Epilogue #3
The young gryvern crept cautiously toward the apple, circling it four, five, six times, before finally taking a tentative bite. Her petite wings flapped with delight, and she wiggled her haunches before pouncing on the fruit and devouring it in giant chomps.
Luther tossed a second apple, letting it land closer to us. The baby scuttled backward, frightened, but when Sorae lowered her head and nudged the apple with her snout, her daughter slowly approached.
Across the garden, a donkey let out an ear-splitting honk.
I cringed, fearing the sound would scare off the youngling for good. Her eyes grew wide, apple forgotten. She stretched her neck up into the air, jet-black scales glittering in the moonlight as she let out a cry that sounded, curiously, like a honk.
The donkey’s ears twitched as it stared down the little creature with its one good eye. Its tail swished, and it brayed again, loud and grating. The little gryvern fluttered its wings and attempted a roar, though the resulting sound was not much different than the donkey’s screech.
“Oh, fuck,” Luther said under his breath. “Now there’s two of them.”
The little gryvern took off running toward her new friend with excited hops.
She flapped her wings, trying to get airborne, and the donkey startled.
It tucked its tail, galloping in the opposite direction with a flurry of hee-haws echoing through the trees.
The baby mistook the beast’s panic for a game, chasing behind and further terrifying him with her shrieks.
Taran Junior, never one to be left out of the fun, trotted happily around the clearing, too slow to keep up but adding his loud bleats to the chorus.
Tybold finally emerged from the forest. He watched the chaos with an unamused stare, though when his daughter flap-hopped past him, he bunted her side with an affectionate snort.
Luther and I led Sorae to the garden, telling her of all that had passed in her absence as she dutifully plucked our orchard clean.
Tybold stayed behind to supervise his daughter’s antics, and we made sure to toss a few apples his way, as well.
When I caught his gaze and raised a fist to my chest in grateful deference, his head gave a faint dip.
I did not ask where Sorae had gone these past months, and, perhaps at Tybold’s request, she did not tell me.
It was enough for me to know that she was safe, and most importantly, that she was free.
I did, however, beg to see her again, offering to climb the peaks of the highest Montios mountains if that’s what was needed to keep her young one safe.
She made no promises, but when Tybold began an impatient strut across our yard, signaling (to Aemonn the donkey’s great relief) that it was time to leave, her final nuzzle against my chest felt like until next time, not goodbye.
Her brave little daughter offered up a nuzzle, too, even allowing me a scratch behind her ear before she bounded away. As Sorae and her family took flight into the stars, my cheeks were wet and my heart was so very full.
Life was far from perfect in Emarion. Most of the realms still lay in ruins, and outside of those who’d joined my army, few had survived. Only a small number of Descended were left from Montios, Meros, Sophos, and Arboros.
Of the brave Centenaries of Umbros, none remained.
Though many felt passionately that the Emarion Army should be disbanded for good, leaving the soldiers of Fortos without a mission was a risk none of us wanted to take.
On my orders, they’d followed Doriel, Obaneryn, and Cordellia to Meros, where they’d already managed to get the port back up and running.
They were now rebuilding Sophos’s central city with the agreement of all involved that when it reopened, it would be welcome to any person who wished to learn, without restriction.
Tensions between mortals and Descended lingered, and perhaps they always would, but they were neither enshrined in law, nor encouraged by our culture.
With every month that passed, the lines between them blurred.
Families blended, neighborhoods mixed, and lasting friendships formed.
It was a perilously fragile flower, planted in poisoned stone and watered in blood, but Luther and I, and so many like us, were determined to make it bloom.
As for Coeur?le, it had become a sacred place, where people of all faiths would gather at the Everflame to pray.
Luther would not visit, and though I didn’t fear the island as I once had, I kept my distance, too.
Someday, the Undying Fire would call us both back to its shores—but not yet, and not for many years to come.
Our future was uncertain, but it was no longer dark or cold. It blazed with a brilliant, crackling glow.
Because hope isn’t just a spark—it’s a fire.
And the flames always win in the end.