I stared at the young victim of my selfishness—guilt lodged in my throat, stomach clenched in shock.

Jackson's skin was pale, his untrimmed hair as brown as the cave walls entombing us. He had the build of an artisan, not a soldier, and yet here he was, clad in leather armor with a deadly weapon at his side.

It felt so long ago when I'd knocked him out, stolen his helmet, and robbed him of his spot in the Tournament. And I hated to say it, but I'd completely forgotten about him in the midst of war, despite the dramatic impacts my actions had on his life path. Actions that had led him here, separated from his family.

"Jackson, I am so sorry," I whispered, shaking my head back and forth. "There's nothing I can say to justify what I did. I was only thinking of myself, and I'm sorry for everything I've put you through."

Mason gaped at me, having assumed the boy was joking, but no one else seemed very surprised by our history. Beckett looked like he was holding back a fit of laughter, and the other guard had given up on his interrogation altogether.

Jackson waved away my concerns, and the high-pitched ringing faded away as the remaining bats fled the cavern. "I didn't want to compete anyway, and it looks like you made good use of your Tournament ranking. I'm just happy to hear my family's okay." His eyes darted back to Mason. "They are okay, right?"

"They're safe in Havenbrooke," the blond replied. "Knowing you're alive will restore their spirits, though."

In other words, no, they're not okay, but they will be.

"What happened?" I asked. "How did you end up...here?"

Jackson scratched the back of his head. "Basically...a demon patrolling the arena found me. It was after dark at that point, and he was all alone, so I was able to fight him off and slip out of Belgate unnoticed. Then I ran into some Rhean refugees along the Rim, and they took pity on me and offered to bring me with them." He glanced at his fellow guard, his gaze heavy. "I've learned a lot since then."

I could only imagine. I'd had to unlearn plenty this past year, from Rhean culture to political landscapes to paranormal entities. Ells had lied to us about everything.

"So we've made it then," Will said. "To the safe haven."

The taller guard—a vibrant redhead with dark green eyes—slid off his mask, revealing a harsh scowl and the jawline of a man in his mid-twenties. "You haven't made it anywhere yet. You may be friends of friends, but you're still Ellsian."

Torian clicked his tongue, stepping out from behind a thick stalactite. "He's no Ellsian, Campbell. And neither am I."

I scrunched my nose. What the hell was a Campbell?

Green eyes narrowed on the medic. "Clan name."

"Abadi," Torian answered. "I come from a long line of doctors in Colona."

"...The Kashifs?"

Tori nodded proudly, and the guard let out a breath. "Good. Your cousins are here. They'll be pleased to know you've escaped." He turned to Will, skeptical and unimpressed. "And what about you, Stripes?"

I puffed my cheeks at the insult, embarrassed for everyone in this situation, while Valerie covered her mouth to capture her giggles. Will looked beyond peeved, and I couldn't blame him. This reception was probably the last thing he expected.

"I'm a descendent of the Sterling Clan," the prince said, and Jackson looked to me, bewildered. As a student in Belgate, he'd only ever known Will as Tooms, the carpenter's apprentice with a bad attitude and a steady sword hand.

Campbell looked him over with a kind of cautious fascination. "Sterling, you said? Haven't seen one of those since we emigrated. What's your surname?"

Will ran his tongue across his molars. "...Sterling."

There was a lengthy pause as the two guards processed his sentence and the revelation tucked beneath its folds. Then Campbell's mouth parted, and a series of troubled emotions passed over his face. "But...that would make you..."

"Asa Sterling," Will said, extending his hand to help me up off the ground. "The second son of Godric Sterling, brother to the king of Rhea, and an enemy to the crown." After pulling me to my feet, he faced the gate and his fears beyond it. Unafraid, unabashed, and determined to rewrite his name. "I've come seeking aid."

Our footsteps echoed as we moved across the wooden walkway spanning the cave floor. Electric lights flickered above us, exposing the numerous crates stacked against the walls. The boxes were loaded with pickled vegetables, potatoes, and what resembled wheels of cheese.

It was a clever storage method, really. Those items would stay incredibly cool and dry here, regardless of the season.

"Is that a wolf?" Jackson asked timidly, nodding toward the giant black canine beside me.

"Yeah. You haven't seen her before?"

"No...?"

I shared a baffled look with Valerie. How had Cinder known to lead us here if this wasn't a place she frequented?

Was the creature all-knowing? Did the spirit possessing her body recognize our mission? Or had she merely smelled the food pantry?

A few minutes later, a sliver of light appeared ahead, signaling the end of the tunnel, and I glanced at Will and his ever-stoic expression. "Are you ready?"

He shrugged. "Would it make any difference if I said no?"

"Probably not."

We stepped out of the cave, and despite the smoky atmosphere above, it took a while for my eyes to adjust to the morning light. It took even longer to make sense of my surroundings.

The cavern had ejected us into a crater-sized valley on the other side of the hill. Steep mountain peaks encircled us, covered in loose scree and talus, as if a deity had dipped his finger into the rocky summit, forming a divot for the last of mankind to occupy. In the center of the divot was a beautiful alpine lake, and around the lake was, to my astonishment, a fully developed village.

Dirt roads connected hundreds of cabins throughout the valley, much like Siren's base, except the largest windows were south-facing, and each cottage had been customized to fulfill its inhabitant's needs and personal taste. Sheets and garments hung from clothing lines, and patches of tall grass and mountain shrubs adorned every yard—a filtering system for their septic tanks, if I had to guess.

A community garden stood to our right, adjacent to a gravel courtyard equipped with wooden benches, fire pits, and an amphitheater. The refugees had also built a giant pavilion ideal for marketplace events or summer weddings, which was all the more impressive considering they'd sourced the 100-foot logs from the neighboring pine forest.

Beyond the common areas, where the terrain began to slope upward toward the snowy summit, they'd dedicated several plots of land to farming operations and livestock. Cows, sheep, chickens, and pigs roamed the grassy fields, all living out their happy, healthy lives at the top of a mountain.

It was spectacular, and not at all what I'd expected from a people fleeing their homeland.

"I'll run ahead and let Laughlin know you're here," Jackson told us, his expression wary. "Stay with Cillian for now."

We watched him take off toward the neighborhoods, and Cillian placed his back to his village—standing between a perceived threat and his beloved home. I didn't fault him for his reservations, though. If anything, I admired his cautiousness; he was wise to distrust outsiders in a world as vicious as this one.

"What's with your hair?" he asked me, frowning at the white locks dangling by my chin.

I scoffed. "What's with your attitude?"

"I've just never seen someone like you before."

"Well, I'm one of a kind." My gaze slid to the water tower to my left, the steam billowing out of the open-roofed building beside it. "Is that a hot spring?"

"Yeah, it's our bath house. We also use the geothermal energy to produce electricity," Cillian said. "Mostly for lighting and heating purposes, but it makes the winter months more bearable."

"Geothermal?" Mason raised his brow. "I'd like to see how you pulled that off in this day and age."

"I imagine so. Jackson tells me Ellsian technology is archaic."

Mason scowled, but my heart skipped at the small, proud smile dancing on Will's face. We'd found his people, and they weren't suffering in isolation or roaming the mountains in search of meager scraps. They weren't hiding in bat-infested caves or ancient bunkers. They were thriving in their element, free from war, free from the burden of dark magic.

How good it must have felt, to know a sample size of your nation had survived the claws of genocide.

Our group was beginning to draw attention from the valley dwellers. They peered at us from a comfortable distance, whispering to one another, sending for others. Like Primm, these Rheans looked almost identical to the Ellsians outside the Interior, save for a few cultural accessories and hairstyles. They wore similar clothing sourced from wool and hemp and leather, and like the ranchers of Belgate, they all looked a little wind-kissed and weather-worn.

So little divided us, really. It was strange, how much our countries loathed each other, when every one of us was cut from the same ancient cloth.

Children shot us odd looks, glancing between Cillian's dart gun and the sharp weapons hanging from our belts. In contrast, the adults seemed to sense the gravity of our arrival, and a few of them directed the younglings back to their cabins.

It was a probably a good thing our party consisted of five young adults and an older, wounded soldier. Arriving in a community like this with a party of ripped, steel-plated federates would have triggered a different reaction. Especially with the likes of Grismond, Jo, and Victor in attendance.

Jackson finally returned with a large, brawny man in tow. He wore rough leathers and a belt full of construction tools, and while I placed him somewhere in his forties, his dark, bushy eyebrows and facial hair made him look older—and intimidating as hell.

"Everyone, this is Chief Laughlin of the Friedman Clan," Jackson said, and he stepped backward, away from the pavilion, as if he wasn't sure which side to stand on—Laughlin's or Mason's.

The chief slowed to a stop, black eyes trailing over Will's face and hair, the tattoos on his hands, the sword at his hip. Then, with a gruff nod, he said, "Ay. That's a Sterling if I've ever seen one."

Cillian and Jackson both stiffened, as if they hadn't really believed us until now, and I watched several other men approach our huddle, their eyes angry, their posture threatening and overprotective.

They were much more fearsome than the Command and their unsullied badges. The way these leaders carried themselves pointed to their own experience with war, evacuation, and adversity.  They looked as tough as the wild briars growing on this mountain peak. And just as resilient.

A woman with gray hair braided over her shoulder came forward to join them, and my eyes latched onto the working pants stuffed into her boots. It was an odd sight outside of a military base. Women in Belgate never wore pants—not without cause.

She stared at Will in awe, clutching a pendant around her neck. "You're not the young king..."

"No," Will confirmed, and I could see him battling the whirlwind of emotions inside, overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who'd gathered here. "I'm his brother."

Her eyes widened, and she bowed her head, a watery smile killing her fearful expression. "Asa," she breathed, reverently, familiarly. "My, how you've grown."

Exclamations and excited murmurs followed, and it felt like I was back on the witness stand, anxiously awaiting a verdict. A handful of these jurors seemed confused, as if they weren't sure whether to bow or run away. Others looked offended by our mere existence.

"Why are you here, Sterling?" the chief demanded. "What do you want from us?"

Will hesitated. He glanced over at Beckett, who was sent here to be our diplomat, but the seasoned negotiator shook his head. His gaze told us these people needed to hear our plea from a Rhean citizen, not an outsider.

It was up to Will now.

The prince took a deep breath and leveled his gaze at Laughlin. "I know my presence here is unwelcome," he began, smoothing out the creases in his voice, diluting the nervousness in his bloodstream. He'd been avoiding this confrontation his entire life, and now, all of his fears were, quite literally, staring him square in the face. But even with his destiny on the line, he didn't waver. "I'm sorry for what happened to you, to our home. My family has done unspeakable things, and you have every right to hate me for the trauma they've caused." He wet his lips. "But I'm not here to apologize on behalf of Regulas. Today, I stand here as his enemy."

The declaration had its intended effect: hatchets and swords slowly returned to their scabbards, and scowls softened to puzzled lines.

He had their ears.

Laughlin raised his chin, his stare calculating and unsure. "You've turned your back on your own blood?"

"They've turned their back on Rhea," Will countered, and although he hid it well, I could see the relief in his eyes; he'd been gifted the opportunity to explain himself. "Over the past year, I've witnessed first-hand the chaos my family has unleashed on the world. The terror and pain we've cast upon Ells and Rhea." His gaze traveled to Jackson, then to me. "I've fought beside those I once considered enemies. I've befriended Ellsian soldiers, and I've watched them sacrifice themselves for the people they love. People who had no business dying in this war."

His audience held their breaths, captivated by his speech, mesmerized by his journey. And while many of them looked upon him with betrayal in their eyes, just as many seemed deeply touched by his arrival, as if they'd been waiting for him to find their hidden camp all along. As if they'd been waiting for a champion to resurrect the hopeful possibilities they'd grieved.

"After the attack on Ells, I returned to Rhea to confront my brother," Will continued. "I begged him to put an end to this senseless massacre, to recognize a battle won...but I failed."

Predictably, Will didn't mention his demon possession, nor the lengths he'd gone to save my country. But he didn't need to—anyone with eyes could see what he'd endured. The trauma was evident in the ink on his face.

"We all failed," Laughlin sympathized. "The demon king is deaf to reason."

Will nodded, but there was immeasurable pain in his eyes. "It's gotten worse. He's building an army with our own citizens now, and he's targeting women and children—anyone old enough to wield a sword." Gasps and curses filled the air, and he glared at the ground. "Regulas stopped fighting for Rhea a long time ago. Vengeance has consumed him and shed his skin. He's unrecognizable."

Laughlin exchanged glances with a redheaded man by the pavilion. "You still haven't answered my question. What is it that you want, Your Highness?"

The title was not used to show respect, but scorn, and yet Will didn't so much as bat an eyelash. He'd already grown an impenetrable skin back in Ells. He'd had to.

"What I want is to end this war for good," Will said. "I want to rid these lands of demon energy. I want balance, and peace, and prosperity for our people. And to achieve all that, I need your help. We all do."

"Help, he says," the ginger sneered. He'd tied his crimson hair in a bun, and his shoulders were as broad as a ponderosa pine. "We served the Sterling family once, boy, but your line ended with your grandfather. Godric destroyed Rhea, and your brother tarnished what little remained of our kingdom. The clans no longer kneel to your craven bloodline."

I opened my mouth to put him in his place, but Will sensed my belligerence and motioned for me to keep quiet. "I don't want you to kneel to me. I only seek your aid."

"You mean you want us to die for you," a blond woman interjected, her throat drenched in fear.

"No. I want your intellect. Your craftsmanship. If you're willing to fight, then your arms." Will's charcoal eyes scanned the crowd. "You're a people of ingenuity and innovation, and we'll need that mentality to defeat my brother's army." He gestured to the village. "Just look at what you've created here in less than a decade. Ells could never compare."

Mason rolled his eyes, but I had to agree. Just as Harmon once said, Rhea welcomed talent from all walks of life. Naturally, that put them ten steps ahead of our bigoted oligarchy.

"You need us," Man-Bun repeated, his face souring. "Where were you when we needed you? If my memory serves me right, you ran away. You abandoned Rhea, and then you cozied up to the nation that poisoned our rivers."

Will's resolve cracked down the middle, and I resisted the urge to grab his hand. "I did."

"And how long have you been in Ells? How long have you been cowering in the shadows?"

"...Eight years."

Man-Bun howled, turning to his peers. "Eight years he's been away, and he thinks he can speak for us!" His smile was cruel, his derision blatant. "He was only a boy when he left. He doesn't know his own country. He doesn't know his people, our customs." His furious gaze pinned Will in place. "And he doesn't have any idea what we've suffered."

I was about to punch the man's teeth out for that, but the older woman beat me to it. "Jeremy Bryce MacGowan! That young man is still a royal. He deserves your respect."

"He deserves nothing."

"We've sworn allegiance to the Sterling line. Does that oath mean nothing to you?" She looked appalled, like a mother who'd caught her son in the act of bullying another child. "Our political structure doesn't dissolve just because we've fled the country."

"Reese—"

"You and Laughlin act as if the prince has never lived a day in Rhea, but I remember him well." She gazed at Will the same way I'd looked at Tom. "I was there the night Asa was born. I remember the first time he attended a council meeting. The days he ventured into town with his father."

"As the Councilor, you also witnessed the day Godric murdered every mage in the citadel," Laughlin cut in.

Reese nodded, but her eyes wilted in pain. "Yes, I did. And your lovely wife died at the hands of an evil man. Not his child."

The chief's jaw rippled with anger, and as the two Rheans stared at one another, I tried to organize the meager scraps of information I'd obtained thus far.

Apparently, the chief's wife had been a mage, and Godric had killed her for her powers. Like Trevor, she'd been slaughtered beneath the palace, taking any knowledge of a delegate and the portal along with her. His resentment made sense, even if he lacked justification.

Then there was Reese, a woman who'd worked closely with the royal family. Close enough to recognize Will, and thankfully, speak to his character.  Without her, Jeremy might have eviscerated our mission, all in one blow.

The prince took a step in Laughlin's direction, his palms open and pleading. "I know my father has shamed our people and our country. He and my brother have abused your trust, time and time again." He swallowed. "But I'm not just the product of my father. I'm also my mother's son."

In seconds, the rage Jeremy had cultivated among the citizens turned to ash, and it didn't surprise me, knowing how the queen had conducted herself in her final moments. Even as an outsider, I knew she'd been a leader worth dying for.

"Indeed," Reese said, her eyes filling with water. "Sora bled for her country. She took so many of us under her wing, even those of us on the outskirts of Rhea, beyond the crown's influence. May she rest in peace."

The Rheans in attendance echoed her sentiments.

Will sent her a small, grateful smile before spinning to address the chief once more. "Laughlin, I ask for your help now, not as your king, not as your prince, but as a fellow Rhean. We're all sick of fighting, so please...help me end this. Lend us your strength."

It was quiet as Laughlin assessed the crowd, Jeremy's seething form, and our small group of strangers.

"Say we do help you," he said. "What happens when the war ends? Do you expect us to move back home and flounder under your rule?"

Holding my breath, I watched Will grapple with the question, wondering what he'd say. How he'd say it.

Here it is, Will, the moment of truth...

"If we win, I don't know where the war will leave us as a country," he admitted. "It's up to you as a people to decide Rhea's fate—and I may or may not fall into that picture. I just want to help you get there...I want to rectify my mistakes." He looked at me, and I nodded, communicating my pride and encouragement. He'd done beautifully. "But we have to win this war before we can even think to rebuild, and that's starts with an armistice between Ells and Rhea."

His proposal hung in the air like sawdust, his words  floating from man to man, suspended in a current of doubt, settling on the shoulders of his audience. Burning the eyes.

Laughlin studied him for another few seconds before dropping his thick beard to his chest. "Your words are noble, Sterling. And I believe you're sincere when you say you want Rhea to prosper." He paused to weigh his words, and my heart stuttered at the conviction on his face. "But Rhea, as a nation, died with the Order, and our people have no interest in engaging with Ellsians."

"Laughlin, please think of the—" Reese interjected, but he didn't let her finish.

"Take that as a peace accord, if you must; we'll stay out of your way as long as we remain unprovoked. Leave us be, and you'll never hear from us again. But my clan will not give their lives for an enemy nation." Hard eyes locked on mine. "May demons slay demons."

**************************
Woohoo! Excited to write this arc ❤️

BIG NEWS:

I'm partaking in a really cool opportunity with Wattpad that I can't talk about quite yet, and that involves me writing a new story on the side!

Unfortunately, this means updates for The Ephemeral will be less frequent going forward. My goal is to update both books once a month, so I'll be updating every two weeks, one chapter for Ve'Rah Daa and one+ for my romance novel.

This wasn't an easy decision to make, as I truly value your engagement, and I don't like making you wait for updates when I've been so consistent these past few years. But I just couldn't pass this up.

I hope you know I have the trilogy plotted out through the last chapter, and I will NOT abandon this story. I'm thrilled to get to the end — it's just going to take me a little longer than anticipated.

As always, I sincerely appreciate your patience and support. Thank you all so much  for helping me build my writing career! 

Love you guys! ❤️❤️❤️

— E.