The word sits there.
And something shifts. Not physically. Something in the bonds themselves. In what we’ve become.
“The southern coast,” Kieran says after a moment. “Before the corruption. It was beautiful. White sand. Clear water. The kind of warmth that sinks into your bones and stays.”
“You remember it?” Aspen asks.
“I remember everything.” His voice goes soft. “It was one of her mother’s favorite places. Solveig used to take Kaia there when she was small. Before. She’d chase the waves and Solveig would watch from the shore, and for a few hours everything was simple.”
Something tightens in my chest.
Kaia doesn’t remember her mother. Not really. Just fragments. Feelings. The ache of something missing.
But Kieran remembers.
“Then we take her there,” I say. “When the realm heals. When she’s ready.”
“We make new memories,” Malrik adds. “In the same place. Give her something good to hold onto.”
“Vacation,” Finn says dreamily. “Sand. Sun. Alcohol.”
“Alcohol?” Aspen raises an eyebrow.
“I’ve earned it. We’ve all earned it. After the Gate and the shadows and the God and the—” He waves a hand. “Everything. I want to get drunk on a beach and not worry about anything trying to eat me.”
“That’s fair,” Darian says.
“It’s extremely fair.”
“We’ll need supplies,” Malrik says, and there’s something almost hopeful in his voice. Like he’s letting himself think about a future that isn’t just survival. “If we’re actually doing this. Food. Shelter. Whatever passes for beach chairs in Absentia.”
“Do beach chairs exist in Absentia?” Finn asks.
“They will when I’m done,” Aspen says.
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Yes.”
I laugh. Can’t help it. The sound surprises me — rough and real, pulled from somewhere deep.
This. This is what we almost never got to have.
Kaia mumbles again in her sleep. Something that sounds like a name. Maybe several names.
We all go still. Watching.
She doesn’t wake. Just sighs and settles deeper.
“She’s dreaming,” Kieran says softly. “I can feel it through the bond. It’s… peaceful. For once.”
“No nightmares?” Darian asks.
“No nightmares.”
“Good.”
The fire crackles. The silence is comfortable now. Warm.
