Chapter 4
Kaia
My wings hurt.
I didn’t even know wings could hurt, but here we are. Standing at the edge of eternity with aching wing-muscles and tear tracks drying on my face and an endless parade of Eds still shuffling past me into the light.
This is my life now, apparently. Professional Ed-watcher. Cosmic crossing guard.
Behind me, the bonds hum steady and warm. Finn’s chaos feels different somehow — brighter, more settled — I’m going to have to ask him about that. Malrik feels almost content. Torric and Aspen struggle with the need to protect me even now. And Kieran? He’s ready to go home, but refuses to leave me.
They’re all still here.
We’re still here.
Thank the gods.
Another Ed shuffles past. I’ve stopped counting. Stopped saying goodbye to each one. My voice gave out about an hour ago.
Movement to my left, and the God steps up beside me. He doesn’t crowd. Doesn’t speak. Just exists there, watching the souls pass with an expression I can’t read.
I should probably be terrified of him. I was, like, two hours ago. Now I’m just tired.
“You did well, Little Valkyrie.”
The words hit somewhere I wasn’t expecting. Somewhere soft and bruised that I thought I’d armored over.
My throat goes tight.
“I didn’t do anything,” I manage. “I just stood here.”
“You opened the Gate. Aligned six bloodlines through choice. Faced a monster who spent centuries preparing for this moment.” He glances at me, and there’s something almost warm in those ancient eyes. “You did not break.”
“I almost broke.”
“Almost is not the same as did.”
I don’t have a comeback for that.
More Eds shuffle past. The stream is thinning — I can see gaps between them now. Spaces where snow peeks through.
My chest tightens.
“Can I ask you something?”
He inclines his head.
“Seren and Lira.” The names scrape out of me. “We followed them through Absentia. We saw them. Heard them. They were here.” I wave at the Gate, at the stragglers still passing through. “But they haven’t come through. Where are they? Did I miss them? Did something happen? Are they—”
“You never followed them.”
My stomach drops straight through my feet.
“What?”
“The Seren and Lira you saw were fabrications.” His voice is gentle, which somehow makes it worse. “Illusions woven from your memories. Bait.”
No.
No, that’s not—
We saw them. We tracked them for weeks. I pushed everyone to the breaking point trying to reach them—
“Alekir knew you would follow them,” the God continues. “Knew it would break you open. Drive you closer to the Gate.” A pause. “He showed you what you feared most. What you wanted most.”
I can’t breathe.
“None of it was real.”
The words land like a punch to the chest.
“They were never in Absentia,” he says quietly. “Their souls were never trapped here. Alekir did not have them.”
“Then where—”
“Safe. At the academy.”
I don’t know if I want to scream or collapse or laugh until I can’t stop.
All those weeks. All that guilt. All those nights lying awake convinced I was failing them, that they were suffering somewhere I couldn’t reach, that it was my fault—
“I thought I failed them.” My voice cracks and I hate it. “I thought—”
“You couldn’t have saved them here. There was nothing to save them from.”
The relief hits so hard my knees almost buckle.
They’re safe.
Seren and Lira are safe.
I didn’t fail them because they were never here to fail.
A sob rips out of me before I can stop it. Then another. I press my hands over my face and just let it happen because I’m too tired to pretend anymore.
The God doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t offer platitudes.
He just waits.
When I finally get myself together — mostly — I wipe my face and look back at the Gate. The Eds are still coming, but barely. A trickle now instead of a flood.
“How many more?” My voice sounds wrecked.
The God glances at the remaining souls, then at me. Something shifts in his expression.
“Would you like me to speed this along?”
“What?”
He raises one hand.
Snaps his fingers.
And every remaining Ed on the plateau — thousands of them — just… ripples. Like wind through grass. Like a wave pulling back from shore.
Then they’re gone.
All of them. Swept through the Gate in one gentle rush.
The plateau goes silent. Empty. Snow and stone and nothing else.
I stare at the space where an army of souls stood two seconds ago.
“Hey!” Finn’s voice cuts across the plateau, indignant and bewildered. “The Eds! Where did they— I wasn’t done! I had a whole speech prepared for Ed number five hundred thousand!”
Gods, I love him.
I turn back to the God, pretty sure my expression is somewhere between incredulous and murderous.
“You could have done that the whole time?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you—”
“You seemed very determined.” The faintest hint of a smile. “Your ancestors always preferred ceremony.”
“I had material,” Finn calls out, still sounding betrayed. “Good material. Ed-specific material.”
I shake my head at Finn’s antics. But honestly, I don’t know whether to laugh or punch an ancient deity.
“I’ve been standing here for hours.”
“I noticed.”
“Saying goodbye to individual Eds. My voice gave out. My wings hurt.”
“Also noticed.”
“And you just—” I gesture wildly at the empty plateau. “One finger snap. That’s all it took.”
“Would you have wanted me to do it earlier?”
I open my mouth. Close it.
Because no. I wouldn’t have. Those hours meant something, even if I can’t explain what.
“No,” I admit, hating that he’s right. “I wouldn’t have.”
He nods like that settles it.
I turn to look out over Absentia, mostly to avoid his smug ancient face.
And my breath catches.
It’s changing.
Right now, in real time, the gray wasteland I’ve been traveling through for weeks is waking up. Patches of green breaking through dead stone. Hills shifting from ash to moss and gold. Rivers shaking off their darkness and running clear.
Trees bursting into color — reds and golds and deep greens — like someone flipped a switch marked “autumn” and the whole realm responded.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“It always wanted to be.” The God steps up beside me. “The corruption kept it frozen. Now that the Gate is open, now that souls can pass through again…” He gestures at the healing landscape. “Balance returns.”
I watch a hillside bloom gold. Watch a river run silver. Watch the world become what it was supposed to be.
My parents never got to see this.
The thought rises unbidden, and suddenly my chest is too tight again.
“My parents,” I say quietly. “Did they know? When they sent me through? Did they know any of this would happen?”
The God is quiet for a long moment.
“They knew you would live.”
Something cracks behind my ribs.
“They sent you through time because it was the only door Alekir couldn’t follow you through. The only way to save you.” His voice is soft in a way that makes my eyes burn. “They never regretted the choice. Not for one moment.”
I can’t look at him. Can’t look at anything. My vision is blurring.
“They didn’t die in despair, Kaia. They died in hope.”
A sound escapes me. Something between a sob and a laugh.
“You were their last thought.” The God’s voice drops even quieter. “And their first prayer.”
I break.
Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just tears streaming down my face and my shoulders shaking and centuries of grief finally having somewhere to go.
They died hoping I would live.
They died believing I would become this.
“Thank you,” I manage when I can speak again. The words feel tiny against everything he’s given me. “For telling me that.”
He inclines his head.
Then he steps back a few feet. Gives me space.
But he doesn’t leave.
I can feel him there, waiting. Because he’s not done. There’s more coming — I can feel it in the way he’s watching me, in the way the bonds are humming, in the way Absentia keeps unfurling beneath us like it’s been holding its breath for centuries.
But for now, I just stand here.
Watching the world heal.
Feeling Finn’s chaos spark bright and strange in my chest — different than before, happier somehow — and making a mental note to find out what the hell happened while I was busy being a professional Ed-watcher.
The wind carries the smell of growing things. Of life coming back.
Behind me, my men wait.
Ahead of me, Absentia blooms.
And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel like maybe — maybe — everything is going to be okay.