LOGINThe classroom is full of young consciousness mages, all watching me with a mixture of awe and nervousness."Consciousness integration," I say, pacing in front of the whiteboard, "is about more than technique. It's about understanding that every consciousness you encounter—whether you're merging temporarily or integrating permanently—is a person. Not a resource. Not a tool. A person with inherent value."I'm teaching at the new Consciousness Studies Institute, a facility the Council established two years ago. It's the first formal training program for consciousness mages in over a century, and I've been leading the ethics curriculum since it opened.A hand goes up in the back. "Elder Whitmore, what about hostile consciousnesses? Ones that are trying to harm you or others?"It's the question I've been waiting for. The one I get in every class."Even hostile consciousnesses are people," I say carefully. "But being a person doesn't make you safe. Doesn't mean you can't be a threat. Someti
The aftermath is harder than the act itself.For three days after destroying Ravensbrook, I barely leave the apartment. I sit on the couch or lie in bed, staring at nothing, feeling the absence where his consciousness used to be like a phantom limb.Adrian takes leave from his diplomatic work to stay with me. He doesn't try to make me talk or convince me I did the right thing. He just sits beside me, a steady presence, making sure I eat and sleep and don't spiral too far into my own head.On the fourth day, Faye comes to visit."We need to talk about what you're feeling," she says without preamble, settling into the armchair across from me."I killed someone.""Yes."Her bluntness surprises me. I expected rationalization, justification, comfort. Instead, she just agrees."I destroyed a conscious being," I continue. "Ended his existence permanently. That makes me—""Complicated," Faye finishes. "Hope, you want me to tell you that what you did was purely heroic, or purely monstrous, so
Morning comes too quickly and not quickly enough.I wake before dawn, Adrian still sleeping beside me. For a moment, I consider staying here—pretending I haven't made my decision, avoiding what's coming. But two hundred and forty-four integrated consciousnesses wait peacefully in my awareness, and they deserve to know their tormentor is truly gone.I slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake Adrian yet. He needs these last moments of rest before what's coming.In the bathroom, I stare at my reflection. My eyes shift colors as I watch—brown, then green, then grey, cycling through shades inherited from the consciousnesses I've integrated. It's become normal now, this visible sign of what I carry. But today it reminds me of what I'm about to do.I'm going to end consciousness. Permanently.The weight of that settles on my shoulders like a physical thing.Having second thoughts? Ravensbrook's voice was silky and amused. It's not too late to choose differently. Keep me contained. Let
Three months after Alaska, I integrated the final consciousness.Her name was Rebecca Stormwind. She was nineteen when Ravensbrook consumed her in 1902, the last victim he took before the Council caught him. She'd been a student of consciousness magic, bright and curious and full of potential. She spent one hundred and twenty-three years trapped and screaming.I give her peace on a Tuesday morning, with Adrian sitting at the edge of the meditation circle and Faye monitoring my vital signs.The integration is gentler than I expected—Rebecca's consciousness sliding into mine like a key finding its lock. She brings knowledge of old teaching methods, techniques that were lost when consciousness magic fell out of favor in the early twentieth century. But more than that, she brings gratitude so profound it makes me weep.Thank you, she whispers as her separate identity dissolves into integrated wholeness. Thank you for ending it.When it's done, when Rebecca's consciousness has settled peac
The integration work becomes my life for the next six weeks.Every morning, I wake before dawn and return to the meditation circle. Every morning, I reach into the chaos of absorbed consciousnesses and pull one forward, offering them the peace they've been denied for centuries.Every morning, Ravensbrook whispers that there are faster ways.I ignore him.The consciousnesses are easier to integrate now that I've developed a rhythm. Each one follows a similar pattern—initial contact, allowing them to feel safe, absorbing their trauma, weaving their memories and essence into my consciousness in a way that honors who they were without overwhelming who I am.But some are harder than others.Michael Thornheart was a consciousness mage himself when Ravensbrook consumed him in 1834. He understood what was happening to him, fought back with everything he had, and still lost. His trauma is layered with the horror of professional understanding—he knew exactly how Ravensbrook was destroying him,
The Council chamber is exactly as imposing as I remember—a circular room with a domed ceiling etched with the history of wolf packs across North America. Twelve seats arranged in a perfect circle, each one occupied by an Elder whose judgment could reshape our society.I've sat in one of those seats for three years. Today, I stand in the center, being judged.Adrian and Faye sit in the gallery behind me—not allowed to speak, but present. Their consciousnesses brush against mine periodically, reminding me I'm not alone.Elder Thomas Riverwind calls the session to order. As the longest-serving Elder, protocol dictates that he chairs emergency sessions. "We convene to address the incident in Alaska involving Elder Hope Whitmore and the consciousness mage James Riversong. Elder Whitmore, you stand accused of reckless endangerment of yourself and potentially the broader wolf community through the absorption of a predatory consciousness. How do you respond?"I keep my voice steady. "I respon







