But this time when he reached for the door, it opened.
Flew open was closer to what happened, and the light... The sheer incandescence was indescribable. There was an opposing polarity to it, driving him away step by step. Not for you, it seemed to say, and the longer he fought it, the dizzier he became.
How long it would take for the dead to come, to even realize they could come, he couldn’t guess, but he’d fulfilled his promise to Mon and the rest. He could be selfish again, and all he wanted was to find Elloven.
Jesstin walked beyond the doors. The same nothingness painted the end of the Infinitum’s known world. Explosions boomed in the distance. Volcanoes erupted with greater frequency, as though calling to the dead to hurry, hurry.
The ground rattled, and his balance faltered. It happened again, even stronger. What had Asterin called that phenomenon again? He couldn’t reach far enough into his mind to remember. It was too scattered for anything more than the primeval need to find her.
Sun breached the horizon of the once-dark Ignis. A new day.
A new era.
A passage to the east, toward the molten bedlam, curved into the start of the foothills. On the path, there appeared to be a scattering of something that didn’t belong there. He tempered the hope building in his chest as he wandered over.
Elloven lay on her side, an arm extended above her head.
Hope turned to fear when he rolled her onto her back and she didn’t respond. Her flame was still there, still intact. She was breathing, the low and shallow inhalations and exhalations of someone in deep rest.
“My heart.” He choked out the desperate words as her flame kissed his cheek. The ground tremored as he held her. “We did it. We’ve done it, El. Elloven, it’s done. Elloven!”
She didn’t stir, but she would. She would when he opened the door marked YOU. He knew she would, and until then, he would keep her safe from a world turning on itself.
Jesstin gathered her in his arms and carried her to where the land rose into the hills. Nowhere seemed safe from the dismantlement, but it was the best he could do without losing sight of the doors. He settled them against the rock face, Elloven’s head in his lap as she continued her deep slumber. Behind them, the atmosphere erupted with even greater intensity.
He brushed the hair away from her face, leaned against the rock in exhaustion, and waited for the dead to begin their passage.
Chapter 13
Exodus
Hours had gone by. Jesstin didn’t know how many, didn’t even know how to count them. He knew only that Elloven was still out, and he was exhausted.
The dead had begun to arrive some time back, at first in scattered assemblies, lingering outside the door marked THEM, but after a few had gone through successfully, the others left their doubts behind. Over the hours, the migration became a steady stream. Clusters of emotional farewells dotted the landscape.
Many waved in gratitude. How they knew he’d been the one to open the door, he’d probably never know for certain, but there’d been an entire troupe of believers with Mon in the maze, and there had to be more.
As the exodus moved forward, inevitable grief settled in. All ends begin here was as bittersweet a final sendoff as he could imagine. The dead would find their peace. Elloven could finally begin the life she was owed.
But for Jesstin, it was the beginning of a penance he’d spend the rest of his life working off.
Tears rolled down his cheeks. He couldn’t remember when or why they’d started, but he wasn’t embarrassed anymore. What reputation had he to uphold? What was real at all about a man who had contrived an entire life to hide from the one he’d been given? He longed for a time when being called a bastard was the worst of his afflictions. He wished he could kneel before the boy who’d been so lost and tell him he’d never find himself in the clamor if he couldn’t live with himself in the silence.
What he’d done that night, in the small apartment above the seamstress shop, had never felt right, no matter how much he’d pretended otherwise, but he’d borne it when he’d believed Gennady was the villain—when it had been a matter of honor and his only grief was for the man he’d believed his friend to be.
Jesstin let it all go as he finally mourned the truest friend he’d ever known. He made farewells with the excuses and rationalizations, and he held the woman whose life he would save and then crush.
In the mass departure, he spotted some familiar faces. A schoolmate. A neighbor he’d been fond of. Two staff from Riverhelm Citadel, who’d been married in life and were still together when they stepped through the door. Mathias made it as well, and they shared a brief nod from afar. It was all they had left to share. He watched for his mother and for Elloven’s, but he saw neither, though there were so many streaming in, it was hard to pick anyone out of the crowd.
He didn’t know how long it would take millions of souls to trek through the spiral, but weeks didn’t seem unreasonable.
Jesstin jolted at the intrusion of a shadow, its edges glowing from the explosions beyond. He tensed and carefully set Elloven aside to deal with whatever fresh nightmare he’d been sent.
“Easy.” Mon sat beside him. “You kept your promise.”
Jesstin’s muscles screamed as he adjusted from the position he’d held for hours. “Don’t sound so shocked.”
“Shocked you were capable? No, no. Shocked you cared enough?” Mon chuckled. “A touch.”
