"I did not ask for your help!" I shouted. Rage coursed through me. My knife was stained red. I shouldn't have been able to see it. Any of it. But here I was, staring back at my Ghost. "You need your sight!" Firethorn returned. His voice was laced with concern, something I ignored in the moment, but would remember for years to come. "That is not up to you! He preys upon my vision!" I stepped forward, and Firethorn floated up to meet my gaze. The blade in my hand shook as a faint whisper tickled the back of my mind. …Do it… I shouted, covered my ears. I could see shapes forming in the darkness of the tree line again. I couldn't take it anymore, but I knew Firethorn would only continue to heal me. "You need to snap out of this," Firethorn pushed. "You're losing control! Where is the great Briar of the Wild Brambles?" …Dead… "The thorn that pierced the heart of would-be gods?" …A puppet… "Pain and terror were your symphony!" …MY symphony… "What's become of—" I remember how easily my hand wrapped around him; how I forced him to the ground and pierced his lens with my knife. I hadn't realized what I'd done until I saw the light flicker out of his eye. Firethorn's pieces were the last things I saw before succumbing to permanent darkness.