The Gate was open. The room stopped arguing with me.

My Lucent Harmony, no longer a tight shield held under my ribs, settled into the walls and the floor. The Grey flattened two plain, ordinary squares under my boots, not as a trick, but as a statement of fact. The Crown of Twilight hung above my brow like a streetlight that had decided to mind its own business. My breath was a steady, quiet engine, four in, six out. There was no wobble. There was no tax.

Valeria hummed, a long, low note like a cello finding its pitch. "Finally," she whispered, and for once there was no sugar on it. "I was worried you'd make me retire before you did anything fun."

"Hold that thought," I said.

The Archduke watched me from across the roof, his expression unreadable, but his stance that of a craftsman observing a tool that had just, impossibly, improved itself in his hands. He was a professional to the marrow. He stepped in with the kind of clean, perfect cut that ends most days.

I met him with something new.

Sword Unity had been me and the blade breathing as one. This went a step higher. This was Sword Accord. The blade and the room were now in agreement. The angles of the world stopped filing paperwork. They just worked.

His edge slid for my shoulder. Valeria moved like a careful page being turned in a very old book. My answer—a short, boring, honest parry—went where it was meant to without me needing to ask the floor for favors. The floor gave them anyway. He blinked once, a flicker of surprise, and then added teeth. A ribbon of slick glass under my planned slide. A bead of intense heat to fog my eyes. A little sound pop behind my heel to trip my count. They were his old, reliable tricks.

The Grey made the glass ribbon uninteresting. A soft breath of Aegir cool turned the bead into a harmless puff of steam. I counted my own breath, not the echoes, and the sound pop sulked in the corner. My line stayed straight.

From the rim of the roof, Lucifer didn't smile, but his eyes did. "Finish it," he said.

The Archduke did the smart thing then and put all his weight behind purity. No more traps. No more taste of Lust's influence. He spoke a final, heavy vow. "No cut shall finish." He came forward with a clean, heavy strike meant to end this and send me to the floor.

I let him meet the Accord.

I wasn't faster. I wasn't flashier. My movements were simply allowed. Valeria and I slid through his line like a key moving through air on its way to a lock that was already open. The miasma veils that had been hungry all morning lost their appetite at the threshold of my Harmony and drifted aside like tired curtains. The 'warm room' tug of Red Hunger walked into a closed door and forgot what it wanted. The after-blades that liked to arrive late showed up on time and realized they weren't invited to the party.

"Bad day for drama," Valeria chirped.

"Terrible," I said.

He switched his cadence, a desperate move for a man so composed. He threw a flurry of pressure at my elbows and ankles to make my corrections expensive. Sword Accord paid the bill before it even hit the table. Every small, necessary fix cost exactly what it was supposed to: nothing extra.

I stepped forward, and for the first time, the ring of his control stepped back.

Somewhere under that calm, a memory opened like a door I hadn't knocked on. Mount Hua. The cold air like glass. Magnus, the Seventh Peak, sitting at the edge of the sky, held together by sheer will and a few old jokes. The dark veins of corruption creeping from a bite he'd paid for with a dead king. "I killed him," he'd said. "At cost." Then he had drawn his own blade. Not at an enemy. Just at the air. And everything had paused, like the world had skipped a frame and come back embarrassed. He had touched this thing, this higher state, right at the very end. Sword Accord.

Catch up, my mother's voice always said in my head.

I caught up. Now, I had to pass him. I let the memory close and let the work stay open.

"Practical," the Archduke said, stepping in clean. There was respect in the word. No rancor.

"Always," I said, and I gave him the respect he deserved. A finish.

It was three notes. Not an orchestra.

First, the Step. I set my heel down with the house behind it. The weight of the tower, of the Order in its bones, was in that single, simple motion. The world did not argue.

Second, the Break. A thin, almost invisible rub of Grey between our two blades, like chalk on fingers before a difficult lift. It didn't block him. It just turned his perfect line half a hair wrong.

Third, the Close. In the seam between beats, in the half-inch my Break had created, Sword Accord made a hole in the world. Valeria slid into it. An honest piece of steel, going where it was now allowed to go.

He stayed on his feet for one more heartbeat, because he was that kind of man. His eyes were clear. He looked at me and nodded once, the way a master mechanic nods at an engine that has finally stopped making a noise no one could find.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"Thank you," I answered, because a serious enemy earns a serious end.

Valeria came free like the room had decided to hand her back to me. The miasma peeled away from him like smoke that had run out of wood. Erebus drew a cold, clean ring in the air and set it down around the body, so no hungry thing could use the leaving heat as a doorway.

"Spill contained," Erebus said. No drama. Winter glass.

Lucifer's twin crowns—white and black—dimmed to something you could wear to work. He let out a breath he hadn't actually needed to be holding. "Sword Accord. It looks good on you."

"Feels honest," I said.

"Feels expensive," Valeria said. "I'd like a new coat."

"You're getting two."

"She said one coat," Lucifer pointed out.

"I know what I said," I told him. "She's still getting two."

My Harmony hung over the ring of containment like a steady hand. It touched the wound I had made and settled it, in a way that didn't try to undo anything. Respect, not an apology.

Far below, Avalon's skyline flickered as the city's sensors tried to label what the sky had just done and decided to send a memo about it later. The tower's brass ribs popped once, one by one, as they cooled, like a long hallway of light switches being turned off.

"How's the Gate?" Lucifer asked.

"Open," I said. The word felt like a key I finally owned.

Lucifer tilted his head, reading some fine print in the air that only he could see. "You're going to be intolerable for a week."

"I have Stella," I said. "She'll fix that by breakfast."

"That she will," he said, satisfied.

I glanced down at the still form of the Archduke. A monster and a craftsman, all in one person. Both had been true. I gave him a small, quiet bow he didn't need and turned back to the center of the roof.

"Arthur," Erebus said, his voice careful. "The tower is adjusting. Pathways are changing. Your change… it echoes."

"Good," I said. "Let it."

Grey gathered itself into a polite curl at the edge of my sight and then flattened again. Harmony breathed through the brass and the air and all the way down to the stone. The Crown of Twilight dimmed to a simple halo I could forget until I wanted it again. I stood there, and for a moment, the world didn't pull any of its small, usual tricks. That was new. That was nice.

Then the air remembered it had opinions. Not miasma. Not my own power. Something silkier. An attending presence with a hand on the spine of the room. The fake sky wavered like heat on a highway. The brass ribs began to sing a high, thin note you feel in your teeth.

Lucifer's eyes lifted. "Hold center."

"I am."

Valeria went from pleased to bright with predatory interest. "If she brings a crown," she said, "I am stealing it."

"Later," I said.

A thread of perfume that had never needed your consent slid through the roof and paused a hand's width above Erebus's cold ring, as if deciding whether we were worth the time.

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