I stared at the entrance to the canvas tent, leaning on the crutch Will had carved me—despite Torian's vehement disapproval of such activities. The welt insisted on being helpful in some capacity, even in his bedridden state. But I really couldn't blame him; sitting still felt like punishment in the aftermath of Sunrest.

Without my superhealing abilities, my thigh wound had rendered me entirely useless the past four days. Even now, my leg ached constantly, and a stabbing pain shot all the way up my hip and across my groin every time I stretched a muscle—or so much as dared to piss. It was no wonder Ikelos had sparked all those mythical rumors when natural recovery felt this torturous.

I closed my eyes.

There it was again. That gnawing feeling deep inside my chest, as if my human soul were scratching at scars, desperate to unleash fresh insecurities.

"You okay, Fuse?"

A breath tumbled from my lips, and I peered over my shoulder at the man in uniform.

Like most of us, Rover had earned his fair share of scrapes and bruises on the battlefield. He'd sprained his wrist toward the end, then broken three fingers on the other hand in an attempt to shield new recruits from the monsters we'd metamorphosed. But against all odds, the war hero had made it out of the chaos alive—just for Victor's passing to kill a precious piece of his soul.

We'd told Siren the news together, though we didn't need to speak much at all. She'd read the grief on our faces faster than we could think of apologies worth breathing.

I'd never seen her come undone like that. I'd never seen her crumple like paper and weep.

But I told myself that Siren and her daughter, Victoria, would be okay—that we'd all get back on our feet eventually. Grief was chronic, but not debilitating. It was the only way I could stop thinking of the corpses our team had buried in the ruins of Godric's palace.

"I'm scared, Rove," I admitted, still scrounging up the guts to push through the tent flaps.

Those sea-green eyes glistened with sympathy. "I can go with you...if you want."

I nodded, and he passed me a warm grin as we stepped into the tent, side by side.

This particular hospital housed the worst cases among the Purged—the latest title for those recovering from demonic possession—and its somber silence had my palms sweating.

Get a grip, Al. It's not like he remembers his time as a demon. He's not going to mistake you for the enemy.

None of the Purged remembered their life as Pans. It was as if the portal's destruction had obliterated the demons' experiences and emotional footprint as well, and I wasn't sure if that memory loss was another gift from Trevor, or simply a miracle for the troops. Regardless, the road to recovery promised a much easier incline without the trauma of recollection.

For most of them, at least.

A few medical staff glanced our way, and their gazes instantly flicked to the cot at the back of the tent.

The occupied cot.

I swallowed, attempting to kill the lump in my throat, but it only expanded like a balloon in my esophagus. I was just about to spin on my crutch and hobble out of the tent when Rover's bandaged hand found the space between my shoulder blades, nudging me forward, and I reluctantly obeyed.

Stiffly, I approached the last cot in the room, my gaze roaming over the sleeping soldier upon it. He wore a pair of donated trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, as well as one of Ellen's knitted beanies over his mostly-bald head.

I almost didn't recognize him at first with his scars pressed to the pillow and out of sight, but there was no mistaking our parents' features, nor the obnoxious snoring.

This was definitely Tom.

My brother was alive and well—back from the netherworld for the second time.

...I just wasn't sure how much of him remained.

The black veins had vanished with his peeling skin and sickly, ivory pallor. But there were still traces of possession across his body: dressed wounds, sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, and stitches around his mouth where that demonic smile had split skin.

Like the other patients in this room, Tom's possessor had fed ravenously on his soul, leaving him with severe complications. And while several of these men had turned years ago, losing their identities—and sanity—over time, Tom's possessor had drained his soul quickly and greedily, determined to obtain military secrets, leadership skills, and ammunition for emotional warfare.

His demon had burned bright and fast, and I had no idea what to expect when Tom awoke. Would he remember me? Would he remember himself?

I handed Rover my crutch and settled into the chair beside my brother. It took me a long time to find the courage to say his name.

His snoring ceased at my beckoning, but he didn't wake.

"Kingsley," Rover said, a little louder than me, and Tom's lashes fluttered open.

Almond eyes lifted to mine. Confused. Dazed. Glossy.

My voice trembled as I spoke. "Hi, Tom. It's Al..."

Where did I possibly begin? How did I avoid overwhelming him?

"How...how are you feeling today?"

He blinked at me, then cleared his throat when he finished processing my inquiry. "Mmm...I'm..." He frowned, irritated by his own performance, and when he reached for his beanie, as if to run a hand through a ghost of dark hair, his frown deepened even more. "I'm not..."

It burned to see him struggle, and I forced myself not to cry. There was a reason he'd barely had any memories left on the battlefield. I'd known this was coming.

"I'm...feeling better," he finally got out, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of his bed. "Things feel less..."

"Disorienting?" I supplied.

He nodded, offering that wonderful crooked smile of his.

The nurses told me he'd awoken in a frenzy last night and stumbled out of the tent into camp. They'd compared it to a coma patient resurfacing a decade later, desperate for answers and keen on finding a familiar face. They'd tried to calm him down, but his mind was too fragmented to hear them out, and they'd had to sedate him to prevent a full-blown mental breakdown.

"That's good to hear..." I glanced back at Rover for help, but his lips were pressed tightly together, as if he were afraid to let them quiver, and he stood as stiffly and quietly as a copper statue—just moments before a downpour. "A common symptom of your...condition...is memory loss," I went on nervously. "How much do you remember of life before the hospital?"

I stopped breathing as soon as the terrifying question fled my lips.

Tom watched me for a moment, almost like he didn't understand what I was asking him. The seconds ticked by, and I worried I might pass out from the stress of it all. But then realization dawned on his face—a devastated look that scared me to the bone—and suddenly his hand was on my upper arm, pulling me forward...

And straight into a warm, reassuring hug.

"All the important bits," he answered.

He dipped his chin to my shoulder, and those four beautiful words set my tears free.

Tom.

I had no idea how long I sat there crying, clutching tightly to the man who taught me how to tie my boots and grip a sword. The man who made up constellation names to entertain me, and the man who read me forbidden books from his upper-level, all-male classes.

His hug alone told me the essence of Thomas Kingsley hadn't perished in this war. I hadn't lost him.

Not all of him.

"I'd never forget you, Al," he whispered, his own voice drenched in pain. "You're the epicenter of everything I am. Every choice, every sacrifice...there's your imprint." I felt him grin against my neck. "For better or for worse."

I shook against him, a choked sob slipping out of my awed, parted lips. "Considering you're in this state because of me, I'd say the latter is more realistic."

"I'm in this state because I'd rather die than lose you to war. And I'd do it all over again if it promised a reunion like this."

His comments cleansed me of blood-crusted guilt, and I nestled into his frame, emptying the last of my grief.

Eventually, I pulled back to address Rover, who stood there glaring at my brother with his arms crossed—and relieved tears streaming down his face.

Tom passed me a private smile as he staggered to his feet. "Don't make that face, Rove."

The lieutenant colonel shook his head sharply, but I could see the emotional punch of Tom's recognition. The fact that he hadn't forgotten his second meant the man we loved was very much intact—even if he didn't remember all the gritty details. 

"Do you have any idea what you've put me through the last seven months?" Rover hissed.

The eavesdropping medics shared amused looks, and Tom gave a small shrug. "No...not really. The nurses said something about allying with Rhea to defeat the demon king. But Al has white hair and a scar across her neck, and you look ten years older. So...something tells me winter wasn't easy."

Rover opened his mouth, his lips forming several insulted consonants before he settled on an exhausted curse. Then he stomped forward and embraced my brother so tightly, I thought he might break Tom's spine—and his other wrist. "You idiot."

They swayed side to side for a moment, rocking from the force of Rover's collision.

"Thank you," Tom murmured.

"Shut up. You don't even know what to thank me for yet. And there's plenty."

"All I know is my sister is alive. And I didn't wake up to a world crawling with Pans," Tom said, his tone gentle. "You did good here, Wright."

Rover rolled his eyes, but our teary gazes locked over Tom's shoulder, and we shared a soft look that only two battered souls could conjure.

The worst is over, it said. Here's to healing.

My eyes were surely sunburnt, but it was impossible to stop glancing up at the sky.

I couldn't help it. I had to take in the soft morning sunbeams piercing my tent, the crisp blues of early spring, the pinks and oranges of a dying day...it was addicting.

Mason informed me I would go blind because of it, and I responded with a speedy, "Well, at least I won't have to watch you drool over Torian day in and day out."

He probably would have killed me if Valerie hadn't been there to diffuse the situation.

Day by day, the archer's personality regained its luster. While I healed, I'd asked her to help keep watch over the women in camp—to form a community group among fighters, civilians, and the Purged, and to help implement a buddy system with the aid of her archers. She seemed to thrive with the objective, in part because it kept her mind busy, but also because it allowed her to channel her trauma into a productive cause.

I hadn't yet told her this community would serve a bigger purpose upon returning to Ells. But my conversations in the Umbra had confirmed it; I'd need my army assembled when it came time to reinvent our nation. And I'd need them emboldened by solidarity.

Frank knocked his nuzzle against my cheek, and I blinked away the golden streaks of sunset.

"So clingy," I complained, but I obliged and continued scratching his neck.

Frank's attitude had taken a 180 since Sunrest. He'd already transported several critically injured passengers back to camp by the time we'd reunited, so I was expecting a trek of miserable defiance. But what began as a reluctant greeting quickly evolved into curious reassessment, and before I knew it, he was carrying me through the forest as smoothly and respectfully as possible.

Within a day, my petulant pony had become a clingy, attention-deprived beast. And I didn't hate it.

I liked to pretend he'd had a change of heart. That perhaps he'd heard the other horses bubbling about my achievements and realized I was an honorable, skillful warrior. Unfortunately, I suspected it had more to do with my exorcism and the absence of a deadly power shooting through my veins.

Moments ago, I'd finished bathing in the Gorge and, to lessen any repercussions for defying doctors' orders, I'd washed a few bags of dirty clothes while I was at it. I'd only received sponge baths up until today, and I'd practically sprinted down the canyon for the chance to scrub the blood, sweat, and ash from my body.

"Alright," I conceded, watching the sun duck behind the hills for the night. "Back up we go."

Frank, ever the gentleman, knelt on the ground so I could mount him, and we slowly crept back up the side of the cliff to the bustling camp above. As we trotted past tents and campfire roasts, dozens of strangers dipped their heads at me, appreciative and reverent, and I awkwardly returned their smiles.

I was still getting used to it—the attention, the praise, the blatant fascination. It wasn't like I hadn't experienced those reactions before, but now two separate nations regarded me as a hero—and the supernatural liberator I'd never be again.

My hands tightened around the reins, and my eyes flicked to the worn gloves snaking up my wrists.

I hadn't told anyone outside my inner circle that I'd lost my powers. And except for Eagan and his family, only my team fully understood what I was and who I'd become on the day of Sunrest.

But until we sorted out elections, I'd decided it was better to keep my opponents in the dark about my capabilities—or lack thereof. I wouldn't shed my cloak of intimidation until I had to...which meant I had to stifle this imposter syndrome before it killed my brilliant ruse.

As we approached the old Interior Company, my woefully sodden hair elicited warm snickers from Sol, Claus, Grismond, and Jo—almost like they knew I'd descended the canyon without Torian's permission. Koji, still excessively apologetic for his untimely possession, took the laundry bags from my saddle, and I thanked him for sparing me clothesline duty.

Others, like Jackson, were too busy reconnecting with friends and family to pay me any mind.

"Did you go swimming?" Molly cried from one of the fire pits, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter—an emotion I hadn't seen on her face since her father passed. "In snow water?"

Halting Frank, I grinned down at the enormous pile of kindling in her arms. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She shook her head at me, amazed by my horrible lie, and Beckett snorted at her side. "Kingsley has an affinity for hypothermia. Glad to see nothing's changed."

I loosed a huff of mock-anger, but I knew Beckett had chosen those words carefully, as he conducted all affairs. This was his acknowledgement of a supernatural exchange gone wrong—and his joy in that fact.

He winked at me as he bent to assist Molly with her collection, and I smiled.

The soldier had offered to foster the orphan until appropriate arrangements could be made, but something told me he was about to inherit a small child and a ranch full of animals. And truthfully, I didn't think he'd mind that one bit.

Pressing forward, I spied Mason making his rounds with a small booklet in his hand, logging names of the living, the deceased, and every veteran across both categories. Jotting down any accounts he could acquire. 

"Families deserve to know what happened to their loved ones," he'd told me yesterday, and I'd instantly thought of our fathers, the whispers of their deaths. "Why they're buried at a monument across the river."

"But why the living?"

"I'm not letting our soldiers' service go undocumented," he'd answered. "We're done using their nameless triumphs to recruit more soldiers. Going forward, we'll have real accounts of their labor. Not fairytales."

In a matter of weeks, Mason had become a leader in ways I'd never imagined. A technician, a warlock, and now a member of society whom his great grandfather would have hanged.

Rover said he planned to award the blond with the highest medal of honor, but I wasn't sure Mason even needed the validation anymore. He'd finally proved his valor to himself, and the change in him was beautiful to witness.

I left Frank in a meadow with the other grazers and returned to my tent, startled to see that someone had already claimed my inviting nest of furs and knitted blankets.

Affection pooled in my chest at the sleepy smile on his face. "...Tired?"

Will nodded. He'd spent the past two days with Lucy, introducing her to Reese and the members of the Miyamoto Clan, filling her in on his absence, and helping her adjust to her surroundings. It wasn't easy, considering she hadn't ventured outside the palace until a few days ago. But like the Purged, she was slowly finding her footing in this world, and tucked inside Will's protective radius, she'd blossom.

I kicked off my boots and joined the Rhean on the ground, opening my arms for him as he rolled to embrace me. He linked to me in all the right places, like a fleshy chestplate.

I sighed at the warmth seeping into my skin, the perfect weight of his body against mine. We hadn't seen enough of each other lately, and our injuries had kept us in separate tents.

I'd missed him.

"You smell like river trout," he remarked, and my stomach shook with laughter.

"It beats demon blood."

His unconvinced grunt made me shove him back on his side, but that broad, loving smile made my heart flutter.

We stared at one another for a moment, our grins fading as we found the same awed and wary wavelength.

How? How did we make it this far?

I was convinced we'd lose each other somewhere along the way, and yet here we were, alive and mostly unbroken. It felt like a twister had crossed the continent, and somehow, we were the only home standing.

"Have you been able to sleep?" I whispered, sweeping the bangs off his brow.

He broke eye contact, which was an answer in and of itself. "A bit. The tonics help. But it's hard...not to relive it."

It could mean countless things. "Your brother's death?"

"The memory's persistent," he admitted, fidgeting with the top of his knee brace. "But most of the time, I wake up thinking I've lost you again. And I can't just reach across the bed and remind myself everything's okay. It's been...an adjustment."

The words scratched at the corners of my eyes. "Same."

A poker cracking bone. Screams of agony. Tears of helplessness. I wasn't sure those memories would ever truly disappear, the same way Tom's possession still haunted my dreams.

"You're sleeping here tonight," I assured him. And forevermore.

He arched an eyebrow. "Your brother—"

"Can cope with the fact that his 18-year-old sister has a..." My confidence withered at the curious look on his face. "Is with someone."

Besides. Tom barely remembered why we were fighting Rhea to begin with, and his memories of Godric were spotty at best. There was a good chance he'd display a normal, healthy amount of animosity toward Will this time around.

"As long as his coping doesn't involve murdering the heir apparent," he muttered.

My gut twisted at the joke.

Heir apparent.

"...Is Rhea still a monarchy, then?"

He'd been pondering Rhea's fate for months. But now the war was over, and his people were looking to him for direction.

"It's hard to say what Rhea is. Without Laughlin, the clans are becoming restless. Reese and Jeremy are holding down the fort, and the emigrants are eager to get back to Freemont...or go home and see if there's anything worth salvaging." His gaze found my gloves, and he began tugging on the material, slipping the garments off one by one. Freeing me from a lie. "Among the Purged, there's talk of rebuilding and repopulating abandoned towns, but...it's hard to settle on a graveyard and not see ghosts." He looked at me, pained. "Rhea has lost its identity, and it's going to take some time for them to figure it out."

Them? Not us?

I bit the inside of my cheek. "What does that mean for you?"

I hated to ask such a troubling question in the midst of everything, but there was an entire country just wallowing in self-destruction out there. One with a rightful ruler.

He brought my hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles as he mulled over the question. "Part of me wants to throw it all away. The crown, my responsibility." Raise the sails and leave it all behind.

"But the other part?"                 

"The other part...wants to fix this."

I waited for him to continue, realizing his decision could fracture us, and knowing I'd support him either way.

"My people need to establish a governing body as they see fit. A functioning society stripped of the Rite and other prehistoric, totalitarian laws." He paused and met my gaze. "I've decided that when they're ready, I'll serve as their ambassador here in Ells."

My heart latched onto his words, and the tension vanished from my body. Here in Ells.

"That way I can ensure they're treated fairly when it comes time to establish nationhood. I can negotiate on their behalf if Ells chooses to annex Rhean territory, or if they decide seeking Ellsian citizenship is a better route."

"Good luck convincing Jeremy and Cillian of that," I said. "Something tells me they'd take another resource war over acculturation."

His lips curved upward. "None of it will be easy. And I'll have to travel...a lot. But I think my mother would approve. She always preferred the title of diplomat to queen, anyway."

Ambassador Asa Sterling.

Here in Ells.

I grinned wryly. "So this means you won't become Supreme Commander of Rhea?"

"...Why do you sound disappointed?"

"I thought you'd make a great king," I chirped, lifting my hands to his face. "Sitting up there on the throne all day, glaring at your subjects, brooding in solitude. Is that not you?"

He flattened his lips, and it occurred to me that after five long years, I'd finally learned to tell his frowns apart. The thin line of his mouth was reserved for thinking, plotting, and pouting. Then he had an annoyed glower, a tight line of exasperation, an angry scowl, a disturbed grimace, and a confused curl of his bottom lip. He also had a fake frown, which he typically used with me. 

To anyone else they might all look the same, but I'd studied him thoroughly.

"A king with no partner is just a man with an unchecked ego," he dismissed, leaning closer. "If I was king, I'd need a queen at my side."

I hummed, savoring the feel of his skin on my palms. The heat of his cheeks. "Lucky for you, there's a long line of women who would probably die for that title. Val and I refer to them as The Swarm."

He let out a displeased hiss, and his eyes flicked to my lips, then back to my face. "Yet there's only one person I know fit for a throne."

I let his compliment simmer a moment, gifting him a coy, appreciative smile. But I wasn't done teasing him yet.

"I think Siren has too much on her hands for a royal engagement, Will."

He pulled away from me with an exasperated noise as I snickered into the blankets.

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Last chapter will be up very soon! <3