You ever see a good magic trick?

Some people are easily fooled. They see a coin disappear, a rabbit pulled from a hat, a person sawn in half and put back together, and they believe it. They let themselves be manipulated and sold on the lie. And once the lie takes hold, it grows, spreads—until it’s not just a trick anymore.

It becomes reality.

That’s how magic works. It doesn’t have to be real—it just has to be believed.

And then there’s you, Calypso.

The greatest trick of all.

Because when you came back from the dead, everyone bought it. They gasped. They whispered. They called it black magic and said you’d cheated death. They believed that you defied the grave itself.

They look at you now, walking, breathing, living, and they see an immortal.

I see a lie.

Because I was there when you died. I was the one who ferried you to the other side. I held your soul in my hands and sent you to where all the dead go.

You died, Calypso.

That’s not an opinion. That’s not a story. That’s the truth.

But magic isn’t about truth. It’s about perception.

And now, people don’t see a dead woman. They see a miracle. A legend. A woman who crawled out of the underworld and returned to Arcadia, stronger than before.

But I know better.

Because I see the trick.

This isn’t black magic. This isn’t some unholy power you’ve tapped into. This is a con.

And I know exactly who pulled the strings.

Tombstone.

Just like he clawed his way back, he reached into the underworld and dragged you out with him. He whispered in the right ears, bartered with the right forces, and pulled off the grandest illusion anyone has ever seen.

And now here you are, standing in the spotlight, basking in the awe of people who think they’ve witnessed the impossible.

But I know the sleight of hand.

I see the wires. I see the trick mirrors. I see the lie.

And at Kaos, I’m going to rip down the curtain.

This time, there won’t be an encore. There won’t be another trick up your sleeve. There won’t be a way to cheat the inevitable.

Because when I put you in the ground this time, I’ll make damn sure you stay there.

No magic.

No illusions.

Just the cold, hard truth.

Gravedigger buries the dead.

And I don’t make the same mistake twice.

Magic isn’t real, but my shovel is.

And when you meet it, you’ll meet your end. You should never fear the end, Calypso.

The end is where we meet.

And once again, I will send you on your way.