IT WAS BAZ’S FIRST DAYback at Aldryn, and already he was in the library.
He had just been to Dean Fulton’s office, discussing the terms of his return. Spring was here, the school term was almost out, but Baz would catch up on the time he had lost so that he could graduate. Which explained his trip to each of the four libraries, where he gathered all the textbooks he would need.
It felt incredibly mundane, after everything he’d been through. And yet there was comfort in it too.
The world was its own again. No dragons soaring in the sky, no pockets of darkness appearing like bruises on skin. The tide ebbed and flowed in steady fashion, the moon went from new to waxing, full to waning, and new all over again. Everything was as it should be, magic following the rules it always had now that the mythic forces it drew on had been repaired.
But the scars left by the chaos remained. Shores were still ravaged. The lighthouse still lay at the bottom of the cliff Aldryn stoodon. The campus itself was in a state of disrepair, battle-scarred yet holding strong.
As Baz walked through campus, hugging his stack of books close, nothing felt the same. Students waved at him in passing, gave him a kind nod or a smile, even a friendly word. He was not a ghost, no longer someone whispered about behind hands. He was the Timespinner who’d been there when the Tides and the Shadow left, when the Tidecaller sacrificed herself to save their world and restore their magic.
To most, he was a hero. To others, few though they were, he was still Eclipse-born, still someone they did not trust.
Lunar magic had been restored, though only as they had always known it—splintered between lunar houses and tidal alignments, with all the same rules that had always dictated it. And Eclipse magic remained the same in that it was accessible always, not reliant on moon phases and tide levels to be used by its bearers.
But the real change came from the eradication of Collapsing. They no longer had to deal with this barrier put on their magic; they had access to all their limitless power the way the original Eclipse-born did.
It was as if, once the souls of the original Tidecallers had been lain to rest, perhaps the memory of Tala, who had first created this damper on Eclipse-born power to shield them from the gods, found peace. And the Shadow’s curse as they knew it came to an end.
No one had to fear them anymore. They never should have to begin with—should have always trusted the Eclipse-born to handle the risks of Collapsing, just as Reapers were trusted not to misuse their own deadly magic. But perhaps this would open the eyes of more people to the fact that Eclipse magic belonged. That it posed no danger.
It certainly felt like most people believed this, as Baz walkedthrough campus. A lot of them had reconsidered their stance on Eclipse-born after seeing the lengths to which Atheia had gone and hearing Sidraeus be willing to sacrifice himself for them all while she was not—and then glimpsing what had happened through the pockets that had opened up to the godsworld during that final fight. But Baz knew there were those who stuck to their hateful beliefs.
The Tidelore cult and what remained of the Selenic Order that hadn’t been destroyed by Atheia were still running about, though no longer fueled by the magic Atheia had given them. The horrors they’d been committing at the Institute—taking power from Eclipse-born held captive there—had come to light, and now they and every hateful Regulator involved were under harsh scrutiny. They had Virgil’s parents to thank for that, as well as other prominent members of the Order who claimed not to have known what the Tidal Council was up to. All of them were now risking their reputations to help expose the Order’s every dark secret.
It was a start, Baz thought. But maybe everything couldn’t be fixed overnight. Maybe the best they could hope for was that they were headed for better days. There was still work to be done—and maybe there would always be.
Baz hopped into the elevator that would lead him down to Obscura Hall, wondering if there would be a need to keep it behind wards going forward. The wards had kept lunar mages out to protect them from accidental Collapsings, making it a safe haven for Eclipse-born. But maybe, once they had properly reclaimed it for themselves, they could open the doors to others. To those who wanted to learn at their side.
The familiar rush of the elevator going down made Baz’s heart catch in his throat. Suddenly everything seemed to slow. He blinked—and found he was no longer in the elevator, but in a familiar workshop.
It was not the destroyed workshop he had last seen, with all its time-measuring instruments broken and shattered and the loom toppled over on its platform. Everything had been restored and put back in its place. The loom stood in the center once more, but it spun no threads, weaved no tapestry. A sheet had been thrown over it, as if to cover something no longer needed.
And it wasn’t needed. Threads wove over and around the workshop, dancing between the stars, knotting and twisting together of their own volition, making patterns more intricate and beautiful than Baz had ever seen. As if, unbound from the fate that had dictated their movements, they were free to move as they wanted.
“This was always the outcome I had hoped for, you know.”
Baz spun at the rough voice. Equilibris stood behind him, looking more at peace than ever before as he surveyed the dancing threads, a fond smile on his lips.
His words were slow to reach Baz. After Emory and Sidraeus had disappeared into the void, after the rest of them had been sent back to their world, Baz had been too numb to care about the whims of gods and the events that had led them here. Not when Emory was gone forever.
But he had thought about it in the days since. Everything Equilibris had done had been a great manipulation. Letting a single Tidecaller survive back then, a girl named Tala who created a damper that would shield her magic from godly eyes and allow for other Tidecallers to be born, every now and then, each one preventing Equilibris from resetting the worlds. Bringing Baz into his workshop, introducing him to the inner workings of fate so that he would eventually break it. Painting himself as the villain whowantedto wipe clean the board, all so Baz and his friends would find another way to fix things. A way that ended in Emory and Sidraeus sacrificing themselves to make magicpure again, ensuring the preservation of an entire universe.
“You never wanted to reset the worlds and start over, did you?” Baz said. It was formed like a question, but it wasn’t really. He knew it to be true in his gut. “You wanted me to break fate so you wouldn’t have to do what you were destined to do. You wanted us to save the universe instead of having you destroy it.”
The god’s eyes were bright. “Yes.”
Baz studied him, recalling how painfully human Equilibris had looked next to the gods of the living. He appeared stronger now, as if he’d gotten his spark back once the chaos had been eradicated and the fountain restored. And yet, Baz couldn’t shake this feeling that Equilibris still didn’t seem as powerful as he had when they’d first met.
“Would you even have been able to reset the worlds, in the end?” he asked on a hunch.
Equilibris gave him a sad, knowing smile. “I lost that ability the moment you broke fate.”
Baz should have known—should have put it together that destroying fate would untether the god from his, free him from his destiny. “Yet you let us all believe it was still an option. Why?”
“I find that people are more accepting of their fates when they believe they have a choice. But that was my last manipulation, I assure you,” the god said sheepishly. “Everything I’ve done, it was to allow humans to take control of their fates. I could never make that happen on my own. It went against my very nature. So I had to take small rebellions, create strategic snags in the tapestry that would weaken it enough for you to break it.” He sighed. “I was chained to fate as much as you all were. Have been since the dawn of time. And I was so very tired. I wanted to be free of it. Now I can be, and so can you.”
Baz swept a gaze over the workshop again. The sheet over the loom. The instruments on the shelves. Everything appeared to beput away for good. “So, what, this was just a long con for you to retire?”
