Epilogue
Amonth had passed since the destruction of Elder Harrow and Phobetor. Since Seryn Nightshade’s Ascension. The atmosphere in Helos carried a tentative peace, but the city’s scars lingered in the charred wood and the splintered but repaired Hallowed End.
A multitude of hours had been spent debriefing, planning, and rebuilding.
Each of the Korax members, for they were all officially ravens now, had a part to play. A journey to embark on in the turns ahead. Scouts were sent to gather more rebels, to organize across Midst Fall. There wasn’t time to waste, with the last pieces of the prophecy on the horizon.
The Perilous Bogs breathed again, albeit bated.
Seryn stood at the edge of the bog field to the west, the hem of her dark dress brushing dew-laden moss, her dagger glinting from her belt. Her golden tattoos caught the dawn.
Mist rolled low over the murky water, curling around doombarks and spongy hummocks, carrying the scent of new life and something older still—an ancient ember that had slept beneath the surface for eons.
The Somnis hummed quietly in her soul, as it always did in these early hours, when the moon’s memory lingered.
The bond was faint but persistent. It was a tether to the dreaming world, an invitation.
It pulsed in her sinew, steadying her, whispering that her purpose had not yet ended with Phobetor’s fall.
Behind her, Gavrel moved with careful grace, his steps soundless, the hummock bobbing gently under their feet. Every now and then, his eyes found hers as though to reassure himself she was still here, still real.
Seryn had tried to visit the Augur’s cabin in the bogs a couple of weeks past, but the Ancient of Illusions had moved on; the embered archway had vanished.
It was doubtful the night of the Hallowed End battle would be the last anyone saw of Phantasos. For mortal dreams would never be rid of illusions.
Sometimes, when the veil between realms thinned, Seryn still felt the pull—the whisper of the Somnis inviting her into its tides.
Soul-wandering wasn’t the same as portaling between realms, but it carried its own peril.
When she let her spirit drift, the Aetherbind quivered, the thread between soul and flesh stretching thinner.
She had learned that Kosmos always asked for something in return.
With Gavrel, it was different. Their soul was a single flame split in two, the divine tether between them holding firm. When she found him in dreams, their joined light moved as one, neither straining nor fraying the veil.
But with others … the cost was heavier.
She had done it once for Letti and Yaya—only once—to draw her sister and grandmother into the Somnis so they could see Mama again.
Letti’s dream had burned bright, darting through the dreamscape like a star refusing to be caught.
Yaya’s was equally stubborn. It had taken all of Seryn’s strength, will, and the lingering grace of the Somnis to reach them. And when she finally did, something in herself stretched thin, fragile as spun glass.
Yet, it’d been worth it. Beneath the Elysium Tree, she’d been granted time with her mother, grandmother, and sister. They’d spoken of home, of Midst Fall, and of what still needed mending.
When Seryn returned, the Somnis trembled inside her for days; her essence shaken and her aura buzzing angrily under her flesh.
After that, she made herself a promise. She wouldn’t seek out other people’s dreams again. Not unless the need outweighed the cost.
For a long moment, she and Gavrel simply stood there, letting the morning stretch around them. Gavrel’s thumb brushed over her knuckles. The fog curled, and somewhere in the distance, something vigilant watched and waited. She did not need to name it.
Thoughts of what must come next replaced her memories of what once was. Helos would recover, but the realm was still dying. Elder Lucan Craven reigned in Evergryn, poisoning her home with his greed and toxicity.
And Elder Ash still had to be found. She hoped Kaden, Caelora, and Jace found him before trouble found them. They’d left weeks ago, amid a flurry of bickering. She sent a prayer to Tyche that she would pave their journey in luck.
Seryn tightened her grip on her khorda’s hand and stepped forward to the edge of the knoll. The sun fully broke over the horizon, painting the mist in rose gold and peach. She couldn’t help but feel the shift settling deep within her.
The Perilous Bogs seemed to shiver. The future stretched wide and uncertain before them. Elder Nightshade inhaled the scent of moss and brine, and in that breath, she knew hope. She would be ready.
They would all be ready.
In that moment, the Perilous Bogs fell silent again when the sun’s base clung to the skyline—but it was not the silence of endings.
It was the silence of a beginning.
As Seryn and Gavrel’s story closes, the Fates are not done with their games. Stay tuned for the next swoon-worthy romance in the Fate of the Embered series.