The Shattered Reach for the past month had been embroiled in war. The Beasttide was never welcomed in the city limits, and that resentment built into something devastating. Zeph had led them to fight not just the beast tide but those who were tired and downtrodden. Without the greatest general of the legion, their forces were on equal footing. He had a new achievement for taking the head of the legion. And that power had put him on equal footing with any man.

  The scars were still there if you knew where to look, cracked stone patched with newer blocks, training yards worn smooth by too many boots, banners replaced instead of repaired.

  Steel rang out. The one thing that was consistent in life. Battle and Training.

  Dane watched from the edge of the yard as Clay corrected one of the twins' stances with a sharp tap of his staff. Rachel stood nearby with her arms folded, expression flat in the way it always was when she was pretending not to care and caring very much.

  They hadn't been part of the skirmishes. Sure, there had been the stray deployment from the Machine god that wandered too closely, but those who had seen what Dane could do steered clear.

  It was just him and the other survivors of Chronowell. The city had been destroyed, and he didn't feel stronger; he just felt strange.

  He knew that he couldn't be everywhere at once, so he trained the others for the times that he couldn't be there.

  Earth would be a battleground. And Battlegrounds were unforgiving.

  Lyra moved through the formation with quiet focus, armor lighter than her father would have approved, staff clean and efficient. She didn't shout orders. The others adjusted around her without thinking.

  She had become more serious since the duel. Dane felt something loosen in his chest as he watched. They were ready.

  Clay called a halt, the staff striking stone once.

  "That's enough," he said. "Pack it in."

  The twins groaned in unison but obeyed, collapsing onto benches and arguing quietly about who'd messed up the last maneuver. Rachel handed out water, already correcting mistakes for the next session.

  This was what months of waiting and preparation looked like.

  The portal hummed behind Dane, stable and patient, carved into the stone as if it had always belonged there. Clay had finished the spell weeks ago, then dismantled it and rebuilt it twice more just to be sure.

  Dane turned away from the yard and found Zeph waiting near the overlook's edge, wings folded tight against his back.

  "You've been avoiding me," Zeph said.

  Dane snorted. "You're hard to avoid."

  Zeph's beak curved slightly. "Are you leaving?"

  "Yeah."

  They stood side by side, watching the settlement breathe.

  "The Reach will hold," Zeph said.

  Dane nodded. "Looks like you didn't need the rite to be strong afterall."

  Silence settled between them, comfortable and heavy.

  "You could stay," Zeph said again. "This peace is fragile, and Silas could strike at any moment. He is afraid of you. But once you're gone, there will be nothing keeping him from attacking. I don't think I am ready for that."

  Dane shook his head slowly.

  "You aren't weak, Zeph," he said. "Silas will come and rally the rebels, but my money is on you when it's all done."

  Zeph studied him, eyes sharp and unreadable.

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  "It's your fault if you had just killed Tormund, you could have handed the crown off without all the fighting," he said.

  "I guess it was my fault," Dane replied. "But, I think it was better this way. These people are changing."

  Zeph turned fully toward him then.

  "You will always be welcome in the Shattered Reach," he said.

  Dane swallowed.

  "Thanks," he said quietly.

  Zeph extended a taloned hand. Dane took it. When they released, Zeph stepped back, wings shifting as if resisting the urge to spread them.

  "Bring your war to Earth," Zeph said. "But do not bring despair with it."

  Dane met his gaze. "I won't."

  Behind them, Clay called out. "We're ready."

  The team gathered without hesitation.

  Rachel adjusted her pack. The twins bounced on their heels, energy barely contained. Lyra took her place at Dane's side, eyes forward, jaw set.

  Dane looked back at the Shattered Reach.

  Then he turned toward the portal. Earth was waiting. And this time, he wouldn't be alone.

  The portal opened with the crackle of lightning and the smell of ozone. The platform was the same as the one that had saved his life, which felt like decades ago. Time distortion was a blessing and a curse. It had been almost three years since his proving. But he had twelve years of training and had climbed to the peak of mortal power.

  When he entered, the place was less like a ruined hellscape and more like what he remembered from his childhood. There was music, shouting, and laughter. It was a festival or something, and Dane gave Clay a look that said, "Did you set the coordinates right?" The man shrugged, and Dane stepped through first, nearly stumbling.

  The street was packed.

  They spilled out of doorways and leaned out of windows, stood on cars, rooftops, and shoulders. Paper streamed through the air, torn from books and flyers and anything else someone could grab. Someone had dragged a piano into the street and was hammering out something half-remembered and terrible and joyous.

  It reminded Dane of an old recording his dad used to watch. The end of World War II, and the soldiers were coming home.

  People hugged strangers. Someone kissed a man they'd clearly never met. Children ran screaming through the crowd, waving hand-painted signs with words like FREE and HOME scrawled in uneven letters.

  Why are they writing in English? Dane thought to himself.

  A voice shouted from somewhere overhead. "They did it!"

  Another answered, hoarse and disbelieving. "We're citizens!"

  The word rippled outward like a shockwave.

  Citizens.

  Clay came through behind him, blinking like his eyes hadn't adjusted to the color yet. Rachel followed, scanning instinctively before she caught herself and lowered her shoulders. The twins froze for half a second, ears flat, then immediately started grinning, overwhelmed and vibrating with too much input.

  Lyra stepped out last.

  She stood very still, eyes tracking the crowd, the buildings, the sky. The familiar shape of Earth pressed in on her from every angle, and Dane saw her swallow, once, hard.

  "This is…" one of the twins started.

  "Loud," the other finished, laughing.

  Dane didn't answer. He felt hollow, like something had been scooped out and left space behind.

  People surged toward them when they noticed.

  Hands reached out. Someone grabbed Dane's arm, not aggressively, and shook it.

  "Is it true?" a woman asked, eyes shining. "It's really over?"

  Dane didn't reply, but he could see that she was checking her screen. She laughed and cried at the same time and turned to hug someone else, already moving on to the next person who could confirm it was real.

  They walked through the chaos. The formations they practiced were useless with so many non-combatants taking up space.

  Everywhere he looked, people were celebrating like they'd been holding their breath since the sky had fallen.

  Dane let the crowd carry them until he felt something pull, faint but insistent. His perception was so enhanced that most of it was noise. But he smelt fresh apples and knew where he needed to go.

  The streets narrowed. The noise softened. The celebration stayed behind like a tide he'd already swum past.

  He found the bar without meaning to.

  It wasn't familiar when he left the Earthbound were little more than slaves in assigned blocks. She's in there.

  Light spilled out warm and yellow.

  He pushed inside.

  Behind the bar stood a woman with her hair pulled back and her sleeves rolled up. She was laughing at something someone said, polishing a glass with practiced ease.

  Dane stopped. His chest tightened. She looked up.

  Her smile faltered, eyes flicking over his face, his stance, the way he filled the doorway.

  For a heartbeat, confusion crossed her features.

  "Dad?" she said, confused.

  The word cracked something open.

  Dane crossed the space in three steps and wrapped his arms around her before she could pull back and realize her mistake.

  He held her tightly, as if he would never let her go again.

  His shoulders shook.

  He pressed his face into her hair.

  "I thought you were..." she started, then stopped, her arms rising around him automatically.

  "Rebecca," he whispered.

  She froze.

  Pulled back just enough to look up at him.

  "Dane?"

  He nodded, unable to speak.

  Her eyes widened. Her hands tightened.

  "You idiot," she said, voice trembling. "You scared me."

  He laughed, the sound broken and wet, and hugged her again.

  She sighed into him.

  "Big brothers don't cry," she said gently.

  "I know," Dane said, voice thick. "I know."

  He didn't let go.

  Outside, the celebration roared on, and the survivors of Chronowell came to the same conclusion they came to free a world that didn't need help.

  Fireworks cracked somewhere in the distance. Music swelled. People cheered for a future they'd earned.

  Dane held his sister in a bar that smelled like home, and for a moment, it felt like everything might actually be okay.