Epilogue #2
“My Tether to Micah. . .it broke during the trial.” The words come easier than I expected.
“At first, I didn’t know if it was real or just another vision, another trial illusion meant to break me.
But the hollowness I felt afterward, that wasn’t a dream.
It was real and it tugs at me daily like a physical wound.
I’ve tried to ignore the need, the urge to go searching.
I want to be here for you, for Mom, for Sam and Locke.
I’ll throw Rue in there for good measure,” I chuckle, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears.
“But I can’t keep pretending I’m whole when part of me is missing.
I need to know what happened to her. I need to find Micah. ”
“You don’t have to explain,” he says, leaning forward with gentle intensity. “You’ve done more for this realm than I ever could’ve asked. You saved me from a fate worse than death. You saved Vanir from corruption that would have destroyed everything good in it, Esme. We owe you—”
“You owe me nothing.”
“I owe you everything.” His voice is quiet but firm, carrying the weight of absolute truth.
“You gave me back my crown, my freedom, my life. You gave this realm hope again. Go. Go whenever you’re ready.
You don’t ever need to ask for permission to leave or to return.
This is your legacy, your inheritance. This realm will one day be yours, when you’re ready for it. ”
A lump rises in my throat, threatening to choke off my words. The magnitude of what he’s offering, the trust he’s placing in me, overwhelms me. “Thank you,” I manage, the words inadequate for everything I’m feeling.
Before either of us can speak again, a sharp knock jolts the peaceful atmosphere of the room. A soldier bursts through the door without ceremony, his armor clanking, chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath.
“Sire! Forgive the intrusion, but Mageetha has returned!” he gasps, his eyes wide with urgency. “She’s at the main gate, my King. She’s not alone.”
My heart stutters, then begins to race. Something in the soldier’s tone, in the way his hands shake slightly as he speaks, tells me this is important. Life-changing important.
“What do you mean, not alone?” my father asks, already rising from his chair, the king in him responding to potential threat.
“There are humans with her,” the soldier says, wringing his hands nervously. “Armed humans, my King. They look like warriors.”
I don’t hesitate. I’m on my feet and out the door before conscious thought catches up with my body, the blood roaring in my ears drowning out everything else.
I barely register the pounding of boots behind me until Locke appears at my side like a shadow given form, Sam just behind him with his long strides eating up the distance, Rue catching up with us despite his elaborate court attire, eyebrow raised with curiosity and excitement.
“We heard the commotion,” Locke says, his voice carefully controlled but I can hear the underlying tension. He’s ready for battle if needed.
“It’s her,” I whisper, the certainty hitting me like a physical blow. “She’s really here. I can feel it.”
“The infamous Nephilim, how deliciously exciting,” Rue says with delight, practically bouncing as he runs.
“Don’t call her infamous in front of the triplets, they might gut you for fun and dance in your entrails,” Sam warns with grim humor, though there’s affection in it. “They’re protective.”
I’m half listening as we sprint through the corridors together, my father close behind.
We fly past stunned courtiers who press themselves against walls to let us pass, past startled handmaidens who clutch flowers to their chests, through the main hall where our footsteps echo like thunder, and toward the outer courtyard where morning light streams through tall windows.
The great iron gates of Castle Noire rise into view ahead of us, their imposing presence suddenly seeming less like protection and more like a barrier keeping me from what I need most.
There, just beyond them, standing in the early morning light like a vision made manifest—
“Micah,” I whisper her name like a prayer, letting it fall from my lips in relief so profound it threatens to buckle my knees.
She stands tall and proud, blood smeared down her arms in dried streaks, and smudges of dirt across her face like war paint, but she’s whole.
She’s gloriously, perfectly whole. She’s surrounded by the others in a protective formation I recognize, Ty and Trys flanking her like matching bookends, Rook and Rodyn scanning the perimeter with predatory awareness, Lyrik’s hands resting casually on weapon hilts, and her brother, Marcus, standing slightly behind her with the deadly grace of a guardian angel.
All of them are dressed in black combat gear that’s seen recent action, weapons strapped to backs and thighs with military precision, every one of them looking like they just fought their way through a warzone to get here.
Miss Margaret stands beside them, hands clasped tightly in front of her chest, her usually composed features showing the strain of whatever journey brought them here. Her eyes are full of weary relief and something that looks like barely contained terror.
The second I see Micah, really see her standing there alive and breathing and real, I don’t think. Every rational thought evaporates. I run.
I cross the courtyard in seconds that feel like hours, my feet barely touching the ancient stones, the iron gates groaning open just as I reach them.
I slam into her with enough force to stagger us both, arms thrown around her neck, and she crashes into me like a homecoming, like the missing piece of my soul snapping back into place.
She holds me just as tight, her grip almost desperate, and I can feel her trembling against me.
“I thought I lost you,” I whisper against her neck, breathing in her familiar scent mixed with sweat and fear and determination. “I thought—”
“You didn’t.” Micah holds me tighter, her voice rough with emotion. “I came for you.”
Something inside me knits back together at her words, the ragged edges of my broken heart beginning to mend. She came for me just when I was about to do the same.
I pull back to tell her exactly that, to share the irony of our timing, when I feel it. A flare of searing heat in my chest, a violent tug that has nothing to do with our severed Tether but it feels like something else entirely. Something foreign and wrong and terrifying.
Micah hisses in sudden pain, her face contorting as she steps back to pull her shirt down, revealing skin that makes my blood freeze in my veins.
A glowing, jagged brand burns bright red against the center of her chest, pulsing with its own malevolent life.
The second I see it, agony rips through me like lightning.
I double over with a cry that tears from my throat, one hand clutching my sternum as heat explodes beneath my skin like molten metal being poured directly into my bones.
Locke and Sam rush to either side of me, but I throw out a hand to steady myself and stop them from getting closer.
With shaking fingers, I yank down my shirt and watch in mounting horror as the same mark slowly burns itself across my chest. It begins as a thin line of fire, then spreads and deepens, becoming a perfect mirror of what marks Micah. It pulses in time with my heartbeat, alive and hungry and wrong.
Micah stares at my chest, her eyes wide with horror and terrible knowing. Her face has gone ashen beneath the dirt and blood, and I can see her hands trembling.
“He marked us,” she says, her voice cracking.
She reaches for me with fingers that shake, running them gently over the burning symbol on my skin.
Her touch is cool against the fire, but it doesn’t stop the pain.
“He’s relentless, Esme. I thought stopping him would be easier, I thought we could end this quickly.
He did this to me while I was fighting him, branded me like cattle.
He won’t stop until he gets what he wants. He’s hunting us.”
“Who?” I gasp as the men around us all begin to talk at the same time, their voices a blur of concern and anger and questions I can’t focus on through the pain.
Micah looks me dead in the eye, and in her gaze I see fear that chills me more than the mark burns me.
“Cain.”
– The End –
For Now