“Rand,” I whisper, though I don’t know where I found voice. I feel Olivia shift beside me, soft breaths, her hand slipping into mine. She’s awake. Her face under the light: gentle lines, dark circles, but full, alive.
I rise, slow, every muscle screaming. I look down at blankets, at the warmth of the moment. I feel the bed creak—wood, linen, skin. I taste the last moments of hope, sharply sweet.
She stirs. “Kursk?” she says. Her voice low, thick.
I pull her close. She presses her cheek to mine. Sighs like the world is breathing again.
“We did it,” I say. “The Veil is sealed.”
Her lips curve in a tired smile. She tastes like earth and dawn.
We stand. The darkness around us is gone. The wall is just wall; the bed is just bed. The world outside waits—quiet, trembling.
I drop the illusion. The magic Olivia used to cloak me—green skin flares back, tusks gleam, tusk-tips sharp, ears swelling, scars dark. Breath catches in my throat. I feel raw. Vulnerable. Human, or orc, or both.
Olivia gasps—just a little—but she doesn’t flinch. She grips my hand. “You,” she says.
We walk out the door together.
The morning air is cool, alive. Light has color now—blue sky, gold sun, crisp smell of dew and grass. Walnut Falls stirs. Doors open. Windows creak. A dog barks. Music from somewhere—an old radio in a truck.
I see faces. Old neighbors. Kids walking to school. Townsfolk stepping from their homes. They squint at me. Some stop mid-step. Others mutter.
No one runs.
A woman watering her porch tilts her head. A man sweeping his porch leans on his broom, staring. But they don’t bolt. No cries, no screams. Only curiosity. Wonder. Maybe even relief.
Olivia steps beside me. She tightens her grip. We walk down Main Street. My boots make soft thuds on wood boards and cracked pavement. The smell of fresh coffee from the bakery, of maple syrup, of earth warmed by the sun. I taste hope.
Children glance. Mothers clutch infants. Old timers nod.
“Is that him?” someone whispers.
“Yes,” another replies.
I pass the fairgrounds—shadows of burned tents, but the carnies' wagon is gone. The booths torn, but flags flutter in weak breeze. String lights hang limp. Still, people move around—sweeping up, tending damage, helping.
Olivia squeezes my hand. “They see you,” she whispers.
I nod. “They accept.”
She looks up at me—eyes shining. “You’re not alone anymore.”
I swallow, feeling the hero weight settle. The severing of old bonds doesn’t feel like loss now. It feels like possibility.
We reach the edge of town, where the road splits. I stop.
“Where to now?” I ask.
She pulls me close, voice soft. “Here,” she says. “Home is here now.”
I look at Walnut Falls—houses, smoke from chimneys, children leaving for school, men going to fields. The scent of rain on soil, morning sun on kernel-stoned paths. There is damage, yes. There is loss. But there is life.
I turn to Olivia. “I can never go home to the old world,” I say, voice thick. “But if home must mean something, let this be it.”
She smiles, faint tears. “Then this is home.”
I take her hand. Together we step forward into town. Illusion dropped, armor still heavy in my bones, tusks exposed, scars showing. We walk tall.
