Footsteps follow, and that’s when I know—this is not a dream or a Venomshade conjuring.
They see him, too.
“Ronyn!” I scream, running at him with desperation, as if I have to hold him here with the living, lest he leave me again.
I throw myself at his frame, folding my arms around his neck, but before he’s even had a chance to return my embrace, I throw him off me. “What the fuck Ronyn Holt? You bastard!” I shove his chest, unable to quell the shock that rises hot and fast in my veins.
The group gathers around us now, looks of varying emotions owning their faces—surprise, anger, relief, confusion.
He takes a step back, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Firstly, ow! Arrow to the chest remember?” he rubs his chest in a soothing motion, the hole through his leathers still there. “Secondly, ten out of ten donotrecommend dying. Hurts like a godsdamned bitch. And finally, I guess I’m magical now? Took dying to get there, but still, it counts.”
He saunters through the group, heading towards the fire like he didn’t just return from the fucking dead.
Seren’s squeal cuts through the night—an ecstatic giggle cleaving through her high-pitched celebration as she launches herself onto Ronyn’s back and wraps her legs around his waist.
“Fuckin’ Stars, Seren. Don’t you have Therion for that now?” Ronyn grouses, but I can hear the tenderness in his tone.
The tall warrior’s face flushes at the mention, and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him react… to anything.
Tentative laughter spreads across the group, as if this moment is too fragile. Like it might be taken away as quickly as it was given.
Ronyn continues to the fire, his grin never subsiding.
“So, did you piss everyone off at the Final Gate? Is that why they sent you back?” Jax quips, though her eyes are rimmed red with emotion.
“Just say you missed me, Jax. It’s okay to have feelings,” Ronyn taunts, not rising to her dig.
She scoffs, waving her hand in his direction dismissively.
Ronyn clears his throat like he’s about to make an announcement. “I decided I’d be more bold when I was floating in the in-between. No more letting fear rule my life, ya know?” He looks around curiously.
“Coming from the man who walked backwards into the lost kingdom and thought a death maze was a good time?” Kael snipes, elbowing Ronyn in the ribs.
He blows out a perfunctory puff, dismissing Kael’s point. Which was accurate—Ronyn has never feared anything in his life. “Anyway,” Ronyn says, elongating the word like he’s about to make some grand proclamation. “Jax, will you spend the night with me?”
A shocked gasp escapes me, and I clap my hands over my mouth.
My eyes shoot to Jax, and her gaze has doubled in size, her cheeks blazing to life. I swear to all the gods of Aevryn, I never thought I’d see the day when Jax was taken aback.
“What?” Ronyn asks in mock surprise. “Brothers, take note. Women want a bold display. Trust me.”
Merrik pinches the bridge of his nose, mouth pressing into a line of despair. “Gods save us, the bastard comes back from thedead and he’s somehow more insufferable,” he mutters under his breath.
“Are you kidding me? Ifthisis what death does to a man, I’m never preventing another death again,” Rubi jeers. “Cheers to your return, Ronie!” she adds, throwing him her flask.
The group spreads out around the campfire, claiming a stump for themselves, though the fresh layer of shock is still palpable in the air. Rubi fills our tankards with more ale, settling into Ronyn’s side.
“To the first god metal archer in Aevryn,” Daelen announces with cavalier charm, raising his tankard in celebration, and the rest of us follow suit, eyes shedding tears of relief, happiness, unrealized grief. No one says anything—we just allow.
The world feels right again.
Ale splashes against my tongue, and I take a long, slow drag from my tankard. For the first time since I was last in Thornewood, I savor the taste. Relishing the crisp, tart freshness that makes me feel alive.Grateful, even.Thank the gods he’s back.
I don’t want to disrupt the fragile peace of Ronyn’s return, but I need to know. I need to know if he’ll be taken from me again.
“Are we going to talk about how this happened? What this means?” I say, tentative and shaky.
Ronyn’s grin thins—a crack. He hesitates, and the camp leans forward with him. He looks suddenly very small, as if the bravado has shuffled away. “There’s… something,” he says, and his fingers fumble at his leather. He pulls his tunic open a breath later—not to grandstand, but because his hands won’t stop shaking. At the firelight, an orange-red pulse throbs through his skin, a small globe glowing beneath the flesh like a slow ember. The laughter dies in the air.
