Kharvek
FIFTY-FIVE
The survivors begin to gather as the sky darkens.
Not the children—they stay where the ruined ground meets unspoiled earth, watched over by Dena’s watchful steadiness. But others. People I recognize from the Breeding Pens. Attendants who fled the Sanctum’s collapse. Stock who escaped during the chaos and hid in the surrounding territories.
They approach in ones and twos. Cautious. Uncertain. Looking at the destruction with expressions that mix relief and terror and stunned hope.
“Is it over?” A woman I don’t recognize. Middle-aged. The marks of a former breeder visible on her arms. “Is she really gone?”
“She’s gone.” I keep my voice even. “The Matron is dead. The clan is finished.”
“And you?” Her gaze drops to my arms. To the changed scars, the new patterns. “What are you?”
What am I?
The question echoes in my skull. I’ve been asking it for weeks—months—years. What am I, if not a weapon? What purpose do I serve, if not destruction?
Six brothers I never knew. Six versions of me that never made it out. I don’t know how to mourn strangers who share my face.
“I’m free.” The answer comes without thought. “Finally, truly free.”
The woman stares at me. Her expression shifts—fear giving way to understanding. Recognition.
“We’re all free.” Tears streak her face. “Because of what you did.”
I don’t know how to respond. Don’t know how to carry the weight of what we’ve accomplished—the lives saved, the system destroyed, the future opened up by the death of everything we’ve ever known.
Imara stirs against my shoulder. Her eyes flutter open.
“How long?” Her voice is clearer now. Stronger.
“A few hours.” I brush hair from her face. “The survivors are gathering. They have questions.”
“They’ll have to wait a bit longer.” She pushes herself upright. Winces at the pain but doesn’t complain. “I need to see it.”
“See what?”
“Everything.” She looks toward the horizon. Toward the place where the Sanctum used to stand. “I need to see what we destroyed.”