The sunlight's gentle warmth brushed her cheeks, stirring her from the depths of slumber as the faint chorus of birdsong slowly broke through the haze. Jeanne's eyes fluttered open, lavender irises catching the pale glow as the world bled back into focus. She groaned softly, her throat dry and parched. The sheets beneath her were soft, clean, almost too sterile, as was the robe draped over her, white as freshly fallen snow. The air carried a sharp mixture of herbs and disinfectant, a reminder she was far from home.
She shifted with effort, raising a hand to shield herself from the brightness spilling through the half-drawn curtains. Pain lanced through her chest, sharp and unrelenting, forcing her teeth to clench. She hissed under her breath and lowered her hand, her fingers trembling as they drifted down to her chest. With careful movements, she pulled back the edge of the robe and froze. Her chest was bound tightly in thick bandages. The gauze stained with dried crimson.
And then it struck her. The memories, flooding back all at once. The chaos in Caerleon. The glint of Burgess' dagger as he drew it free. The icy bite as steel punched through her chest. Godric's voice crying out her name, fierce and desperate, just before the world gave way to darkness.
What followed came in scattered fragments. Blinding lamps above. Faces in sterile masks leaning over her. Hands in bloodied gloves pressing against her wound as shouts rang out, muffled as though spoken from underwater. She remembered slipping in and out of consciousness, her world fading to black again and again, until at last the dark claimed her fully.
Her eyes drifted toward the foot of her bed and widened. A neat line of bouquets rested there, crowding the space in a riot of color. Lilies, tulips, roses, and flowers she did not recognize, some beginning to wilt, their fragrance dulled with the passing days. Jeanne blinked at them, suspicion stirring faintly in her chest.
Before she could think further, the door creaked open. Helena stepped in, clad in her Ignis uniform, though her body bore the marks of battle. Arms and legs wrapped in bandages. A few plasters scattered across her face. She froze mid-step, brown eyes widening the instant she saw Jeanne awake.
"Jeanne!" Helena rushed forward. She seized Jeanne's hand in both of her own, gripping it tight. "You're awake! By the stars, we thought… we thought you'd never come back to us."
A small, tired smile touched Jeanne's lips. "Helena," she murmured. Her gaze flicked to the bouquets, then back to the girl. "You've been here the whole time?"
Helena rubbed the back of her neck, looking sheepish. "Not exactly. We've been taking turns. Helga, Rowena, Salazar… and Godric was the last."
At the sound of his name, Jeanne's eyes went wide. "Godric? Is he—"
"Relax," Helena cut in quickly, squeezing her hand. "He's fine. They all are. They're out in Caerleon right now, helping the people. Food, shelter, salvaging what they can. It's been… a lot." She gave a small shrug, though her eyes betrayed the exhaustion she carried. "A great deal's happened this past week."
Jeanne's breath caught. "Wait, a week?" she cried out.
Helena winced. "Ah, sorry. Yes. You've been under the whole time. You lost so much blood, the healers thought…" She trailed off, then forced a smile. "Doctor Adani said you were lucky. If that blade had struck an inch lower, it would have gone straight through your heart."
She let out a breathless laugh, trying to lighten the weight of her words. "You're even luckier you were unconscious, otherwise she'd have given you an earful. You know how much she loathes reckless students."
Jeanne's chuckle faltered, slipping away as her gaze fell to the blanket over her legs. She traced the edge of the fabric with her fingers, the silence stretching until Helena leaned forward, her smile faint but sincere.
"Just so you know, Godric was worried sick. You may think of him as the man who'd stand unflinching before a dragon, but when you were in surgery, he was terrified. We've lost too many already, and the thought of losing you too, that frightened us more than any battle." Helena's hands tightened. "Godric could face Burgess without faltering, but I don't think he'd have forgiven himself if you'd died protecting him."
Jeanne lifted her head, eyes softening. "By the Lord, that wasn't what I meant to do." Her fingers knotted together, trembling slightly. "I only wanted to protect him. To keep him safe. I can't bear the thought of him carrying guilt for my choice. It was mine alone."
"I know." Helena's tone lowered, her shoulders sinking. "But Godric believes the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. He'll give everything of himself for others, yet the moment someone does the same for him, it unsettles him. He convinces himself he isn't strong enough, and turns the blame inward." She exhaled slowly, as if trying to release the weight herself. "Foolish, maybe, but that's who he is."
A faint laugh slipped from Jeanne, though it carried little strength. "So I've seen." She hesitated, eyes flicking toward the window before returning to Helena. "I've been asleep a week… what's happened beyond Excalibur?"
Helena pulled a chair close, the scrape of wood against stone cutting briefly into the stillness. She lowered herself onto it, folding her hands tightly. "The Tower holds the city now. Norsefire's remnants are either in chains or being hunted. The lockdown has ended. Families are reuniting, those with homes are returning, and the rest are in shelters."
Her gaze fell, shoulders heavy as she spoke. "The dead are already in the hundreds. Students, citizens, soldiers. And the ruins…" She shook her head, lingering in silence before finishing. "It will be a long time before this city feels whole again, if it ever does."
"I see," Jeanne murmured, lifting her gaze again. "And… what about Burgess?"
Helena stiffened at the name, a tension pulling at her shoulders. She drew in a breath, let it go slowly, and then answered. "I've only heard bits and pieces. Burgess was caught at a hidden Norsefire base in the mountains overlooking the city. He's being extradited to Camelot to stand trial for his crimes." A dry scoff slipped out. "And with the charges stacked against him? We both know how that'll end."
"Maybe," Jeanne said, watching her. "But doesn't it worry you? That he might've lined the courts, made friends in high places, enough to slip past whatever punishment the law has waiting for him?"
Helena's eyes narrowed slightly. "It crossed my mind. But Salazar said something that stuck with me, and others have agreed. This isn't just about power, money or favors. His crimes are too severe, too public," she said.
"Even his closest allies would put themselves at risk if they tried to save him. Council members, officials, nobles. Any of them would either lose their seats, tarnish their names or draw unwanted attention to their own sordid dealings. None of them would dare take that chance."
Jeanne nodded slowly. "Then maybe he'll finally face the justice he deserves."
Helena leaned back in her chair, her jaw tight, eyes burning with a venom that cut sharper than steel. "It looks that way. And whatever punishment they've planned for him…" Her lips curled. "I hope it destroys him. For what he's done to this city, to its people… to me. Him, and every flea-ridden, mange-ridden mongrel in the Clock Tower who wagged their tails and snapped at Avalon the moment he whistled. Bastards, every last one of them."
The air stilled, thick with the weight of her rage. Jeanne felt it pressing around them, anger so fierce it almost shimmered in the silence. She couldn't fault her for it. Not after what Helena had been forced to endure in the holding center, not after what had been done to her fellow students and the citizens of Caerleon. The memory of Tower-sanctioned guards and their atrocities still clung like ash. And though Burgess had fallen, Jeanne knew the reckoning would not end with him. Somewhere in that chain of command, others would be dragged into the light.
"Anyway," Helena said at last. "I finally managed to get word through to my family." A faint smile tugged at her lips, shadowed with sorrow. "I've never heard my mother cry like that before. And my father, he just stood there, trying to hold himself together, but I could see it in his eyes. Relief. Months without a call, without a letter. They must've thought the next time they saw me would be in a coffin. No one should have to live with that. That's part of why I'm so angry."
Jeanne reached across the blanket, her hand settling gently over Helena's. "I know, Helena. More than you realize." Her words steadied, though grief lingered in it. "This isn't behind us. The wounds are too raw, too deep. But for now, let's give thanks to the Lord. For His grace. For His protection. For the strength that carried us through the hour when everything seemed lost." She smiled faintly. "And above all, let's hold to faith, that He'll see us through what still lies ahead."
Helena blinked, then let out a small chuckle. "I can't pretend I know much about your faith, Jeanne." She gave a slow nod. "But hope? I'll take that. Wherever I can find it."
The two girls shared a quiet smile, the heaviness between them easing for a brief moment. Until the door swung open and Doctor Adani stepped inside. Her dark eyes widened as they fell on Jeanne, alive and awake, but the surprise lasted only a heartbeat. She adjusted her glasses with a practiced push, her expression hardening into steel.
"Well, well. Miss D'Arc, finally awake." Her tone cut with precision. "Perfect timing. I've already given Gryffindor the tongue-lashing he earned, and I do believe you're long overdue for yours."
Helena's head snapped toward Jeanne, her eyes wide. "Aw, hell."
Jeanne's breath caught, her face draining of color as she froze beneath the doctor's gaze.
****
It had been months since the streets of Caerleon had stirred with such life. Blocks of the city still lay in ruin. Bricks scattered across cracked asphalt and broken cobblestone. Jagged shards of glass and splintered beams tangled with twisted steel and shattered machines. Storefronts were hollow shells, streetlamps bent and mangled where they'd fallen. And above it all lingered the memory of the dead, once strewn across every corner until the Tower's people carried them away. Efficient in every task. Shelter, supplies, care, and the grim duty of collecting the fallen.
Yet amidst the devastation, the city moved. Citizens, students, and members of the Congregation alike took up whatever duties they could. Clans wore their colors proudly as they pulled survivors from the wreckage, soothed the frightened, and tended to families and the elderly. Every age, race, and creed—the people of Caerleon leaned into one another, finding strength in solidarity when the world had left them broken.
Godric and his companions had spread themselves across the city. Helga gave her strength to the rebuilding, Rowena to the homeless, while Salazar and Bastion stalked the ruins for lingering Norsefire guards and sympathizers. Godric, instead, had thrown himself into humbler work, ladling hot meals into bowls for the hungry.
The city square, once reduced to rubble, now stood as the heart of recovery. Where it had once looked as if a meteor had struck. Stones shattered, the great fountain obliterated into nothing but broken brick. Hundreds of tents now clustered close, serving as makeshift shelters. Helga had told him this was where she faced the brute Barton Geddes, a man whose defeat left him carted off in chains, battered to the point of resembling a man struck head-on by a freight train.
Draped in a white apron over his Ignis uniform, Godric tilted a ladle into a wooden bowl, filling it with steaming stew. The air was rich with the aroma of meats and vegetables, courtesy of Chef Gusteau and Excalibur's tireless kitchens, and it carried like a balm over the weary crowd. He placed the bowl on a tray beside a small loaf of bread and passed it forward with a warm smile.
"Here you go, madam. Enjoy."
The older Therian woman accepted it, her fox-like ears twitching as she returned the smile. "Thank you, lad. Always glad to be served by the Hero of Caerleon."
Godric flushed, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh. "Please… just Godric will do. That title's a bit much, if I'm honest."
"Rubbish," she said firmly, though kindness shone in her eyes. "You stood against that tyrant blade to blade and brought him down. As far as we're concerned, you're not just the hero we wanted. You're the one we deserved."
With that, she lifted her tray and walked off into the crowd, her vulpine tail swaying lightly behind her. Godric could only watch her go, still uneasy beneath a title the city seemed determined to place on his shoulders.
The hero they deserved. The words unsettled him. Godric might have defeated Burgess, but his intentions had been anything but pure. He hadn't fought for justice, nor for glory. He had fought for vengeance. His heart had demanded it. His sword had hungered for it. And deep down, it wasn't only against the man cloaked in false righteousness. It was against Caerleon itself. The city that turned its back on him, on Raine, when they needed it most.
For months he had carried that anger, watching its people go about their lives while he bled inside. A part of him had wanted Caerleon to burn, so that in their apathy and prejudice, they might taste the same grief that had consumed him. And now they called him hero. The savior of their beloved city. Godric knew he didn't deserve it.
The figure standing before him broke his reverie. "Oh, sorry, one moment," Godric muttered, seizing a bowl and filling it quickly. He set it on a tray with a loaf of bread and lifted it to hand over. "Here you go—"
He froze, crimson eyes widening. Recognition hit like a hammer. The man stiffened as well, a flicker of shame crossing his features.
"You…" Godric's tone darkened. "I remember you. We crossed paths that Yuletide, where you insulted the love of my life." His words struck hard, the memory burning fresh. "What was it you called Raine again?" His eyes narrowed into slits. "A Chainling?"
The man looked nothing like the arrogant brute Godric remembered. Gone was the stout, well-fed frame and the satin silks he'd once strutted about in. Now he was gaunt, his skin stretched thin over bone. His face bore the shadow of a rough, unkempt shave, with heavy dark circles hollowing his eyes. The trench coat he wore hung in tatters, frayed over a sweater riddled with holes, and his trousers weren't much better. The fingerless gloves on his hands were torn to threads.
Once, he had carried himself with arrogance, chin high, chest puffed, lording his wealth and station over others. Now, he hunched in on himself, cringing, broken. He looked like a man who had lost everything.
The man let out a heavy breath, his chest rising and falling before he spoke. "To run into you again…" He shook his head with a bitter chuckle. "Fate's a cruel jester. It's been months, lad." His eyes flicked up, catching the tightening of Godric's jaw. "And for months I told myself, if I ever crossed paths with you again, I'd finally man up and say it… I'm sorry."
The words made Godric pause, his expression softening in genuine surprise.
"I was arrogant. Cruel. Blind." The man's voice cracked with each admission. "I spent my life thanking the Gods that I wasn't like the others—those I called lesser, slaves. I fed my pride on that lie. But when Burgess swept through this city, when Norsefire were let loose like hounds, they stripped me of everything. My home. My wealth. My place." He swallowed hard. "And for speaking out against them, they dragged me into one of their detainment centers."
His eyes lifted, hollow and heavy with sorrow. "And when I was freed… I had nothing. No roof. No bed. Not a coin to my name. And who showed me mercy?" His body trembled. "A slave."
Godric's shoulders eased, just slightly, as he listened.
"They clothed me. Fed me. Gave me warmth when I had none." His teeth clenched as tears threatened. "I'm sorry, lad. I am so damned sorry. If I could take back the words, the spite, I would." He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand.
"I heard about her. About the… about Raine," he said. "You have my deepest sympathies. The Tower may return what was stolen from me, but no riches, no fortune can return what you've lost." He placed a trembling hand over his chest. "But I swear this. If ever another stands where you once stood, I'll do everything in my power to help them."
Godric was silent at first. Then he slid the tray toward the man. The man hesitated, glancing down before taking it into his hands.
"I spent a long time thinking this city wasn't worth saving," Godric said at last, his eyes fixed on him. "That it was too far gone. Too poisoned by its own prejudices. A part of me wanted Caerleon to suffer, to feel the same pain it dealt to others. With Burgess and Norsefire, I thought it got exactly what it deserved." He drew in a slow breath. "And I was sure it would never change."
The man looked up, uncertain, as Godric's tone softened.
"But I see now… I was wrong. What you just said. Admitting all that. It couldn't have been easy. That takes courage. And I respect it." A faint smile touched his face. "And if you can see the light, then maybe this city can too. Maybe there's still hope."
The man's lips curved into a weary but honest smile. He clutched the tray to his chest, gave a quiet nod, and turned away, disappearing into the line of waiting souls.
"Hey—got room for one more apology?"
The familiar voice made Godric turn. Quibble Scroll leaned against the wall, arms folded, his grin flashing rows of sharp, glistening teeth in the midday sun.
"Quibble," Godric said, before glancing to the student beside him. With a tilt of his chin, the boy stepped in and took over at the station.
Godric slipped off his apron, folded it neatly, and set it on the table. He ran his fingers through his hair. The black was nearly gone, red pushing through, and walked over to meet the goblin. Quibble's amber eyes flicked, just briefly, to the royal-blue and golden hilt of the sword at Godric's back before returning to him.
"Lad," Quibble began, shrugging uneasily. "About what you said… I've been thinking. And I just want to say, I'm so—"
"No, Quibble." Godric's cut in. "I'm the one who owes you an apology." He exhaled, shoulders loosening. "I was bitter. Mad. And I took it out on you. It wasn't your burden to carry. You don't owe me or Raine a thing." His expression softened. "I won't pretend I'm past the pain. I miss her, every day. But now… now it feels a little lighter. The ache doesn't cut quite as deep."
He held Quibble's gaze. "I've seen what hate does to a man. How it twists him, drives him to destroy everything he touches. When I faced Burgess, I didn't just see a raging madman bent on domination. I saw what I could become if I let that same hatred consume me. He was a mirror of the path I was walking." Godric drew a steady breath. "I let my fire rage unchecked, and I burned everything and everyone around me… even myself."
Quibble straightened, the tension easing from his shoulders.
"And like Caerleon," Godric went on, "I've got a long road ahead. We all do."
The goblin chuckled, shaking his head. "Well said, lad. Reminds me of a book I once read. Whenever the path seems too long, too rough, you stand up and walk. Keep moving. You've got two good legs. So use 'em. You're strong enough to carve your own way."
His grin faded to something gentler. "And for what it's worth… I did try. Gods, I was ready to pawn off my most prized books. But no one was buying, no one was willing." His eyes dropped. "I wish it had been different. I'm sure you do too. But I pray, wherever she is now, Raine's happy and blessed."
Godric's throat tightened, but he managed a nod. "I pray the same." A faint grin tugged at his lips. "Speaking of books, tell me your shop survived the battle. I didn't… wreck it, did I?"
Quibble scoffed, waving a hand. "Pfft. My books are safer than a dragon's hoard, and worth ten times as much. You think I'd be fool enough not to have protections in place?" His pointed ears twitched as he tilted his head. "That being said, I can't claim I wasn't entirely at ease, considering you and Burgess nearly leveled half the damned city."
Godric chuckled, raising his hands in mock defense. "Here's hoping the city doesn't hand me the bill."
"Oh, please. Mayor Ramonda will bleed the old goats on the Wizarding Council dry long before she lets that debt touch you," Quibble said with a toothy grin. "Mark my words."
"Well, one can only hope," Godric replied, smiling faintly.
Quibble set his hands on his hips, eyes gleaming. "It's good to have you back, lad."
Godric nodded firmly, his grin returning with quiet resolve. "Aye. Good to be back."
****
Vikki moved steadily through the maze of tents, weaving past clusters of citizens, Tower personnel, and Congregation students as she handed out packs of food and bottles of clean water. Some accepted with quiet smiles of gratitude, while others stared wide-eyed, stunned to find themselves face-to-face with Caerleon's own prime-time anchor. She answered each look with a gentle smile of her own, pausing for a breath as her gaze swept across the crowd—wrinkled faces softened by relief, adults laughing despite exhaustion, children's boisterous joy breaking through the shadows.
Even the sight of Clarice, mingling easily with the locals, laughing as though the weight of war had been lifted, warmed Vikki's chest.
For months she had known only fear and sorrow. The people of Caerleon had lived beneath the shadow of Lamar Burgess and his pack of thugs, their boots pressing down until despair became routine. Now, as her eyes drifted toward the scarred skyline, the contrast cut sharp. Buildings lay gutted and broken. Streets cracked and scorched. Bloodstains marked the stone, long since dried, yet to her it felt like they would never be washed away.
"I've seen you countless times on the tube, yet I've never taken the time to visit."
Vikki turned, finding a young man in a navy-blue three-piece suit. His dark blue hair was neatly swept back, lime-green eyes gleaming behind his glasses. An Adjudicator's badge gleamed on his chest, and a smile touched his lips. "It's been far too long, Vikki."
"Bran…" A warm smile spread across her face. "I didn't think you'd even remember me."
Bran stepped closer, chuckling. "You're not exactly the sort one forgets," he said. "Especially since you weren't the nicest person back at Excalibur. I daresay you remember, we had more than a few disagreements."
Vikki's cheeks warmed, her gaze lowering. "That's putting it mildly." She exhaled and shrugged. "No need to sugarcoat it. I was mean, entitled, cruel. I hurt people who didn't deserve it." Her eyes lifted again, softer. "Ironic, isn't it? The one person I tormented the most ended up saving me. I've carried that shame for years… and I'll carry it for the rest of my life."
Bran's smile gentled. "I'm not here to drag up the past, Vikki. You learnt, you changed, and you made something of yourself. That's more than I can say for a great many others." He adjusted his glasses. "I was there, at the end… with Asriel."
Vikki's breath caught, her eyes widening.
"He fought bravely," Bran said. "Got what he set out to do. Burgess fell. Every twisted bastard with blood on their hands. Tala's death, and so much more. They've all paid in full."
Vikki drew a staggered breath. "Did he… did he suffer?"
Bran shook his head. "No." He hesitated, then added, "That being said…"
"I know." Vikki raised her chin. "He told me what awaited him. It was the price he chose, and he paid it willingly." Her fist clenched at her side. "But it's cruel. He'll never see paradise, never see Tala again. All because of Burgess, because of the blasted Tower!"
Her outburst made Bran flinch. Vikki noticed at once, her anger ebbing into guilt. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"Please, don't." Bran lifted a hand, stopping her. "It's easy to say a few bad apples spoiled the barrel. But the truth is, I was part of it. I still am." His eyes dropped to the badge on his chest, lime-green gaze shadowed. "This… feels more a mark of shame than pride now. I used to wear it with such conviction. Every morning, I thought I was honoring my family, following in the steps of my father, my grandfather."
His breath left him sharply, shoulders sagging. "Now? I don't know what to believe. I thought I was carrying out justice. I thought I was upholding the law. But all I did was carry out Burgess' will. And in doing so, I became something I swore I'd never be."
"And the fact that Burgess and my family…" Bran slipped off his glasses, his hand tightening around the frame before lowering them.
His gaze drifted away. "He was there at every turn. My first steps. My first lessons. Even the day I walked down the aisle. Always there. I admired him as much as my father and grandfather. We loved him. Cherished him. Hell, I worshipped the bloody ground he stood on." His jaw locked. "And now I learn we were nothing to him. Just pawns. Scoundrels. Obstacles. He never felt a damn thing for us."
Vikki reached out, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Bran. I really am. I know what it's like to put your trust in someone you love, only to see who they really are in the end." Her mouth pulled into a bitter line. "My father, may the Gods damn him, I hope he's rotting in a ditch with the rest of the filth."
She hesitated, then asked quietly, "Do you know what'll happen to Burgess?"
Bran gave a harsh, humorless laugh and shook his head. "Not a clue. We've never had a scandal this size. Not since Dah-Tan, though Burgess was responsible for that too, wasn't he?" He drew a sharp breath. "Nothing's decided. Just whispers. But the Council mean to oversee his trial themselves. And they're not known for mercy."
Vikki scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "The Council. They've got some nerve passing judgment on the same man they put in power. If they'd reined him in from the start, maybe I'd give them credit. But no, they let it all slide. Every atrocity, every abuse of power, they answered with silence. They didn't care how he did it, as long as they got what they wanted."
"I won't argue," Bran said, sliding his glasses back on. "But mark me, this won't end with Burgess. The Council's hands are just as bloody. And I promise you, all of Avalon will see it."
"Well, when that bastard finally goes to trial, I'll be there," Vikki said, her eyes hardening. "Every step of the way. I'll strip their excuses bare and make those old cowards squirm. I want to see them stammer, see the sweat bead on their wrinkled brows as they scramble to wash their hands of the monster they created." Her voice dropped, sharp as a blade. "And I'll make damn sure they remember. No one, not even the Council, is untouchable."
Bran gave a low chuckle. "Careful. Keep on like that and you'll either earn yourself another award… or land squarely on the Council's bad side."
"I'd welcome either," Vikki shot back, her tone sharp. "In fact, let them come. Let them glare down at me from their marble towers. I'll drag every one of them into the light. From this day on, I'll be watching. If they so much as belch out of turn, I'll be there, camera in hand. Broadcast on every channel, every front page. They won't eat, sleep, or scheme in peace ever again. That's not just a promise. That's my crusade."
"By the Gods," Bran said with a small laugh, shaking his head. "Remind me never to end up on your bad side, Vikki." His humor faded into a sigh. "When this is all over. When Caerleon can breathe again, I intend to give Asriel his final rites. Next to Tala."
Vikki's jaw unclenched, her fire dimming to something softer. "That's kind of you. And… I was going to do the same." She drew in a steadying breath. "I promised him I'd bring flowers for Tala. Now I'll bring some for both of them."
"I won't lie, it feels foolish—knowing where he is," Bran said quietly. "But I'll let this fool hope that somehow, in some way, Asriel's where he belongs. With Tala. Happy." He exhaled sharply. "I have to."
"So do I," Vikki murmured. Her eyes searched his. "But will you be alright? Once this is over… no matter where you stood, the Tower's finished in the court of public opinion. To the people, it'll be nothing but a villain. And regardless of its standing as one of the Three Bodies, no one will recognize its legitimacy again."
"Yes, I'm well aware," Bran replied with a weary sigh. "The Tower barely survived the nightmare of Dah-Tan. Every scandal since has only eaten away at the trust we once held. And now?" His head dipped slightly. "Now I fear there may be nothing left to salvage."
"Then why stay?" Vikki asked. "Why not go? Anywhere. Somewhere you won't be drowning in the scorn that's about to come."
Bran shook his head. "Because I've no doubt many of us will run. And what awaits us isn't pretty. Anger. Disgust. Protests. Maybe worse, violence, even death."
His hands clenched at his sides. "But if I choose to run, I abandon the very thing my family has bled for across generations. The death of a tyrant doesn't mean the death of a nation. A king is only a man. And the Tower, for all its rot, is only an institution. A nation is its people. And if the old Tower cannot be saved, then it must be rebuilt. From the ground up." He lifted his gaze. "And if not me… then who?"
Vikki smiled softly and gave a small nod. "I can see why you once sat at the Visionaries' table. Asriel was the quiet one. Laxus was the loud one. And you—" she let out a gentle chuckle "—you were always the wise one. I don't envy what's ahead for you, any of you. But I believe the Tower will rise again. And this time, it'll be what it was always meant to be. A symbol of truth and justice."
Bran slipped his hands into his pockets, inclining his head. "Well then, I've taken up enough of your time. I should go have a word with the Commanders. And perhaps find out where that dolt Laxus has slinked off to."
Vikki blinked, her brows rising. "Wait, Laxus is here?"
Bran laughed, a dry, amused sound. "Oh, yes. And he's been enjoying himself thoroughly, thrashing every Norsefire brute unfortunate enough to cross his path. No doubt his father will skin him alive for vanishing the past week, but I rather suspect he won't care."
Vikki chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, send him my regards."
"I shall. And you, take care of yourself, Vikki." Bran gave a polite nod before turning and walking off.
Vikki watched him go, lifting a hand in a small wave before drawing in a deep breath. Not of fear, but of hope. For the first time in months, she felt the weight that had smothered Caerleon begin to lift. The long shadow was breaking, and on the horizon, hope was finally dawning. With renewed purpose, she turned back to the crowd.