As Lærke reaches out, she grips my hand on Ström’s chest, and our gazes connect. I feel so much pour through me via my familial bond to her: gratitude, strength, resilience in the face of darkness. As I stare into her bright eyes, I finally understand what she brings to us—strength. What she brings to me as a sister.
A towering pillar of strength in my direst moments.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I squeeze her hand hard. Gratitude for her courses all through me, as I feel something inside me brighten thanks to her beautiful heart—shining at last, when she’d thought it was nearly gone.
Ström feels it, too. Taking a deep inhalation all the way into his chest, he heaves a brief sigh—before tears well in his eyes. Ström’s eyes close as he cries. Heaving silent breaths, he doesn’t shudder or shake, but lets his deep well of sorrow pour out from his eyes.
Gradually, he sits up. Lærke and I hold our hands to his heart, as he keeps his eyes closed, not looking at either of us. As Mikkel scoots over, curling around Ström from behind to be his support, Ström eases back into Mikkel.
Ström still doesn’t open his eyes, only continues his silent woe as wehold him and let him know he’s loved. Though we don’t have any magic right now, we all share his sorrow, feeling his bereavement wash through us as his tears course down.
Bjorn lies beside us, my hand still on his heart; Baldur cinches close, too, sharing what little light he can manage as he keeps a hand on Bjorn, easing Bjorn’s dark inner rage.
At last, Bjorn sits up now, setting a hand to Ström’s shoulder with us. But Bjorn says nothing, cold as stone now in his deep, seething fury.
The light in the ruined cavern flickers out now, leaving us in darkness. Baldur casts a weak light from one hand; as that light goes up, Ström finally opens his eyes.
Ultra-green and terrible from his crying, his eyes are red, but not from his natural brimstone energy as he watches that light. Taking a deep inhalation, he stands, still staring at it.
Then turns and walks out.
Everyone rises as we follow Ström from the ruined star-hall. Heaviness drags at us, as I feel like lead courses through my veins now, rather than blood. Somehow, we continue on; I feel how exhausted Ström is as he walks, his vast sorrow hauling at us, too, via our Bloodbond.
But though he leans with one hand on the passage wall for support, he doesn’t let himself lean on us anymore. I feel the thought,Because I’m a Jarl now, as it courses through Ström’s mind over and over.
And he eschews us from helping him, completely.
We hang back, letting Ström have his silent processing as we exit the cave. We still need to see what’s left of the Old Palace, though I don’t know what we’ll find, as we stare up at the dawn sky now and see black smoke scouring everything.
Acrid char settles on the ledge where we stand, like a bitter snow. It piles up as it wafts through the skies, everywhere; and I know the Old Palace and its city are burning, far above.
I can no longer see the extent of the devastation through the Black Dragon’s eyes. I hope against hope that someone is still alive, however, asMikkel manages to shift in a tremendous heave of magic and an exhausted roar.
But he’s the one who carries the most hope of all of us. It gives his exhausted dragon power now, as he takes Ström, Bjorn, Baldur, Lærke, and me on his back, then courses up into the ruined air.
We cling to Mikkel’s black spines as we surge through the caustic winds, to the top of the cliffs. As we finally rise above the shoreline, we see the towering burning of everything that had been there.
Gone.
Everything is lost. Wounded dragons wing down to a spot near us, just beyond the burning. A village on the cliffs just beyond the Old Palace’s burning white walls, we head for that spot now.
Coughing in the black wind, we hold arms over our noses and mouths as Mikkel wings down in a tight spiral to the ground. We touch down at a flying-plaza already thick with dragons shifting down.
Everyone is injured. From fractured wings, to tails shot all through by cursed sigils, to some with holes seared right through their scales from burning black acid, everyone is shifting down to manage their wounds as a smattering of Old Palace healers tend them.
Someone gives a cry of relief at our arrival; a presence heaves to us, from where her healing hands just finished mending a plethora of curses diving through one drake’s chest.
Relief fills me to see Mathilde Eriksson barreling into us. Ström receives his youngest sister, kissing her hair as I’m similarly accosted by my three stepfathers.
Khosh has a bandage on his head, and Trublut one on his arm, but Vjen’s clear blue eyes burn bright as all three of my stepfathers embrace me hard now, kissing my lips and cheeks and forehead.
We’ve lost Jarl Jorg, the Soulstone, and the Old Palace, though a number of key allies have survived. I see Svanhild Magnussen and Olander Mortensen embrace Bjorn now, then Mormor Annika embrace Ström, then a few of Ström’s sisters, aunties, uncles, and cousins.
But four of Ström’s sisters are not present, as I see renewed tears well in his eyes. Those tears are not shed, however, as Mathilde suddenly cries for him and plunks her head on his chest.
Silent, Ström kisses the top of her head as he strokes her hair. Reaching out, Mormor Annika tries to touch his arm, but he evades it. As I move over to Ström now, my stepfathers plus Mikkel, Lærke, and Baldur are with me. I reach out, taking his hand; he lets me, but he doesn’t let me in, as I feel Ström erect a massive shield-wall of his Bone Magic between us now.
I blink in shock as Ström erects that gargantuan wall between himself and all of us, blocking himself off from being loved. He prevents any of us from feeling his emotions, as he turns his back on our comfort now, standing silently alone in the post-battle chaos.
