Epilogue
Amelia stood on a newly repaired part of the city wall, watching the workers as they placed the last pieces of stone. Their hammers and chisels echoed on the wind, drowning out the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.
The sky was no longer dull with the eternal twilight that had seeped from the rift. The sun now shone down on her, gently warming her skin as she studied the improvements they’d made.
Karl waved up at her from the street. There weren’t many of them left, but those who remained struggled to reclaim some sense of normality, distracting themselves with the work of rebuilding.
Her work had kept her busy: restoring the Singing Stone Guild’s records, identifying remains, recording the names of the dead and those missing, and documenting what had happened.
She refused to let anyone rewrite history, recording her own mistakes as clearly as the emperor’s.
She had returned to the entrance of the collapsed catacombs to search for Emin, but there had been no sign of his body.
She left through the gates and headed north towards the mountain, leaving the city behind. The fae camp had grown over the past couple of months as they replaced their tents with more permanent structures.
On her way, she paused at the scar in the landscape—the only remaining sign of where the rift had been. The damp earth soiled her trousers as she knelt and remembered his face. She had promised herself that she would stop coming here, but she couldn’t. Not yet.
The breeze brushed softly against her skin, carrying the phantom memory of Casyl’s touch.
Amelia swallowed the familiar ache in her throat and scooped up a handful of the soil where the rift should have been. The dirt fell through her fingers, reminding her of his ashes dissipating into the rift. Her body clenched around a sob, and she folded forward.
“Casyl,” she whispered.
Then, deep beneath her palm, a low, rhythmic tremor rippled through the earth in answer.