THE SKY ITSELF LOOKED WOUNDED, bleeding black smoke that curled and folded into the horizon. Everything that once stood proud and alive—every tree, every roof beam, every scrap of laughter that used to echo across Willowmere—was now buried beneath flame and ruin.
I held Augustus tight against my chest as though I might disappear too. His sobs were shallow, tired, and I whispered to him that it was okay, even when I knew it wasn't. My voice shook with the lie.
The air was so thick with soot that every breath stung. My ears rang from the blast, my body numb from shock, but I kept walking—through ash, through the bones of what was once home. Hunter padded beside me, limping slightly, his fur streaked with soot and blood that wasn't his. Above us, Sebastian circled once before landing nearby. He shifted mid-flight, feathers falling like embers until his tall, humanoid form stood there with his wings half-scorched.
"Sebastian…" My throat cracked on his name.
He nodded, his usually sharp voice softer, strained. "I searched the northern side. It's gone, Miss Alice. Everything. There's no one left there."
His words hit like a stone dropped into my chest. I looked down at Augustus again, brushing soot from his hair. "We're still here," I whispered, as if saying it could make it true. "We're still here."
But even as I said it, I wasn't sure who "we" meant anymore. One moment, we'd been helping the younger gifted through the cellar, ushering them to safety under Ryan's orders. And then—the world split apart. That explosion removed everything we once had. It was like the ground itself had turned against us. One second I saw Riven's face through the haze, shouting something I couldn't hear; the next, the floor buckled, light flashed white-hot, and I was thrown into the dirt outside.
When I opened my eyes, the home was no longer a home. It was a burning carcass.
The ringing in my ears hadn't stopped. My lungs screamed from the smoke, but none of that mattered. I couldn't stop thinking about the other residents—about who hadn't made it out.
"Stay here," I told Augustus, setting him gently against a broken pillar. "I'll be right back."
He nodded, eyes wet, trembling.
I took one last look at him and ran.
The closer I got to what remained of the main hall, the harder it was to breathe—not because of the smoke, but because of what I saw. The roof had collapsed. The air was thick with heat, and the smell—oh God, the smell—of burning wood and flesh made my stomach twist. I stepped carefully, calling out names.
"Lucy! Harriet! Dwight!"
Nothing. Only the hiss of fire devouring what was left.
Then—bodies. My knees buckled. There were some I didn't recognize, their faces too charred to name. But others… I knew. I knew the curve of those cheeks, the familiar clothes. The little girl who always carried her stuffed fox. The twins who played by the window every morning. Their forms lay still, surrounded by splintered beams and fallen glass.
When I looked at the side, I saw Miss Byrd. Her eyes were closed, but her hands were reaching as if she had tried to shield someone in her final moments. The sight tore something out of me I didn't even know I still had. I wanted to vomit. To scream. To weep endlessly. She was the heart of this home. And now she lay in silence, as if the world had forgotten her too.
My body moved without thought. I stumbled to her side, brushing soot off her shoulder with shaking hands. My vision blurred.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words barely a breath. "I'm so sorry."
Something floated past my face, and I turned.
When I turned to pick it up, I realized it was the photograph that Ryan made us take. All of us, standing together under the sun, pretending peace could last forever. I caught it in my trembling hands. The smiles were almost gone, faces faded by ash. But I could still see Riven in the corner, awkwardly half-smiling. Dwight's arm around Harriet. Ryan standing tall. The picture cracked in my grip, the ash flaking off my fingers. And that was it—whatever strength I had left crumbled. I dropped to my knees, the weight of it all collapsing with me.
Then—A sound.
Augustus came running to me as I hugged him the moment he reached me.
I jerked my head toward the sound, wiping at my tears. "Hello?" I called out, my voice rough. "Who's there?"
I noticed at a safe distance that Hunter was barking at something, his ears perked. He ran ahead through the haze, and I followed, half-crawling through the debris. The cry came again—higher-pitched this time, desperate. I shoved a beam aside, ignoring the sting in my palms, but before I could move further—
A shadow moved.
I froze. Someone was walking toward me through the smoke.
"Doctor Crowe?" I called out, squinting through the flickering orange light. His white coat was torn, his glasses cracked, but for a moment—a fragile, fleeting moment—I felt hope rise in my chest.
He was alive. He was alive!
"Doctor Crowe!" I stumbled toward him. "Thank God, I thought—"
Then he looked up. And I stopped. His eyes. God, his eyes. They were no longer the gentle, tired eyes of the man who taught us medicine and science and patience. One was normal—wide, human. But the other… the other was pure black, glimmering faintly, and a scar cut down from his where his brow should be to his cheek. His movements weren't right.
The air shifted around him, heavy with something that didn't belong.
I stepped back. "Doctor Crowe—"
The corner of his mouth twisted into something cruelly familiar. Not Crowe's tired smile. Something else—something predatory.
"Not who you think I am?" he said softly. His voice was a mockery of the doctor's—warped, layered with something deeper. "I suppose you could say that."
Hunter growled, lowering himself beside me, his fur bristling. My heart pounded as realization crawled up my spine. His skin flickered—just slightly—like the surface of water. His figure blurred for a second, then sharpened again, but the illusion was gone. The shape beneath wasn't human at all.
"W-Who are you?" I whispered.
The Other smiled. "Brave girl to even make it out alive."
My breath caught in my throat. "What did you do to him? What did you do to Doctor Crowe?"
The scarred Other tilted his head, his expression almost pitying. "The same thing we'll do to you, in time."
He took a step forward.
I instinctively lifted my hand, summoning what little of my energy remained. My shield flickered into being, faint and fractured, shimmering like broken glass. But the Other only chuckled.
"You're running on fumes, you know," he said. "I can feel it."
Sebastian swooped down then, feathers erupting from the smoke as his talons grazed the ground, morphing mid-landing. He thrust his arm forward, hurling a gust of wind that sent the Other stumbling back a few steps.
"Get away from her," Sebastian snarled.
The Other straightened, brushing ash off his coat like it meant nothing. "Ah. The owl."
Sebastian's eyes glowed gold. "You shouldn't have come here."
The Other's smile widened. "Oh, but I had to. Orders are orders."
I didn't wait for them to finish. I turned, scooped Augustus into my arms, and ran.
The world tilted around me as I pushed through the wreckage. My body screamed for rest, for air, for anything but this, but I kept moving. Behind me, I could hear them fighting. Out of fear, I clutched the photograph in my hand, now crumpled and ash-stained, and held Augustus tighter on the other.
"Stay with me, Augustus," I whispered, though my voice came out rough, barely my own.
Before I could react, Sebastian swooped down from above, his feathers streaked with ash and blood. He shifted mid-air—limbs unfurling, his talons melting into fingers as his humanoid form landed between us and the dark figure ahead. His eyes—those sharp, golden eyes—locked onto the intruder.
"Get back!" Sebastian roared, wings flaring wide like a wall of light and feathers.
For a heartbeat, hope flared in my chest. Then the man lifted his hand—barely a motion—and something unseen struck Sebastian like a hammer. He was hurled sideways, crashing into a pillar with such force that the stone cracked. His body slumped to the floor, limp, wings twitching once before they fell still.
"Sebastian!" I screamed.
Before I could reach him, Hunter barked as he lunged straight at the intruder. The man didn't even flinch. He moved like liquid, sidestepping effortlessly. His hand shot out, and a ripple of invisible force erupted from his palm. It hit Hunter square in the chest. The dog yelped, the sound sharp and pained, as he was thrown against the far wall. His body hit the ground, motionless.
The man turned back to me with his expression… almost serene. Amused.
"Well," he said, voice calm, smooth as glass. "You must be Alice."
I froze. My mouth went dry. "W-Who are you?"
He smiled faintly, stepping closer, his boots crunching over debris. The firelight caught his face—sharp cheekbones, and dead eyes that seemed to flicker like silver blades. His presence alone was suffocating.
He stepped into view, light from the burning windows catching the edge of his coat, his eyes reflecting something cruelly patient. "You've heard stories, I imagine," he said softly. "Whispers about the one who never came back. The one your precious Ryan never spoke of."
A faint smile curved his lips. "Names have power, don't they? They outlive men. They haunt those who survive them."
He let the silence stretch, savoring it — the way one might enjoy watching a candle burn too close to the wick. Then, almost gently, he said, "Mine has haunted for a long time."
He took a step closer. "They used to call me Apollo."
The name struck me like a blade. My breath caught in my chest, and for a split second even the flames outside seemed to draw back.
"Y-You—" The word splintered out of me, trembling.
"Yes." He interrupted without looking away, his tone light and deliberate, as if he were correcting a trivial error. "Ryan's brother."
The air thinned. My stomach dropped. The way he said it — so calm, so sure — carried more cruelty than any scream ever could.
He regarded me with faint amusement, the kind that belonged to a man dissecting something fragile. "You know the name, then. Good. I always hate repeating myself."
I couldn't move. My boots felt fused to the floor, my throat a knot of fear. Augustus whimpered softly against my shoulder, his tiny hands clutching my dress, as if his grip alone could keep the world from collapsing.
Apollo took another slow step forward. His calm never faltered and his eyes never wavered. He didn't look like someone about to kill. He looked like someone who already had, countless times, and didn't see the need to rush it.
"What do you want?" I forced out. My voice was low, dry, and shaking — more plea than question.
Apollo's smile curved, not kind but knowing — like he'd been waiting for that question. "Oh, Alice," he said softly, almost fondly. "That's something you should have asked a very long time ago."
And then his eyes darkened. "Because what I want," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "is what your beloved Headmaster has been keeping from me."
He paused, watching me struggle to breathe, watching the flicker of realization in my face. His smile widened.
"And now," he murmured, "I've finally found it."
He circled slowly, like a predator measuring distance. "When your dear Doctor Crowe went out to 'investigate' the home, he wasn't quite as lucky as you thought."
Something twisted cold in my stomach.
"What are you talking about?"
"I found your Doctor one day when I was out hunting gifted beings like you," Apollo said simply. "He was quite… informative. I admit, I had to be persuasive. But he told me everything—about Ryan, about the child, about the necklace." His tone softened to a near whisper, his words sinking deep into me. "Such a noble man. It's a shame he didn't last long."
My chest tightened. "You..."
"Oh, he begged me to," Apollo murmured, almost fondly. "After I took all the informations that I needed."
The air felt thinner. It was like the room itself was collapsing inward. My mind replayed every moment—the transmitter, the sudden disappearances, the times Ryan looked worried but said nothing.
His grin widened. "At last, the clever one sees it. Yes, I wore his face. Spoke with his voice. It's fascinating, really—how none of you noticed. Though I suppose that's the price of trust."
I felt sick. The kind of sickness that hollowed you out from the inside — the moment when every lie suddenly made sense. He'd been inside the home all along. Every meeting, every conversation, every time he told us we were safe — it had all been theater. He wasn't hunting from the outside. He was among us. Watching. Listening. And he managed to put a hole on the inside of the home so the Others would attack.
"So that's how you tracked us," I whispered. My voice felt small in the thick, burning air. "You used him!"
Apollo's smile barely shifted. "Of course," he said softly, like a teacher humoring a slow student. "Why waste effort breaking walls when I can make the door open itself?"
I tightened my hold around Augustus. His tiny frame shook in my arms, muffled sobs pressing into my chest. He was trembling so hard it hurt to feel it.
"Please," I breathed, desperate.
The firelight caught in Apollo's eyes — twin glints of darkness twisted with shadow. "Ryan and Eleanor's child, the little miracle they tried to hide from me…" He took a slow step forward, the weight of his boots echoing through the broken floor. "Do you know what your precious Ryan did, Alice? He tried to outsmart me. He sealed a piece of himself inside that child's necklace — as if I wouldn't notice."
Apollo smiled wider, the kind of smile that didn't belong on a human face. "He thought he could give his child a future. But all he did was leave me a trail."
"You're lying," I said, though my voice cracked halfway through.
Apollo smiled faintly. "Am I?" He took another step, the firelight dancing over the sharp lines of his face. "He thought I wouldn't notice. That I couldn't feel what he left behind. But I can. His power calls to me, even now. Faint… but alive."
He tilted his head slightly, the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes. "I don't know where the child is yet — but I will. And when I find her, I'll take back what belongs to me."
The air around us seemed to tighten, every shadow pressing closer.
"No." My voice cracked. I stepped backward, clutching Augustus tighter.
He regarded me with a calm that felt inhuman. "You think you can protect the boy? You couldn't even protect Ryan."
"Stop," I whispered.
He smiled wider. "Ryan begged me to spare his people, you know." His voice turned soft — dangerously soft. "Said you were worth saving. Perhaps he was right. After all… I need someone to remember."
My powers stirred weakly around my hands. Apollo watched it, amused. "You'd die for that child in your arms, wouldn't you?"
His laugh was low and cold, like the echo of something ancient. "Then pray the one I'm hunting never ends up in your care."
Smoke and shadow coiled up around him, tendrils of darkness twisting through the ruined room.
"You should've known, Alice," he said, his voice a whisper that filled the air. "Ryan's legacy was never your salvation. It was a beacon. And I am the one it calls."
The shadows rose higher, swallowing his outline. His last words slipped through the dark like poison.
"Tell them I'm coming."
And before I knew it, he was gone. The area felt smaller. Augustus whimpered again, clinging tighter, but even his cries seemed swallowed by the sound of crackling fire. No sound, no trace — just the silence Apollo left behind and Augustus' cries. The area seemed smaller now. Even the air felt colder, as though Apollo had taken something with him when he vanished.
For a long moment, I couldn't move. I just stood there, staring at the space where he'd been. My knees threatened to give out beneath me. Augustus continued to whimper softly, clutching my coat with trembling fingers, burrying his face against me. His cries were faint — barely audible under the low hiss of burning wood. Even sound seemed to cower now.
This was it.
Ryan was gone. His child was lost somewhere out there, hunted. And I had nothing left to fight with. My powers flickered uselessly at my fingertips, dim and cold. The hopelessness in me spread like rot. Maybe this was how it ended.
I sank to my knees, one arm wrapped around Augustus, the other gripping the broken floor to steady myself. The smoke burned my eyes, or maybe it wasn't the smoke at all. My throat felt raw.
I'm sorry, Ryan.
The thought broke through, fragile and final.
And then I heard footsteps. Slow at first, then growing clearer through the haze. I forced myself to look up. Five silhouettes emerged from the smoke. Others. I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't obey. One of them reached for me, its grip like iron around my arm. Another lunged toward Augustus.
"No!" The scream tore through my throat. I tried to pull him back, but my strength failed me. My power sparked for a heartbeat — a thin pulse of light — then died. Pain seared through my chest. It felt like my body was breaking from the inside out.
Augustus screamed.
The world blurred. The crackling fire, the stench of smoke, the weight of their hands — it all folded into one dizzying moment of terror. One of the Others then raised its arm, and in that moment, I knew it was over. I was expecting everything to end.
But then—
A distant thud. A single echo rolling through the smoke.
The creature's head snapped back with a hole tearing through its chest before collapsing at my feet with a dull, final thump. The other four froze. The sound came again — closer this time. The air shuddered with each crack of the gunfire, the flashes of light briefly illuminating the ruin. Another one fell, the impact punctuating the suffocating silence. I couldn't move. Couldn't even breathe. And through the smoke, between bursts of gunfire and the flicker of flame, a figure emerged.
Riven stood behind the smoke, his shirt bloodstained.
"Get away from her!" he shouted.
He fired again. Another fell. The area filled with the ringing echo of gunfire, the flash of light, and the thick metallic tang of blood.
"Riven!" I cried.
With what strength I had left, I forced my energy into a shield, the shimmer forming just as one of the Others hurled a bolt of electricity toward us. It struck the barrier, splintering the air around it. I screamed from the effort, my entire body shaking from the force. Riven then moved closer, firing until the last of his bullets clicked empty. Then silence.
They were all down.
For a heartbeat, the only sound was my ragged breathing and Augustus's soft sobs. I dropped the shield. My knees gave out. And before I knew it, Riven was there—pulling me into his arms, holding me tight.
"I thought I lost you," I whispered, voice breaking.
"You won't," he murmured into my hair. "Not while I'm breathing."
I felt the warmth of his chest, the steady beat of his heart. For one small, fragile moment, it felt like safety. Like the world hadn't fallen apart.
But then Hunter's low growl snapped me back. I turned—and my stomach dropped.
More silhouettes were emerging through the smoke. Not five this time. Not ten. Dozens.
I looked at Riven, panic surging in my throat. "We can't fight them all."
"I know." His voice was steady, but his jaw clenched.
Sebastian stirred nearby, trying to rise with one wing dragging uselessly behind him. Hunter limped to our side, growling low. I turned to Riven—and I knew that look. The same one he'd had the night he first told me he'd protect me no matter what.
"Riven," I whispered.
He smiled faintly. "Someone has to buy you time."
"No, no, we're not—" I grabbed his arm, desperate.
He lifted a hand and cupped my face, his thumb brushing the tears I didn't even know were falling. His eyes softened, tired but full of something I couldn't bear to name.
"Whit," he said quietly. "Save the kid for me, okay?"
"Riven—"
He pressed something cold into my palm. I looked down—it was his dog tag. The one he'd given me before, still warm from his skin.
"If I don't make it," he said softly, "don't let this place die with me."
The words shattered something in me.
I shook my head, my voice breaking. "You can't—please—"
Blood trickled down his temple, tracing a line through the soot on his face. He looked exhausted, half-bent but still defiant—like he refused to give the world the satisfaction of seeing him fall.
"Riven!" I screamed, my voice breaking before it reached him. He turned, and even through the mess, he smiled. That small, tired smile—the kind he used when he was trying to convince me he was fine. The kind that never fooled me.
The air split open again with the sound of gunfire. I ducked behind a shattered beam, clutching Augustus so tightly I felt his tiny heartbeat against mine. The child whimpered, burying his face in my neck. I wanted to protect him, to protect all of them, but my body was running on nothing but just instinct and terror.
Riven pulled a smoke grenade from his belt, yanked the pin, and threw it at the advancing Others. The world filled with gray, the gunfire muffled, shadows moving like ghosts through the fog. He stumbled toward me through it, coughing, his hand clutching his side where blood seeped through his shirt. When he reached me, I caught him by the shoulders.
"You're bleeding," I said.
"Nothing new," he rasped, a weak laugh escaping.
I shook my head, trying to keep my focus. "We have to go—Sebastian's waiting, the others—"
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached for my hand, his grip firm despite the shaking. When I looked up, there was something in his eyes I hadn't seen before. Acceptance.
"Don't," I whispered. My voice cracked on the word. "Don't you dare."
He didn't answer right away.
For a moment, he just stood there, framed by the smoke and the dying firelight, as he stared at me like he was trying to memorize everything. Every line of my face, every tremor in my voice. Like he knew this was the last time he'd see them. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a breath.
"Alice… listen to me."
"No." I shook my head hard, the word tearing from somewhere deep. "No, I won't let you—"
"Hey." His tone softened, rough and breaking at the edges. "Hey, look at me."
I did. And when our eyes met, I saw the resignation, the sorrow, and the quiet acceptance that I refused to name. No! I can't lose someone again!
"I need you to go, Alice," he said gently.
The world blurred. "No," I snapped, sharper than I meant to. "No, I'm not leaving you here. We can still make it, we can—"
"We can't."
The way he said it made my chest cave in.
Smoke coiled between us, thinning. The shadows behind him were shifting again, crawling back into shape. We didn't have time. But my mind refused to accept that, refused to let the truth take root.
"You promised," I said, my voice breaking. "You promised you'd stay."
"I am," he murmured, a small, cracked smile forming as his hand reached out to touch the dog tag resting against my chest.
Something inside me broke.
It was the same helplessness that had crushed me when I left my father behind — that hollow, breathless ache that never stopped echoing. And the same suffocating dread that tore through me when I saw Ryan dragged away, powerless to stop it. Every person I had loved seemed to vanish the moment I tried to hold on.
My hands trembled as I reached up and touched his face. The soot clung to his skin, the roughness of it catching on my fingers. "You can't do this," I whispered. "Not after everything. Please."
He smiled faintly — a tired, almost tender thing. His thumb brushed a streak of ash from my cheek. "You gave me something I didn't think I'd ever have again," he said, his voice quiet and raw. "Something worth fighting for. Worth dying for."
"Don't say that," I choked out. "Please, Riven. Don't talk like that. Not like it's already over."
His hand slipped from my cheek and found mine. His touch was shaking now, but still strong. He pressed something cold and metallic into my palm — and when I looked down, I saw that it was his dog tag.
"So you'll always have light," he said softly.
I froze. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The dog tag glinted faintly in the firelight, the engraved letters catching what little glow the dying embers could offer:
HYEON, RIVEN
741-99-0012
A NEG
ALL NONE
R T 25
The letters blurred through my tears.
The heaviness of the tag felt unbearable in my palm — too heavy for something so small, too cruel for something meant to be a memory.
"Riven," I breathed, my voice cracking under the tremor of his name. "Please… don't leave me too."
He looked at me then — really looked — with that quiet, hollow sorrow that said he already had. There was a kind of peace in his eyes, but it was the kind that only came when someone had given up on ever being saved. And in that moment, I realized that hope had always been a fragile thing. And mine was dying right there with him.
He smiled faintly, just enough to make my chest ache. "I'm scared, Alice," he whispered. "But I'm more scared of knowing you can't make your dreams happen."
The words didn't even make sense at first. I blinked through my tears. "Then run with me," I pleaded, voice shaking. "Please, Riven. Run with me."
He shook his head slowly. His eyes softened, but his jaw stayed firm. "You need to take Augustus and go." His voice wavered. "The others need you, Alice. They need someone to lead them. Someone who believes there's still a world left to fight for."
"I can't." My throat collapsed around the words.
He stepped closer, gently pressing his forehead to mine. The heat of the burning walls flickered across his face, carving shadows where tears glimmered faintly. "You can," he murmured. "You've been doing it all along. Even when it hurt. Even when you lost everything."
"First my father, then Ryan, now—" I bit down on the word before it could leave my mouth.
He held my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away tears that never stopped coming. "You didn't lose me," he said softly. "You found me. And that's what makes this so damn hard."
He reached into his jacket, his hands trembling so badly I could hear the faint rustle of fabric. When they came back out, he was holding a small folded piece of paper. I remembered him writing something days ago, pretending it was nothing important. Now I understood. The paper looked worn, tired, like it had been opened and closed a hundred times before — like him, barely holding together but still trying to last a little longer.
"Read this when it's the right time."
His fingers hesitated, then fumbled for another note tucked behind it — smaller, older, with the ink nearly faded. He pressed it into my hand, closing my fingers around it.
"And if you can," he whispered, "find my family. They're in the town of Kelm." His throat worked around the next words like they hurt to say. "Tell them I love them. Tell them I never forgot."
"No more goodbyes. You're not— you're not doing this."
He drew in a slow, unsteady breath and turned toward Hunter. His eyes lingered there. "And you," he said, forcing a faint, broken smile, "take care of him for me, Alice."
He only smiled again, sad and distant. He slipped the paper into my pocket anyway, his hand lingering there as though he wanted to stay just a second longer. "I have to buy you time," he whispered.
"Riven—"
"Go." His voice broke then. "Please, Whit. Go."
That name hit me like a knife to the ribs. It wasn't just a name. Only he calls me that. Just… now it souned like a goodbye disguised as something else.
Somewhere behind us, Sebastian's shriek tore through the smoke. "They're closing in!"
Riven turned toward the sound, his gun trembling in his hand. "Take her!" he shouted hoarsely. "Get them out!"
Sebastian swooped through the haze, his enormous wings beating hard enough to scatter the ash. He shifted midair into his humanoid form, his owl eyes glinting gold in the firelight. Before I could react, his taloned hand gripped my shoulder, and the other pulled Augustus from my arms.
"Riven!" I screamed. The word ripped from my throat like a wound reopening.
He looked back — one last time. And for a heartbeat, the world stopped burning. There was no smoke, no screams, no gunfire. Just the sound of our breathing — his uneven, mine breaking — and the space between us that neither of us could close.
"I love you," he said simply.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't perfect. It was real. And before I could answer, before I could even draw breath to say it back, he turned and ran into the smoke.
The world then erupted.
Sebastian dragged me backward, wings shielding us from the debris. I kept reaching for the fire, for the shape of Riven disappearing into it, screaming his name until my voice was gone. But the flames swallowed him whole. The sound of gunfire faded. The smoke devoured everything. And all I could do was clutch his dog tag to my chest — its edges biting into my palm — and pray that somewhere, somehow, he heard me say it back.
"I love you too."
I know he was outnumbered. I know there's little to no chance he can defeat those enemies. He looked almost unearthly in that moment—like the shadows themselves had chosen him.
After realizing everything, the memories came in slowly like waves as if the world itself had forgotten how to hold me up. My mind wouldn't stop replaying him. That small, crooked smile that never quite reached his eyes but still made everything feel lighter. The willow tree. The way he always annoys me. The way he used to lean by the window to my room. The way his boots always left prints of dirt on the floor. The nights when I let him sneak to my room. The time he helped me investigate the Others. And his birthday. The smallest smile on his face that said he couldn't believe I remembered.
My throat tightened. My chest ached so hard I thought it might cave in.
***
We ran until the night turned to a dull gray, until the sound of explosions faded into silence. The forest greeted us with cold air and the scent of wet earth, but it didn't feel like safety. It felt like exile. The sky felt heavy, and the world beneath it was nothing but ruin.
I held Augustus close. He stopped crying now, but his small fingers are still tangled in my torn sleeve. Behind me, Sebastian was following slowly. Hunter lay at my feet, whimpering, with his fur streaked with ash.
Willowmere—the home that once held laughter and light—was gone.
And Riven…
I pressed his dog tag to my chest, the metal biting into my skin.
He was the first person who made me laugh after everything. The first person who called me Whit with that half-smirk, the first who saw me as something more than the girl with a gift. And now, he was gone—swallowed by the same fire that had taken everything else from me. In my mind, I saw us again beneath the willow tree—the first day he called me annoying. The way he leaned back, watching the branches sway, sunlight cutting through the green in fragments. He told me he liked quiet places, and I told him that quiet made me uneasy. He laughed then, soft and warm.
Now the world was too quiet.
The silence pressed down on me like a weight I couldn't carry.
I buried my face against Augustus's hair, breathing him in—the last small reminder that there was still something worth saving. My throat burned. My body trembled.
"I don't want what happened to my father to happen to anyone here," I whispered. "He and Mom were killed by the Others."
Sebastian turned his gaze toward me, saying nothing. He didn't have to. The look in his eyes said it all—that he understood, that grief was a language none of us had the strength to speak aloud anymore.
The last thing I saw before closing my eyes was the faint glint of Riven's dog tag under the moonlight—silver, quiet, eternal.
When the smoke began to thin, it peeled away like tattered cloth, revealing silhouettes staggering through the haze. I froze—heart hammering—unsure if they were the Others coming to finish us or the people I prayed hadn't been buried under the ruins.
But instead of seeing pale, emotionless humans with no facial hair, I see Dwight, Harriet, and a smaller figure trailing close behind—Morgan.
For a split second, I couldn't move. My mind struggled to reconcile the sight of them alive against the ruin that surrounded us. Dwight's arm was around Harriet, steadying her steps. Her hair was matted with dust, her face streaked with tears and soot, but her eyes still burned with life.
And Morgan…
He wasn't crying.
He wasn't even shaking.
He just walked quietly behind them—no sketchbook, no pencils, nothing to clutch or hide behind. For some reason, that unsettled me more than the devastation.
"Dwight!" I called out, my voice breaking in the smoke.
They turned. And when Dwight's eyes met mine, the corner of his mouth twitched upward—not a smile, not really, but something that said "we made it."
When they reached me, Harriet nearly collapsed into my arms. I held her tightly, feeling her ribs tremble beneath my hands. "You guys made it," I whispered.
"Yeah," she said, her voice hoarse but steady.
Behind us, Augustus's voice cracked through the air. "Miss Alice—where's Mama?"
I looked down and saw the boy's tear-streaked face. He was clutching my sleeve, his tiny fingers stained with soot. Dwight crouched beside him, his voice gentle.
"We don't know, little one," he said softly. "We didn't see her. I'm sorry."
Augustus's lips quivered, and a sob tore out of him before he buried his face into my side. I bent down and wrapped him in my arms, feeling his shoulders shake. I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth—that I had seen Lucy last near the cellar door, her voice calling for her sons before the darkness swallowed her whole. That memory was something I couldn't give voice to—not yet.
"It's okay," I murmured, stroking his hair. "I've got you, Augustus. I've got you."
When I looked back up, Harriet was staring off at what used to be the home—now just a broken skeleton of stone and smoke. "Where's Eleanor?" I asked quietly.
Harriet shook her head, tears forming again. "We don't know. We looked everywhere after the blast. But the east wing was gone."
Dwight added, "Ryan told us to find the rest and lead the others to safety if anything ever happened. But I—" his voice cracked "—I don't think he made it."
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay upright, though my knees were trembling. I could still see flashes of that moment.
I blinked the tears back. "He's not gone," I whispered, more to myself than them. "He can't be."
For a moment, none of us spoke. The only sound was the crackle of distant fire and the faint whimper of the wind moving through broken walls.
When Harriet's voice broke the silence, I already knew what she was going to ask.
"Where's Riven?"
The words hit harder than they should have. I felt something twist deep in my chest. Like a quiet, dull ache that spread until it reached my throat. I couldn't look at her. I just stared ahead, at the treeline, pretending to listen to the wind. I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because saying it out loud would make it real.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harriet's expression shift. The question died on her lips as quickly as it had come. She understood. Maybe it was the way my hands clenched around the fabric of my sleeve, or how my breathing hitched for just a second too long.
She didn't say anything else. Just stepped a little closer, her hand brushing my arm — barely there, but enough to steady me. And I didn't look up. I just felt the warmth of her understanding settle beside the grief I couldn't name.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence said everything.
Then Morgan looked up. His voice was soft.
"Is it all over?"
I turned to look at him, really look. His eyes were calm now—eerily so. Gone was the frightened child sketching his nightmares in silence. What remained was something hollowed out by understanding.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "It is."
He nodded, almost like he expected that answer. Harriet stepped beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Everything will be okay, Morgan," she said, though even she sounded unconvinced.
I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe anyone could rebuild after something like this. But as I looked around at the bodies, the smoke, the shattered windows—everything that once represented safety—I couldn't shake the feeling that what burned that night wasn't just the home. It was the illusion that we were ever safe to begin with.
I gathered everyone close. The air was still heavy with grief, but I forced myself to speak.
"We need to move. Now. There could be more of them."
Dwight nodded grimly. "We know a place—south of here, past the valley. There's a cave system. It's hidden. We can regroup there."
Harriet adjusted her cloak, her face streaked with soot, and her eyes darted over the ruined trees like she was already mapping the escape.
I hesitated, glancing down at Augustus. He was still clutching my sleeve like it was the only thing keeping him standing. His cheeks were red and swollen from crying, and his breaths came in uneven gasps.
"Take him with you," I said quietly to Dwight and Harriet. "You'll be safer together."
The boy's grip tightened immediately. "No," he whimpered, shaking his head. "I'm not leaving you."
"Augustus," I said softly, crouching in front of him. "You have to. You'll slow me down if you stay. I promise I'll find you again, but right now, I need you to go with them."
He shook his head harder, tears spilling down his dirt-streaked face. "No! You promised Mama you'd find me! You said you'd keep me safe!"
The words hit me so hard I almost forgot how to breathe. I did promise. And now, standing in the wreck of everything, I wasn't sure I could keep it anymore.
"Please," he whispered. "Don't make me leave you again."
The others watched quietly. Harriet's expression softened. Dwight looked away, pretending to check his bag. And Morgan just hugged himself.
I exhaled shakily. "Alright," I whispered. "You stay with me."
Augustus's shoulders trembled in relief as he threw his arms around me. I held him for a moment — just a moment — before forcing myself to pull away.
Harriet stepped forward, her gaze flicking between me and the boy. "You're sure about this?"
"I am."
There was no convincing me otherwise, and she knew it. She just gave a small nod. "Then we'll meet again."
"Yeah. Then we'll meet again."
She lingered a second longer, like she wanted to say something else — but she didn't. She turned, signaling Dwight and Morgan, and together they started down the path toward the valley. None of them looked back. When they were gone, the silence returned. The kind that pressed on the chest and made every heartbeat too loud.
Hunter gave a low growl beside me. Sebastian, still in his humanoid form, stepped closer.
"You're not going with them?" he asked.
I shook my head. "They'll be safer without me."
Sebastian's golden eyes softened — pity, maybe frustration, maybe both. "You always think like that, Miss Alice. Always the martyr."
A bitter smile tugged at my lips. "Maybe. But someone has to make sure the path ahead isn't a dead end."
He sighed, shaking his head slightly, but there was no argument left in him. Only quiet acceptance. Hunter gave another short growl, almost as if in agreement, and took his place by my side. Augustus was still holding my hand — smaller now, trembling, but certain.
"Alright then," Sebastian said finally, his voice faintly rough. "Lead the way."
And so I did.
Through the smoke, through the still-burning remnants of what was once home — I walked, the boy's hand in mine. We walked for hours through what was once Willowmere Valley, now blanketed in ash and silence. The trees were blackened silhouettes, and the soil still smoked in places where the fire hadn't yet died. As dawn broke, the faintest thread of sunlight touched the horizon—soft pink bleeding into gray. I stopped at the cliffside and looked out. The sea stretched endlessly below, waves glittering like shards of glass. It was strange, how beautiful the world could look even after so much ruin.
'Riven should've been here,' I thought. The ache of his absence throbbed like an old wound. I could still feel the weight of his dog tag in my chest. 'So you'll always have light,' he'd said.
I touched it now, clinging to that line like a prayer.
For a moment, I let myself breathe. Just one breath.
The sea wind carried the scent of salt and smoke, and the faint rustle of the willow branches above me whispered like ghosts. I closed my eyes and remembered my father's stories—how he once told me about an island far across the water.
"Therslomau," he'd said. "A place untouched by war. A refuge for the lost."
Back then, I thought it was just a bedtime story. But now, as I stared into the horizon where sea met sky, I wondered if he had always known I'd need to find it someday.
Maybe that's where we were meant to go now.
Maybe that's where hope still waited.
"I'll find it," I murmured under my breath. "For all of us."
Sebastian turned toward me, the wind catching the edge of his feathers. "What's that, Miss Alice?"
I looked at him and smiled faintly. "Therslomau Isle. That's where we're going."
He blinked. "You're serious."
"Dead serious," I said, my voice steadier than I felt, though everything inside me was trembling. "Ryan built a home for anyone — a place where we weren't hunted, where we could laugh without fear. I'll do the same. Not just for me… but for all of us. Somewhere no one can find us. Somewhere we can start over — where the gifted can finally feel safe, and maybe… maybe even feel like they belong."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then Sebastian gave a low, resigned sigh and spread his wings slightly. "Then I suppose I'll make sure the skies are clear."
He lifted off, catching the wind, and I watched him fade into the golden morning.
Hunter nudged my leg, and I looked down. "We'll find it," I told him softly. "We have to."
I turned back toward the horizon one last time, the rising sun glinting off the silver chain around my neck. Beneath it, the sea roared—a sound like both ending and beginning. And as I stood there, bruised and tired, with ash in my hair and a hollow ache in my chest, I finally understood what Ryan meant when he said peace was never something you were given.
It was something you built.
***
Days passed like ghosts moving through time. The air around us seemed to grow softer the farther we traveled, as if the wind itself wanted to shield us from what we'd left behind.
The journey was long and exhausting. Each dawn felt heavier than the last, and every dusk brought back flashes of the home we'd lost. Yet we kept walking. Riven's dog tag hung cold against my chest, the metal pressing faintly into my skin each time I breathed.
Sebastian led us through narrow trails and over steep hills, his wings occasionally stretching under the evening sun. Hunter followed at my side. Augustus clung to my hand most nights, too afraid to sleep alone. He didn't speak much anymore. None of us really did.
The first time I saw the place my dad had told me about, I stopped in my tracks. The world around us opened into a stretch of golden meadow, bordered by tall, whispering pines and the quiet murmur of a river that shimmered like glass. No ruins. No smoke. No sound of pursuit. Only stillness.
"This is it," I said, my voice almost breaking as I took it all in. "This is where it begins again."
The sun dipped low, spilling warm light across the clearing. For a long moment, none of us moved. It felt almost unreal, like the world was holding its breath.
Sebastian landed beside me in his owl form, his feathers catching the light before he morphed into his humanoid shape—a tall, lean figure with the same keen eyes of a predator and a faint aura of exhaustion.
He looked around slowly, as if testing the silence. "No trace of them," he murmured. "No scent. No sound. It's untouched."
Untouched. That word sank deep into me, stirring something like relief—but also guilt.
I pushed the thought away. If I let it take root, I'd crumble before I could build anything.
"I need to go back," I said quietly.
Sebastian tilted his head. "Back?"
"To the hill where my dad once took me with him," I replied, glancing toward the horizon where the forest thickened. "Where my father buried the gold. I remember the path."
Sebastian hesitated but then nodded. "All right," he said. "We'll come with you."
Hunter barked softly, as if volunteering himself too. Augustus also followed me.
As we walked, the land stretched like an endless canvas of greens and golds, rivers threading through the valley like veins of silver. When we landed on the old hill, the scent of pine and damp soil hit me, rich and familiar. It looked almost the same as I remembered it.
I knelt in the dirt and brushed away the overgrown grass. The soil was cold against my fingers. I dug until my nails broke, until sweat stung my eyes and my breath turned ragged. Then, finally, the edge of a wooden box surfaced. My heart pounded as I dragged it out and brushed off the dirt.
The hinges gave a soft, tired creak as I opened it. Inside were stuff buried under moments of dust. The faint light caught the edges of gold bars stacked neatly at the bottom, beside a few old trinkets and a worn photograph. My breath hitched when I saw it. My father was smiling, my mother's hand resting on his shoulder, both of them frozen in a world that didn't exist anymore.
I brushed my fingers over their faces, and for a second, it almost felt like they were still here.
"Dad…" I whispered.
Sebastian stood behind me in silence, his gaze soft.
For the first time in months, I allowed myself to cry—not from fear or exhaustion, but from the sheer ache of remembering. I thought of Ryan. Of Riven. Of Harriet. Of Dwight. Of Eleanor. Of Miss Byrd. Of Doctor Crowe. Of all the residents of the home.
I closed the box gently, the weight of it grounding me. "We'll build again," I said under my breath. "For all of them."
In my hand, I held the old, burned photograph I'd salvaged from the ashes of Willowmere. The edges were singed, the colors faded, but the faces remained—Harriet, Dwight, Morgan, Lucy, Miss Byrd, Eleanor, Ryan… and Riven, his faint smirk caught mid-laughter, his arm draped casually over Hunter's back.
My chest tightened. I could almost hear him teasing me again—"Annoyingly beautiful," he'd said once, and I'd punched his arm before realizing how much those words stayed with me.
"You were the light," I whispered, pressing the photo to my heart. The wind carried my voice away, scattering it into the distance like a secret.
Behind me, I heard footsteps—soft, hesitant. Augustus stood at the door, holding a small wildflower in his hand.
"What's that?" I asked, kneeling down to his level.
He smiled shyly. "I plucked it near that big tree," he said. "Sebastian said this flower is called primrose."
I took the flower gently, twirling it between my fingers. Its pale pink petals glowed faintly in the fading sun.
The world had changed. We had changed. But somewhere, I believed—no, I knew—that light would always find a way back.
And as I turned toward the home, the sanctuary we built with blood, gold, and memory, I whispered to the wind,
"Watch over us, Ryan. Watch over him."
Then, without looking back, I stepped inside.
The door closed softly behind me.
The night wind swept across the valley, carrying with it the scent of primrose, and the faintest echo of laughter from a place long gone.
— fin —