Mouse sits at Kaia’s feet, solid and warm.
Walter pulses at her shoulder, violet and bright.
That’s it.
That’s all that’s left.
I breathe in. Cold air, thin and sharp. My frost rises to meet the quiet responding the way it always does when my emotions run too deep to speak.
I’ve learned to read this group over the past months. The way Finn’s jokes get sharper when he’s scared. The way Malrik’s control tightens right before it breaks.
Right now, everyone is breaking. Quietly. Together.
Kaia’s breath hitches under my palm. I smooth my thumb across the back of her neck, a small grounding touch.
“Breathe,” I murmur. Just for her. “We’ve got you.”
She doesn’t respond, but she leans back into my hand. Just slightly.
The wind picks up. Snow swirls around us. Somewhere far below, in the valley, I catch the faint smell of earth instead of ash. The realm already healing.
I don’t know how long we stay like that. Minutes. Maybe longer. Time feels strange right now, stretched thin and fragile.
Then the air shifts.
I feel it before I see it — a pressure change, a weight settling into the space beside us.
The God of Chaos.
He doesn’t announce himself. Doesn’t appear in a flash of light or a crack of thunder. He’s justthere, standing a few feet away, watching us with those endless eyes.
I’m the first to notice. I lift my head, meet his gaze.
He inclines his head slightly.
“You honored them well,” he says. His voice is quiet. Gentle in a way that doesn’t match what he is. “All of you.”
Torric’s fire flares. Finn makes a sound against Kaia’s shoulder — not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. Malrik’s grip tightens onboth of them. Darian’s light steadies for a moment, then flickers again.
Kaia doesn’t move. I don’t think she can.
The God’s gaze sweeps across our group.
Then his eyes find mine.
“The steady one,” he says. Not a question. “The calm at the center of the storm.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. I’m not calm. I’m holding on by my fingernails, frost crackling under my skin, grief sitting heavy in my chest.
But I understand what he means.
Someone has to stay standing when everyone else falls. Someone has to notice the cracks before they become chasms. Someone has to hold the line.
That’s me. That’s always been me.
“She needs time,” I say quietly. “They all do.”
“Yes.” The God moves closer. Not threatening — just present. “And you will give it to them. That is your gift, Aspen. You see what others miss. You hold what others cannot.”
