Epilogue
CALAMITY
Bringing someone back to life was easy.
They were in the Capital – one could hardly move without running into a cleric, and the Adventurers Guild had access to the materials needed to revive someone.
Whilst Yorick, Eden, and Liam had been okay with simple healing spells, Morgana had needed a more elaborate ritual, which the clerics had been happy to perform.
But true resurrection? That was much harder to orchestrate. The materials alone cost more than twenty-five thousand gold, which was a bit steep for the Adventurers Guild, especially since Nashala hadn’t actually been a member.
But Nashala had wanted to fight for good, and Calamity was nothing if not stubborn.
So she’d carefully swept what remained of Nashala off the stage of The Pandemonium Theatre – something she knew Nashala would have found mortifyingly vulnerable – and kept her in a jar in her bunk.
After the rest of The Twelve had been rounded up, and Calamity had confirmed herself that Trulnuroth was truly gone for good, she took on extra assignments, along with the other party members, and actually kept a coffer instead of stashing her gold in random places like she usually did.
Nashala deserved a bit more diligence than Calamity was used to.
Months later, after a particularly profitable barter with a bronze dragon, Calamity finally had enough.
So she paid a visit not to the fancy clerics in the Capital but to a remote monastery in the Northern Isles – one where some of Nashala’s kind had resettled, adopting a peaceful, cloistered life.
If Nashala were to find a new home away from Trulnuroth, maybe this was a good place for her to start.
Calamity hoped she’d get to fight alongside her again one day, but it wasn’t up to her, and Nashala deserved to choose her own destiny.
Some of the monks eyed Calamity warily as she made her way up the path, their gazes catching on her horns and tail.
Instead of going into the whitewashed monastery, however, Calamity made her way to the cliffside overlooking the sea.
An unassuming stone altar – just a single piece of flat stone, the same as that which made up the surrounding cliffs – was perched almost on the edge.
The breeze was strong and salty, and Calamity breathed it in deeply.
Yes, this would be a good place to wake up.
A druid came out to meet her, their blue, translucent robes billowing in the wind, held against them with an intricately embossed leather belt. They gave a knowing smile as they stood across the altar from Calamity, asking whom she hoped to bring back.
When Calamity held out the jar before her, the druid’s soft smile wavered slightly.
“I think we’d be better off starting from scratch,” the druid offered. “Her spirit will find its way back in whatever form feels right.”
Calamity hesitated at this – she wanted Nashala to be able to come back exactly as she had been. The scar that proved her mettle. The muscles she’d spent decades honing. Every speckle on her green skin the same size and shape it had been.
But now that she looked at it properly for the first time in months, Calamity was pretty sure there was some sand from the Capital streets mixed in with the dust Nashala had disintegrated into.
And plus, the gaps in the stage floor had been wide enough that some may have fallen down them.
So, if she had to choose between trusting her own ability to collect Nashala’s remains or a perfectly serviceable approximate, she’d have to choose the latter.
So she nodded at the druid, who began the ritual.
At the very end, they nodded at Calamity, who knew her line. She’d been studying the spell for months, wishing desperately she could cast it herself. She could do this part, at least.
“Nashala,” she whispered into the wind.
“Nashala,” the druid echoed.
Just then, a huge gust came up over the cliff and caught the druid’s robes again. The fabric blew forward, over the altar, obscuring Calamity’s vision, and she had to close her eyes against the blast of air.
When she opened them, the blue robes fluttered aside to reveal Nashala lying on the altar.
Calamity gasped, and Nashala’s eyes fluttered open. Calamity’s stomach sank – would Nashala remember her? If so, would she resent Calamity for her sacrifice? Calamity had been so focused on the how that she hadn’t much considered the what next. Typical.
But Nashala’s lips tugged into that same smirk Calamity had imagined every day, and Calamity breathed a sigh of relief.
“Welcome back,” she said, grasping Nashala’s hand. Nashala didn’t pull away, but instead squeezed Calamity’s fingers. “How does it feel?”
Nashala’s brow pinched as she considered this. Then her smile widened. “It feels … good.”