Epilogue - Rosalind
EPILOGUE - ROSALIND
ROSALIND
T he twin suns beat down relentlessly, but I barely feel their heat. My blood thrums with purpose, adrenaline humming beneath my skin.
Ahead, Visidion moves with easy grace, his wings half-furled against the wind. His face is weathered and scarred, his horns dulled by time—but his eyes burn with purpose. Hope stirs in my chest. Tentative. Fragile. But real.
Beside him, Shidan walks with measured, almost reverent steps.
We crest the ridge, and the barren valley stretches before us. Sand devils twist lazily through the dust. Far ahead, jagged stone juts from the earth—too precise, too intentional to be natural.
The ruins. An ancient Zmaj city, hidden by time and sand. Shidan’s voice cuts through the heavy air, low and steady.
“I found it long ago,” Shidan says quietly, “when I wandered, after the Devastation. It was empty then—no living Zmaj. Only echoes. And shelter.”
I glance at Visidion, and he meets my gaze with a slow, certain nod. It’s more than we dared hope for.
Shidan steps forward and kneels, dragging a claw through the sand to sketch a rough map. The wind tries to erase it, but his lines are sure and practiced.
“The structures are sound. Strong. There are dangers, of course, creatures that nest in abandoned places, but nothing we cannot handle.”
A home. A real home.
Not burrows beneath the earth. Not sun-bleached tents half-buried in sand. A place to live. To grow. To build a future.
A home for T’vori to come of age in.
I press a hand to my chest, steadying my breath. Visidion’s wing brushes against my back—a silent, grounding touch. Doubts fall away like dust in the wind.
“We’ll send scouting parties first,” I say, voice steady. “Clear it. Map it. Prepare it.”
“Our people deserve more than survival. They deserve a future,” Visidion says, rumbling his agreement.
Shidan smiles, a rare, quiet thing, and straightens.
“Then it will be yours. All of it.”
We stand together, three figures against the vastness of Tajss, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I believe. Not only in survival. Not only in making it to tomorrow. In building something. A true future, carved from the ashes of everything we lost.
A new city. A new beginning. For humans. For Zmaj. For Urr’ki.
For all of us who dared to dream.
I look over the endless red sands and imagine it laughter ringing through ancient streets. Children playing in shaded courtyards. Lovers whispering under the twin suns.
And I know—we’re not just surviving anymore.
We’re coming home.
The blood of Tajss runs through us now—fierce, defiant.
When the stars come to claim her, they’ll find her heart still beating. Still burning.
I take Visidion’s hand in mine, leaning into his strength. Strength we will need, but for now, this is enough.
As Visidion has said so many times.
Tajss provides.
THE END