Valen stalks into view, robes flaring behind him like a storm, hair wind-tossed and eyes wild. He looks like the sky spit him out.
His gaze rips from me, to Thane, to the dragons still standing sentinel on the field—then back to the charred circle, from the blue flame, on the ground between us.
His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“Are we under attack?” he demands, bewildered. “Did the sky fall? Didyou twoactually break the realm this time?” He mutters to himself, “Can’t leave either of you alone one godsdamned minute—” he trails off.
Thane exhales. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a groan. Just breath—like he’s finally letting go of something he’s been holding for too long.
I blink at Valen, still too stunned to speak.
“Because from where I’m standing,” Valen continues, gesturing wildly toward the scorch marks, the still-trembling watchtower, and the dragons, “this is either a cosmic breakthrough or the start of a war. And frankly, I’mnot sure which.”
Thane looks at him, then me. I notice the tightness around his eyes.
“I have something to tell you both,” he says, his voice low.
But before he can go on, I see them. Fenric. Lyra. Nessa. Darius. Taila.
My friends.
Just beyond the ring of scorched earth, thirty feet away. Standing still, watching. Their faces are tight, eyes wide but not afraid.
They’re standing tall, proud. Like they’d follow me through fire. Like they just did.
I meet their eyes, and I nod once, then I mouth the words,I’m okay.
Lyra nods, hair like fire in the sun. Fenric lifts a crooked thumbs-up, and gods—my chest aches. Darius flashes his bright smile. Taila’s eyes shimmer. Nessa inclines her head, steady as ever, a silent acknowledgment.
I turn back to Thane. And nowI’msteady.
His gaze drifts. I follow it.
The training field is unnaturally silent. Soldiers edge closer, hushed, some frozen in place, others half-out of doorways, or peering from behind windows. Armor half-done, expressions tense. Like they’re not sure if they’ve just witnessed a threat—or a miracle.
Even the dragons draw attention—Xaroth’s wings are half-spread, tail twitching in the dirt, steam hissing from his nostrils with every exhale. Calryx stands utterly still, but her gaze cuts across the field, over every face, every weapon, every soul gathered here.
We’ve made ascene—storm inside of usual order. And no one knows quite what to do with it.
Thane exhales, jaw tight.
“Best if we go inside,” he says, quietly. “To my study.”
Valen looks annoyed—still rattled, arms crossed.
“Yes,” he mutters. “Perhaps weshould.”
Thane turns back to me. And this time—he walks like every step is deliberate, every step measured.
He stops in front of me, leaving one step left between us. Andthen—he reaches out. Just a hand. Open. Waiting. His eyes hold steady on mine—quiet,asking.
With everything he is. With the truth of him. Thechoiceof him.
I grasp his hand.
It’s not even a question. There’s no hesitation, no fear left to fight. I will always take his hand. Every time. In every world.
Even if it burns. Even if it breaks me.
