“Bye, Ed,” he whispers.
I hold him tighter.
“Bye, Ed,” I echo.
And we stand there together — watching the dead march into the afterlife, surrounded by our family, with Kaia glowing at the threshold and a million Eds still waiting their turn.
I don’t know what comes next.
I don’t know what any of this means for us. For the bonds. For the future.
But right now, with Finn in my arms and my heart cracked open in the best way, I don’t want anything else.
Chapter 4
Kaia
My wings hurt.
I didn’t even know wings could hurt, but here we are. Standing at the edge of eternity with aching wing-muscles and tear tracks drying on my face and an endless parade of Eds still shuffling past me into the light.
This is my life now, apparently. Professional Ed-watcher. Cosmic crossing guard.
Behind me, the bonds hum steady and warm. Finn’s chaos feels different somehow — brighter, more settled — I’m going to have to ask him about that. Malrik feels almost content. Torric and Aspen struggle with the need to protect me even now. And Kieran? He’s ready to go home, but refuses to leave me.
They’re all still here.
We’re still here.
Thank the gods.
Another Ed shuffles past. I’ve stopped counting. Stopped saying goodbye to each one. My voice gave out about an hour ago.
Movement to my left, and the God steps up beside me. He doesn’t crowd. Doesn’t speak. Just exists there, watching the souls pass with an expression I can’t read.
I should probably be terrified of him. I was, like, two hours ago. Now I’m just tired.
“You did well, Little Valkyrie.”
The words hit somewhere I wasn’t expecting. Somewhere soft and bruised that I thought I’d armored over.
My throat goes tight.
“I didn’t do anything,” I manage. “I just stood here.”
“You opened the Gate. Aligned six bloodlines through choice. Faced a monster who spent centuries preparing for this moment.” He glances at me, and there’s something almost warm in those ancient eyes. “You did not break.”
“I almost broke.”
“Almost is not the same as did.”
I don’t have a comeback for that.
More Eds shuffle past. The stream is thinning — I can see gaps between them now. Spaces where snow peeks through.
My chest tightens.
“Can I ask you something?”
