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“Perhaps, had I heeded her call and joined the war, she would not have had to do this,” he adds. “Perhaps, had I investigated more carefully, I would not have fallen into Ruin’s clutches. If I had searched more diligently and feared less, I would have found her before it was too late.”

“Tell me your name again.”

He glances up, shadows forming half moons beneath his eyes, confusion weighing his brow.“Ytton’allanejrou.”

I carefully repeat it, syllable by syllable. The word tastes like power on my lips. “You have strived for peace. You journeyed between the stars in search of her. You suffered a mortal world, a mortal life, in pursuit of her. You let your heart break, to choose her.” My voice drifts as my throat squeezes. “You hurt yourself, and lost your divinity, to end the war she fought. You could blame yourself. You could blame the gods for not doing more, or my people for not fulfilling our part. You can blame Ruin, or the Well of Creation itself. And yet none of it will change our sacrifices and our truths. We can only move forward and find joy in what’s left. And there is so much left, Heartwood.”

I run a knuckle over his ear. He leans into my touch, letting out a long, hollow breath. “You are right. But it will take some time for me to believe it.”

“We have time.” Outside, the sun climbs steadily higher, marking the hours on our behalf. “A little time, at least. I might suggest you spend it recovering.”

I brace his arm. Taking the cue, he allows me to help him stand. “The alehouse is near.” An empty pang hits my chest at the thought. “As is Ramdinee’s home, if you want a private place to convalesce. Or we can drag your sorry body back to my bed.”

He groans, one hand pressed to his raw abdomen. “You know which I’d prefer.”

I smirk at him and secure his arm around my shoulder, though my own legs are drained of strength. I want to lie down and sleep for ten cycles ... then again, we don’t tell time that way anymore. I’ll settle for fivedays. How utterly bizarre a thought.

But alas, Ruin has not left us with a plethora of time. My work is far from over.

“We’ll build the beacon,” I say as I pull open the door. “And then we’ll climb that wall and return to our city.”

“City?” he asks.

“Where we started. What we left.” On the other side of the planet sprawls a city that has sat in the frigid dark for thirty years. A metropolis cut off, sentenced to die before it could truly live.

“You can’t pass the amaranthine wall,” Heartwood says. “I’ve tried.”

I allow myself to smile. “There’s nothing yet that a god has built that our technology can’t demolish. I’ll find a way.”

Heartwood grunts his agreement. As we pass through the door, into a bright and east-leaning sun, I glance one more time at Cas’raneah’s resting form. Perhaps it’s an illusion of the slowly moving shadows, but I swear on the Serpent I see her finger twitch.