Epilogue
KELLER
“Tell me again,” I say.
Lament groans and buries his face in his hands.
We’re sitting on the patio behind his parents’ house, surrounded by the lush oceanside gardens of their home on Planet Urporator.
To say my first impression of Mr. and Ms. Bringer was a shock would be an understatement.
They look like supermodels, their home is a mansion, and they’re so nice.
The kind of people who pull you into a bear hug and insist that you help yourself to whatever’s in their pantry.
I haven’t yet taken them up on that since we arrived ten days ago, but that’s because I’m trying to be Model Guest Keller and not Raids-the-Pantries-of-Strangers Keller. (Also, I really want them to like me.)
“Come on,” I coax, tugging Lament’s fingers away from his face. The sun is setting over the ocean behind him, giving the world a pearly pink hue. Light spills across the nearby seawall, the tropical landscaping, the cobblestone walkway leading back up to the house. “It’s a good story.”
Lament casts his eyes skyward like he’s hoping he’ll find help in the clouds. “I’ve already told it fifty times.”
“You’ve told it three times, and I will remind you that I died, so I think I deserve a fourth.”
“You can’t keep using your death to get your way.”
“I can and I will.”
“It’s morbid.”
“It’s inspired.”
“Keller.” Lament heaves a sigh. “I don’t want to keep reliving that day.”
I don’t understand how that can be true.
All I want is to relive eruption day, again and again, in his voice.
When I went into the volcano, I thought that was it.
Lights out. Game over. I’d sort of made peace with it, as much as you can make peace with your own untimely end.
But it wasn’t the end. Because Lament—in a twist not even FPS could have predicted (had FPS been real)—came for me.
He put the lifestone around my neck and told me he loved me and brought me back to life.
It doesn’t seem possible. None of it does. I am sitting here—living and breathing and thinking and feeling when I remember dying—and I still don’t fully believe it.
In the twenty or so days since Lament’s death-defying stunt (he hates when I call it that), the universe has gone into a veritable frenzy.
It’s part of the reason Lament and I are here on his home planet in the most remote corner of Romothrida Galaxy—to avoid the hysteria.
Currently, Romothrida is experiencing what we call a mass migration, which is what happens when one galaxy makes a discovery so groundbreaking that other galaxies flood in to take part.
And what Lament did in that volcano … I mean, you can’t get any more groundbreaking than bringing someone back from the dead, can you?
It’s never been done before. Not once, in our tens of thousands of years of recorded history, with all our vast advances in technology. Until me.
So yeah. The universe has taken notice. Life-forms from as far away as Sculpitor Galaxy (we’re talking really fucking far away) are racing to Romothrida in hopes of getting their hands on the now famous zurillium, and the Legion—weakened after its recent Determinist purge—is struggling to control the influx.
Since the Legion can’t ensure our safety, let alone our privacy, they’ve sent us here.
To Lament’s childhood home on this tiny paradise of a planet.
Sort-of-but-not-really in hiding. Waiting for the madness to die down.
I’m okay with it. I think it’s probably healthy for me to use this time to process all the ways my life has changed, even if I don’t actually feel that different from before. Or—that’s not true. I do feel different. But, like, different in a good way.
I look at the man sitting across from me. I think there’s a reason for that.
I reach out to trace a finger lightly over Lament’s knee. He’s wearing tan linen shorts today and a white button-down—both staples on Urporator—and there’s a scar that stretches from the back of his calf up around his shin. Another on his opposite knee, in the shape of an oval.
“What if,” I hedge, “you tell me the story of how you brought me back from the dead one more time and I promise I won’t ask about it again for the rest of the day.”
Lament glances at the setting sun. “The whole rest of the day, huh?”
“I am being very generous.”
“You are being intolerable.”
I grin. “Is that a yes?”
“It is very clearly not a yes.”
He catches my hand where it’s resting on his knee, links our fingers together. A thrill races through me, because this doesn’t feel real, either: I get to touch Lament whenever I want. He likes it. He touches me back.
We’ve been taking it slow. I think we’re both still holding on to some of our old fears (and, given the way I went off and got myself killed for a selfless yet nonetheless reproachable reason, some of our new ones).
Lament doesn’t always seem to trust that my undeadness is real.
He’ll wake me up in the middle of the night, eyes darting, fingers going to my pulse.
Like he needs proof I’m still there. It breaks my heart and fills me with so much light all at the same time, because his anxiety is my fault (as always) and I love him (so fucking much) and I didn’t entirely realize what my death would do to him.
How badly it would hurt him. I knew he cared, but I didn’t know he cared.
I know now, though. I guess that’s what happens when the man you love uses a magic stone to bring you back to life.
It forces the truth, raw and pure, out into the open.
For him and for me. We’ve both been stripped to our bones, and we’ve found that the things we were hiding under our skin were the same all along.
“Even if I agreed to that bargain,” Lament says in a tone that makes it clear he does not and will never agree to my bargain, “we don’t have time for another retelling. Vera and the others will be here soon.”
That perks me up. “I thought they weren’t coming until tomorrow?”
“Avi has begun to suspect us, so Vera changed the plan.”
“How does Avi suspect us?” I complain. “We’ve been so careful!”
“She’s Avi,” Lament replies. “Frankly, anyone who thinks we can pull off a surprise birthday party for a literal spy is deluding themselves.”
“I think we can pull off a surprise birthday party for a literal spy,” comes Vera’s voice from the doorway.
I look over to see her and Jester standing in the arched entrance that leads into the Bringers’ home.
Jester is in casual linen (he’s taken very quickly to Urporator’s dress code), while Vera’s wearing a frilly shirt and a black sequined skirt.
“Vera,” I say happily, standing to greet her. She and the rest of the Sixth are helping re-form the Legion, which means—despite them promising to visit Planet Urporator as often as they can—they’re not staying here with Lament and me. I step in to give her a hug. “You’re looking very sparkly.”
“Aren’t I?” She gives a twirl. Jester’s visor is pushed back, and his eyes rest on her affectionately. “I just got a message from Toph. He told Avi he left one of his tools in the Bringers’ garage as an excuse to get her over here tonight. And she bought it!”
“I doubt that,” Lament says.
“Hush,” I scold him. “Let the people have their hope.”
“Avi knows her birthday is tomorrow,” Lament argues. “She already suspects something’s going on. Also, why would Toph leave a tool here? You’re not going to trick her.”
“You’ll have to excuse him,” I tell Vera. “His partner recently died.”
“Well,” Vera says brightly, producing a wad of colored paper, “since his partner didn’t stay dead, maybe he can help me hang some streamers?”
“I’d love to,” I say, accepting the offered paper. “We’ll be just a second.”
Vera and Jester disappear back into the house.
Through the open doors, I can see the other Sixers (they arrived with Vera and Jester) are already well underway with the party preparations, Caspen rigging a colored light system around the Bringers’ great room, the Youvu Hums arranging candy artfully in bowls, Illiviamona blowing up balloons.
Master Ira is there, too, visiting from Venthros where he’s working to rebuild his school.
Caspen catches my eye, gives a wide grin, and says, “Up and on, then!”
Lament stands from his seat with all his usual poise, his hair attractively outgrown, his slender frame strong but light.
Our eyes lock, and suddenly I’m not thinking about parties or surprises.
I’m thinking about Lament here in front of me with his scars on display, the ultimate act of trust. I’m thinking about this beautiful, strong, flawed human, how close I was to losing him, how lucky I am that I didn’t.
My throat is suddenly tight. And my eyes itch. And no, I’m not going to cry right now. I’m not going to cry at all. Not even if it’s striking me for real (like it sometimes does these days) that I really did die. I died, and I made Lament live through it. He went to my funeral.
Am I a terrible human? How do I deserve him?
Lament sees my expression. He reaches for my hand, links his fingers through mine. “Hey. You’re okay.”
I take a deep breath. “I know.” I give his fingers a squeeze. “So are you.”
Our eyes hold. I’m not sure if he leans in first, or if I do, but next thing I know, I’m pressing his lips to mine. The kiss is slow and sweet and tender. I can joke all I want, but it will take time for the two of us to learn how to be together without all the hurt and doubt and confusion.
We have all the time in the world now.
“I love you,” he whispers as we pull apart.
“I love you, too.”
And maybe my eyes don’t stay dry after all. And maybe that’s okay.
“Now will you tell me the story about how you brought me back from the dead?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go of my hand. “No.”
“But I’m all sad and stuff. And you’re supposed to cheer me up. And it’s the best story.”
“Not the best,” he says.
“No?”
“No.”
“Then what is?”
He looks inside at our team, the rush of color and noise, giggles and chatter, everyone hurrying to get things ready. All these happy people. He leans his head against my shoulder and says, “The one that comes next.”