyone can. But if the alternative is letting the world end…”

“Then we find a volunteer.” Devi’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Someone willing to become something other than human to save everything else.”

“Where do we find someone like that?”

No one answered.

Because we all knew.

We were all looking at the same person.

Later, when the planning was done, we sat together in something like peace.

Wil produced a bottle of something amber and potent—Cealdish whiskey, the kind that cost more than most people made in a month. He poured for everyone without asking, and no one refused.

“To surviving,” he said, raising his glass.

“To surviving,” we echoed.

The whiskey burned going down, but it was a good burn. A warming burn. The kind that made the darkness outside seem a little less dark.

“I want to say something,” Fela said quietly. She was pressed against Simmon’s side, her head on his shoulder, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “In case I don’t get another chance.”

“Don’t talk like that—”

“Let me finish.” She took Simmon’s hand. “When I first came to the University, I was terrified. Of the magic. Of the Masters. Of being so far from home, surrounded by people who knew things I couldn’t imagine.” She looked around at us. “But then I met you. All of you. And slowly, over months and years, you became my family.”

“Fela…”

“Simmon taught me that it was all right to be nervous. That bravery wasn’t the absence of fear, just the willingness to act anyway.” She squeezed his hand. “Wil taught me that silence could be comfortable. That some people showed love through actions instead of words. Devi taught me that women could be powerful without being cruel. That ambition and kindness weren’t opposites.”

She turned to me. “And Kvothe… you taught me that extraordinary things were possible. That a boy with nothing could become something through talent and stubbornness and refusing to give up. You made me believe that the world could be different than it was.”

“I didn’t do anything—”

“You did everything.” She smiled through her tears. “You all did. Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever happens at the ball, I want you to know: these years have been the best of my life. If I die fighting for this… I’ll die grateful for every moment I had with you.”

Simmon was crying openly now. Even Wil’s eyes were suspiciously bright.

“We’re not going to die,” I said. My voice was rougher than I wanted it to be. “We’re going to win. We’re going to stop Cinder and save the world and come back here and complain about tuition and argue about music and do all the things we always did.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No. I don’t. But I believe it.” I raised my glass. “To the future. Whatever it holds.”

“To the future.”

We drank.

And for a little while, in that cramped back room of Anker’s, surrounded by friends who had become family, the world felt survivable.

The night passed slowly.

I sat on the roof of Anker’s, watching the stars wheel overhead. Somewhere to the south, Renere waited. Somewhere in my future, a choice I didn’t want to make.

“You don’t have to be the one.”

Denna climbed up beside me.

“Someone does.”

“It doesn’t have to be you.” She sat close, not quite touching. “I was supposed to be the channel. The sacrifice. If anyone should give themselves to the binding—”

“You’ve already given enough.”

“Have I?” Her voice was bitter. “I spent months serving him. Hurting people. Burning knowledge. Whatever I’ve given, it was for the wrong side.”

“That wasn’t you.”

“It was my hands. My voice. My body, doing terrible things while I watched from inside.” She hugged herself. “I remember all of it, Kvothe. Every person I hurt. Every book I burned. Every step I took toward destroying everything you were trying to save.”

“The binding—”

“Made it possible. But the potential was always there.” She looked at me. “Do you know why Cinder chose me? Out of all the people in the world?”

“Because of your name. Because you’re the bridge.”

“Because I was already broken.” Her voice was quiet. “Long before he found me. Long before the binding. I was a girl who trusted no one, relied on nothing, expected betrayal around every corner.” She smiled sadly. “He didn’t have to work hard to make me his puppet. I was already halfway there.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true. You just don’t want to see it.” She looked away. “I loved you, Kvothe. I still do. But I’ve never been able to trust that love. Never been able to believe it would last. And that distrust, that expectation of pain—that’s what made me vulnerable.”

“Denna…”

“Let me finish.” She took a breath. “The point is, I’m damaged. Fundamentally. Whatever the binding did to me, it didn’t create something new. It just amplified what was already there.” She met my eyes. “But you’re not damaged. Not like I am. You still believe in things. In justice. In love. In the possibility that the world can be better than it is.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that you’re worth saving. Worth preserving.” She took my hand. “If someone has to become the door, it shouldn’t be you. It should be someone who’s already lost. Someone who doesn’t have anything left to give up.”

“You’re talking about yourself.”

“I’m talking about the truth.” She squeezed my hand. “I know what I am, Kvothe. I’ve always known. The wandering one. The broken bridge. The girl who can never quite come home.” Tears ran down her face. “Let me do something good. For once in my life, let me choose something instead of having it chosen for me.”

I didn’t know what to say.

So I held her hand, and we watched the stars together.

And neither of us spoke about what was coming.

Dawn came too quickly.

The group gathered in the courtyard, horses saddled, supplies packed. Devi had arranged transport—not through the main roads, which were watched, but through back paths and old trails that traders used when they didn’t want to be noticed.

“Two weeks to Renere,” she said. “If we push hard and the weather holds.”

“The ball is in three weeks,” Denna said. “We should have time.”

“If nothing goes wrong.”

“Something always goes wrong.” Simmon mounted his horse. “That’s why we brought extra supplies.”

One by one, we said our goodbyes.

Fela embraced me first, her arms tight around my shoulders, her voice fierce in my ear. “Come back. Whatever happens, come back.”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try. Do.” She pulled back, her eyes wet. “I’m not losing my family twice.”

Wil’s goodbye was simpler—a clasp of hands, a look that said everything words couldn’t. “Watch your back.”

“Watch yours.”

Simmon surprised me by pulling me into a rough hug. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. About being useless.”

“You’re not useless.”

“I know. You told me.” He grinned through his fear. “I brought enough explosive compounds to level a palace. If that’s not useful, I don’t know what is.”

Devi didn’t embrace me. She just held my gaze and said, “Don’t die. I’ve invested too much time in you to lose my return on investment.”

“Touching.”

“I’m a businesswoman. Sentiment is for people who can afford it.”

But I saw her blink rapidly as she turned away.

I took one last look at the University.

The four-plate door was invisible from here. But I could feel it pulsing. Could sense the pressure of what lay behind it, pressing against seals that grew weaker by the hour.

“We’ll come back,” Wil said quietly. “When this is over. We’ll come back and everything will be normal again.”

“Nothing is ever going to be normal again,” I said.

But I mounted my horse anyway.

And we rode south toward Renere.

Toward the breaking of the world.

Toward the end of the story, or the beginning of a new one.

I didn’t know which.

But I knew I wouldn’t face it alone.