He didn’t die. Neither did I. We won.
The words feel strange, even now. After everything—the altar, the resurrection, the manipulated memories, the battle—we actually won. Lakhu is dead. The Dominion Heart is sealed. Selene is safe, flying with Drayke just ahead of us, her arms wrapped around his bronze neck.
Three Relics down. One remaining. King Ulrik is still out there, waiting to avenge his son.
But that’s a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, we go home.
The fortress welcomesus with fire.
Torches blaze along the walls, lighting our approach. Dragons land in waves on the main platform, exhausted warriors returning from battle. The air fills with the sounds of relief—roars of greeting, calls between brothers, the particular silence that comes when survivors finally stop fighting and start breathing.
Drayke shifts the moment he lands, catching Selene before her feet touch the ground. He crushes her against his chest, his face buried in her hair, his massive body shaking with something that might be sobs. She holds him just as tightly, murmuring words too soft for anyone else to hear.
“Dramatic as always,” Selene says when he finally pulls back. But her voice is hoarse, and tears track on her cheeks. “You know, most couples just do dinner and a movie for date night. They don’t stage full-scale military assaults.”
Drayke growls, low and possessive. “You were on an altar. They were draining your blood.”
“Yes, well,” she pats his chest with exaggerated patience. “I’ve had worse first dates.”
Aisling snorts from somewhere behind me. “That might be the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You haven’t heard about my college years.” Selene grins, though it’s shaky around the edges. “Lots of terrible choices. Very educational.”
Rurik pulls Aisling close, his arms wrapped around her from behind, his chin resting on her hair. “Tell me about these terrible choices later. In detail. With illustrations.”
“In your dreams.”
“Frequently.”
I slide from Zyphon’s back as he shifts, his scales rippling into skin. He catches me before I stumble, his hands warm on my waist, his shadows curling around us both.
“You’re hurt.” He touches the cut on my cheek, the dried blood on my temple. “The infirmary?—“
“Later.” I lean into him, letting his presence anchor me. “Right now I just want to breathe.”
The three ofus find each other in the chaos.
Selene, Aisling, and me—Fire-Bringers who fought together, bled together, sealed a Relic together. We stand in a loose circle near the fortress doors, our dragons hovering protectively nearby, and for a moment, no one speaks.
“We did it.” Selene breaks the silence first, her voice wondering. “We actually did it.”
“The Relic is sealed,” Aisling confirms. “Our combined fire forced it into dormancy. Auren says it should stay that way for centuries, at minimum.”
“And Lakhu is dead.” I can still feel the echo of Zyphon’s satisfaction when the prince’s neck snapped. “Truly dead.”
Selene reaches out, takes my hand, then Aisling’s. The three of us stand connected, fire flickering at our fingertips—her warm gold, Aisling’s steady orange, my shadow-touched darkness.
“Sisters,” Selene says. “That’s what we are now. Fire-Bringer sisters.”
“I’ve never had sisters.” Aisling’s voice is quiet. “Only child. Parents who wanted me to be a lawyer.”
“I had a brother.” The words come out before I can stop them. “He sold me to shadow cultists.”
Selene squeezes my hand. “Blood doesn’t make family. Choice does. And I choose you. Both of you.”
Something warm blooms in my chest. Not fire—or not just fire. Something deeper. The feeling of belonging somewhere, to someone, after death and weeks of manipulation and a lifetime of learning that love can be a weapon.
“Sisters,” I agree. “I choose you too.”
