Page 152 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

They were burning the bodies today.

Agony slammed through me like I’d thrown myself against a tidal wave and somehow lived to tell the tale.

Lived.

I hadn’t, though, had I?

Though fuzzy, my memory of the After remained, haunting in its certainty—in Ansel’s final words, in the warning left ringing through me: You will lose she who you most loved.

Mags. I had to get to Mags.

Someone was still saying my name, but the darkness dragged me under. And won.

Five days after the portals opened…

I opened my eyes to a purple sky glittering with gold stars. Fire crackled nearby as footsteps entered the space, followed by a woman’s soft keening—like the mourning wails of a life long past.

Blinking, I pulled in a full breath and realized my ribs expanded without agony. My bones no longer ached. Swallowing no longer felt like eating glass. Between that miraculous ease and the gold-gilded molding edging the domed ceiling, there was only one place I could be: Hazelharbor.

I licked my parched lips and shifted upright—or tried to. I made it as far as my elbows before a distinctly female voice gasped, “Oh, Commander!”

Rich brown eyes set against cool umber skin locked onto mine as my vision focused. “Kari?” I breathed, my voice rough with disuse.

“Take it easy, Aren—it’s no minor miracle you’re here with us.”

I blinked away the last of the fog. When Kari came back into focus, a glass of water glistened in her hands, fresh scrapes healing across her knuckles.

“You’re injured,” I croaked, gratefully accepting the glass as she settled on the bed.

“It’s nothing,” she whispered, her eyes full of sympathy as they held mine.

“Wes?” I breathed before greedily downing mouthfuls of water.

“Fine, thank the gods,” she reported, but the concern pinching her features told a different story.

“Mags?”

Kari tipped her chin forward. I twisted to look behind me, shoulders loosening when Magnolia came into view. Raven tendrils splayed around her in a chaotic snarl, but she slept—skin faintly glowing, dark lashes resting over her perfect tan…

Less tan.

I worked grit from my throat as I swung my legs over the edge, needing to get to her. To feel her warmth. The rise and fall of her breath beneath my hands.

I settled my feet on the floor despite Kari’s barked, “Slow, Commander! Take it slow.”

I knocked back the water, stood, and set the glass beside the infirmary bed. Always was a shit patient. I hit my knees in front of her and searched frantically for injuries, finding not so much as a scrape. I reached to brush tangled hair from her face—then stopped.

Assessed.

Because my hands were wrong. Unblemished. The scars I’d carried for centuries had vanished as though they’d been flecks of dirt washed clean.

“What the hell happened?” I breathed, checking Magnolia’s neck, her arms, thumbing aside the hem of her tank…

Her waist was free of scars too. Even the stretch marks I’d memorized and worshiped were gone.

“Kari,” I demanded, looking over my shoulder. Pity filled her gaze as she shook her head.

“I’m sorry to say not even Nathara understands. She just… imploded, Aren. The darkness inside the blast radius vanished. So did the injuries of our allies. She’s been like this ever since.”