“You did it,” he breathes, voice cracking with relief. He kisses me hard on the forehead, one hand cradling the back of my neck. “You actually did it. How did you know that would work?” His eyes search mine in disbelief, awe, and lingering fear all tangled together.
“Something Lunaris said to me,” I murmur. It’s the truth, though it still feels impossible even as I speak it.
The battlefield settles into a strange, holy quiet. Through drifting smoke and scorched grass, the remaining warriors lift Ziek, bloodied and battered, and a tear slips down my cheek despite my best effort to hold it back.
“We couldn’t save him,” I whisper, burying my face in my hands.
“But you saved so many… He would have done anything to save his daughter. She’ll live—because of him, and because of you.”
The other warriors nod solemnly as if hearing our conversation, gently setting Ziek away from the fallen embers and kneeling beside him, their respect and grief mingling in the heavy, silent air.
A stray tear slips down my cheek. Guilt coils in my stomach, heavy and sickening.
If I had been quicker. If I had reached him sooner. Ziek would still be alive—and Kalia would still have her father.
“You can’t blame yourself. He knew the risks. His sacrifice was his choice.” Ryder gently frames my face, as if he can hear my thoughts. His features blur through the tears brimming in my eyes as I lean into his touch.
“I know,” I whisper, though the words feel fragile. “I know that… but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
He doesn’t rush me. He stays there, steady, breathing with me until the ache in my chest loosens its grip.
Ziek is gone. That truth will never change. But Kalia is alive. She will grow, she will laugh again, and somewhere in her future, her father’s sacrifice will still matter.
I draw in a slow breath and let it out. The guilt doesn’t vanish—but it softens, easing just enough for me to carry it.
Through my drying tears, I spot Nala cradling Trina in the distance. Relief softens their faces, edged with something bittersweet—and a small smile finds its way to mine.
“Asha!” A familiar voice cuts through the chaos. “Asha!”
My breath catches. I turn—
“Dad!”
I crash into him, arms wrapping around him with everything I have, clinging as if he might disappear again. His chest is solid beneath my cheek, his heartbeat steady and real.
“You’re okay,” I choke. “You’re really okay.”
“I’m okay, Flick,” he murmurs, using the name only he ever does. He presses a kiss to my forehead, lingering. “You did good, kid.”
The words undo me. I pull back just enough to see his face, to make sure—really sure—and my vision blurs when I see tears bright in his eyes, unshed but trembling.
“I’m so happy you’re okay,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
He cups my face gently, thumbs brushing away the tears I didn’t realise had fallen. “Your mother would be so proud of you,” he says softly.
That does it. The tears spill freely now, streaking down my cheeks as his eyes shine with something like awe—like he’s seeing me for the first time and recognising me all over again.
I step back, wiping at my face, and only then do I realise Ryder is still standing beside me, quiet and steady as ever.
“Dad,” I say, a small smile finding me despite everything. “This is Ryder. The one I told you about.”
My father turns to him and offers his hand, his grip firm, his gaze assessing—but kind. Proud.
“Thank you,” he says, voice thick with meaning, “for seeing my daughter for who she is.”
Ryder doesn’t look away. He just nods once, solemn and sincere.
“I always have,” he says, adoration in his eyes.
