“Hey.” A voice reached Dorothea, faint. “Will you keep talking to me? Just for a little while.”

The waking world was cruel. The sense of peace from her dream, despite how she tried to claw at it, had vanished. Reality returned, showing her that she had nothing of value to offer. She was worthless and always had been. A child whose own mother pitied her birth and left her behind. Give up. Give in. Become the nothing you know you are.

But she was kept tethered by the merest thread. For this person who had experienced horrors she would never be able to understand, couldn’t even she do this small thing?

For Gren.

“Of course…” she whispered.

“I don’t know where to start. Will you…?”

Think of something, anything. “Once… Once upon a time…” In the depths, she found a story her mother had recited countless times from scripture. “A sapphire star fell to the ground. The waves its impact created resounded so strongly that the oceans were created, and the star remained rooted, crystallized at the bottom of the sea in the crater where it had first landed. The star, shocked so much by its landing, lost all memory of its further life. However, those who had been left behind still remembered.

“In particular, the star was loved by a ruby moon. In order to follow its fallen companion, the moon asked the mutual friends of it and the star to unleash their wrath upon it to knock it from its anchor in the sky so that it could be near the star once again. The moon was battered and scarred when it fell, and it crumbled with its floating pieces becoming the land once it met the ocean. The moon, having been broken, no longer had the same will as before. Like the star, it had lost its memories. Their friends in the sky, knowing that they too would become helpless if they tried to follow and help, watched and prayed for a miracle every day.

“But it never came. The star and the moon stayed as they were, sourcing the land and sea forever, content. They made new ties and loves. Eventually, their old friends bade them farewell, accepting that they had to find new happiness without the moon and star. And so it remains and ends, the eternal yet so close separation of two beings once united in their deep bonds.” She paused. “Does the story have a happy or a sad ending? It all depends on perspective. What do you think?”

“It’s not happy or sad,” Gren murmured. “It’s bittersweet.”

“I think so too. The ones the star and moon left behind had to linger and grieve for so long while being so powerless… It’s awful.”

“They all end up okay in the end, though. And even if the grief weighs them down, they still have their memories.”

Memories… They brought so much pain. But to say that she didn’t cherish those memories, those people… “That’s a beautiful point.” What to do to honor them? “Gren?”

“Yes?”

“What do you dream of? What is it you want?”

“... Truly?”

“Please.” There seemed little point in putting on airs for each other.

“Atonement,” he rasped. “That’s all… my life has been.”

Empathy gutted her. “I need to atone too.” These thoughts of giving in were selfish and despicable. It wasn’t just about her. But how could she do anything more now?

“For what?” His tonelessness was vexing. There was no way he didn’t hate her in the way she deserved, and she almost would have preferred for him to display it plainly.

“Are you kidding? Ignorance, recklessness… I’m the only reason we’re here right now! Didn’t you hear Hollyhock and Iree? I gave you away. I got you captured and hurt like this, and I…!” She didn’t deserve to be the one crying, but she couldn’t stop it.

“That’s…somewhat conceited. You feel sorry for yourself right now, don’t you?”

She laughed, thick and without mirth. “Can you tell? But it’s true. I’ve always been incredibly conceited, thinking that I either have the right to deny the world my magic or the authority to change the world with it… I’m just one useless girl, and it doesn’t matter what I do. When we’re dead and gone, war will continue, and we’ll kill and kill each other… So what are we supposed to hope for?” Did dreams of and efforts towards peace mean a single thing?

“If you think about it like that, then I suppose the only options you’d see are apathy or death. But I can only speak for myself. I want to believe that Ghuria can have a future, and that I’m… I can… I don’t exactly hope for it, but I’d like to entertain the possibility. Hope is just too…” She heard him dragging himself closer to the wall, closer to her and the sound of her voice, and she angled her body towards him, too. How wonderful it would be to reach him right now. “I used to think that nothing I did would matter. Because of the people I killed and the pain I caused, though, I owe it to others to fight until the bitter end. Now that it is the end, I won’t say I don’t have regrets, but maybe I did all that I could.” His voice started to tremble. “Hey, can I ask you…”

Dorothea waited, but he didn’t continue. “Yes?”

“Did I manage to make up for what I did? Even a little?” The words were small and devoid of hope.

She cried for him, broke down into a breathless heap for him. This boy, this tormented killer, only wanted a sliver of acknowledgement before his death. “Yes,” she sobbed. “You did. You’re good. You tried your hardest to be good, and you were.”

He didn’t respond for a long time, but she heard strained breaths that seemed to leak from between gritted teeth. “Will you tell me another story?” he asked eventually.

So their hours ticked by, tales of the cosmos, of Gods and daily anecdotes and everything in-between passing between them. A semblance of peace was forged there, with both resisting the pull of sleep in favor of continuing their talks. Eventually, one of Dorothea’s lingering questions floated up into her hazy mind. She’d not wanted to bother him with serious things, but she needed to know.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, and please don’t force yourself, but… Do people in Ghuria believe that the contract was only to be rid of Wither?”

“Yes. The matter was kept fairly private between a representative from the Creeds and my family.” He paused. “It was pitched to us like both families were doing the honorable thing. I tried reaching out to the council afterwards to clear things up before it got worse, but… They were killed. I’m the only one alive in Ghuria who knows what really happened.”

So the Ghurians, too, operated under the system of a council holding responsibility over major decisions. “What do you mean the council was killed? By Wither, or…” Wasn’t that too convenient?

“Some by Wither. Others were found dead not long after Sacer declared war. It was too hectic for anyone to think of, really.”

She could barely consider it, though it definitely stuck out as odd, to say the least. “Have you told anyone?”

“A few. If they believe me, we agree that it’s not possible to change it.”

“I see… Gren, I… You know what my magic is capable of. Be honest with me. What should I do?”

He took such a long time to think that she was afraid he’d fallen asleep or fainted or worse. “I don’t know. It’s your choice.”

“You must have an opinion.”

“If you could have stopped this war, I feel like you would have already would have.”

He was misunderstanding who she was. “It wasn’t that long ago that I really didn’t care what happened to anyone in Sacer or Ghuria so long as Sirpo was safe. I resented all of you for your violence. I didn’t want to have an obligation to anyone like my ancestors did. I’m… Whatever you may be thinking of me, you need to know that I’m not a good person. I’m hateful and apathetic. I’m just trying to be better, and I… I failed. I guess I’m trying to get you to make a decision for me. Sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter if I like what you do. It’s your life.”

“I… My magic. There’s a price for it. It eats away at my constitution and takes time off my life whenever I use it. But maybe that never should have mattered. Maybe it would be alright to die if I can just…” What? She wouldn’t say something like helping just one person would be enough. That wouldn’t be meaningful. “For everyone’s sake, but, if I’m telling the truth, especially for a few special people… We all wanted the same thing, to make a world where everyone had more options than either fighting and giving up a part of themselves or running and losing everything for it. I just wanted to prove that we could do that while not being afraid of one another or thinking that the other side had to disappear. But I messed it all up before even getting started.” She closed her eyes, a new wave of exhaustion and sadness almost pulling her under.

“If I were you, I don’t know how I would have acted,” Gren said, slow and thoughtful. “But someone like you, who would say she forgives a person who’d tried to kill her and took her parents from her… You’re strange. I don’t understand you, and I find it a bit crazy, for lack of a better word.”

Dorothea laughed weakly. “I am. Crazy and stupid.”

“But,” he continued, “someone like that isn’t someone I’d call a bad person. If you call me good, despite everything… Well, I think the same about you. We tried. That must count for something in the end.”

A warm rush of appreciation and relief surprised her. “I hope so. Thank you.” Dying with unfulfilled good intentions… She wasn’t sure if it was better or worse than dying having lived for nothing. “Gren?”

“Hm?”

“I’m not going to do as they ask. Shark will be okay. Cerid will protect them. I know it. I would rather die than twist things like they want.” With him there, she felt strong enough to choose that path.

Gren started to speak but stopped, freezing at the same time as Dorothea when they heard footsteps from above them. “Hey,” he hissed, urgent. “Please live. Do whatever you have to do to survive. I’m going to die, but you don’t have to, so…” He fell silent when a pair of legs came into view, and she didn’t get a chance to reply.

Their tormentors hadn’t returned, though. “Hey,” Ariana greeted in her normal bored and endlessly tired way.

Dorothea relaxed somewhat, recognizing her as a lesser evil. “What are you doing here?”

“Got sent in to check on you. They said you got one day, and it’s almost been twenty hours. Ready to cooperate yet? Though I assume you are. You already wiped Rhys’ slate, and your best buddy’s fucked if you don’t do what Iree says.”

She didn’t have to rub it in. How cruel. “Just go,” Dorothea whispered.

“Do you want to help them? Rhys, Shark, all of them.”

“Just go, I said.” Why tantalize her like this?

“It’s more of a yes or no question.”

“Leave, Ariana!” It was a new form of torture to tease her by asking. Her helplessness was obvious.

“Well, at least you’ve got some fire left… It’ll have to do.”

“What?” She twisted to get a better view. Ariana flicked her wrist to unsheath her sword. Oh. So death had come sooner than expected. As she raised her arm, Dorothea squeezed her eyes shut, and she heard Gren cry out.

Then her wrists fell to her sides, freed by two quick, expertly aimed swipes. The lock to the cell was demolished, and the door swung open with a creak. With freedom at her back, Dorothea shivered, and she stood on trembling legs. “Why…?”

Ariana was digging inside her own shirt. She drew a rumpled piece of paper and held it out. When she received nothing but a dumb stare, she narrowed her eyes and snapped, “What? You want me to lock you back up? Hurry, dumbass!”

“R-Right!” Dorothea snatched the sheet and examined it. It was much briefer and simpler than she’d imagined it would be, leaving her with more confusion as opposed to the feeling of jubilant revelation she’d expected:

The council puts up to the standard majority vote today the proposition hence known as the Wither-Thaw Contract.

In order to prevent the tensions that continue to boil steadily between we, the Sacerian people whom this council represents, and the Ghurian populace due to the lethal potential of the Wither and Thaw magic lines, we propose to eliminate both of these lines in order to keep the peace. Pending agreement from the Ghurian council, both the Creed and Fall families will be executed at the same time on the same day.

The vote results in ten for and one against to make the proposal to the Ghurian people.

Document recorded, with a guarantee of honesty under punishment of bodily harm in the case of perjury, by secretary Cadby Creed.

Was that it? Dorothea turned the page over to check the back side. There was nothing but the impression of the ink from the front showing through. And why had so many of them agreed to this? Ten for and only one against… Wouldn’t the opposite turnout make more sense? Unless they had all known they would betray Ghuria and go back on their word from the very beginning.

Ariana sighed. “It was in the first book I tried. The one by those Nobelis crackpots. A book no one would ever read. Seemed pretty obvious to me.”

Dorothea almost had to laugh. So they’d come full circle to that, huh?

Ariana tapped the paper. “Look at the date.”

In the top right corner… “Oh!” It was dated before the epidemic. It was the proof she’d wanted. Maybe there was no use for it in Sacer, not right now, but maybe in Ghuria… It would back up Gren’s word and make their truce easier, with any luck. “What happened to Shark and Cerid?”

“Shark’s under house arrest for being suspected of treason along with you.” She smirked, dark and angry. “Court of public opinion. Whaddya know? Either way, I’d suggest you getting out of here as soon as possible.”

Right. But… “Why are you doing this?”

Ariana looked to her feet, and her shoulders sagged beneath a weight Dorothea didn’t know. “I can’t forgive you for the things you could have done. I’ll always hold that hatred for you deep down. If you’d used your magic earlier, you could have saved so many lives and spared so many people from…” She let out a hollow laugh. “From such endless despair. You have no idea what they… What my people and those I’ve left behind have been through. But even I can acknowledge a sliver of goodness in you, and maybe that’s all I need. Maybe that’s how desperate I am to have faith in something or to find another way.” She took a breath. “I always thought that my only choices were to die fighting for Ghuria or to accept a life as a second-class citizen in Sacer. If there’s another way, show me.”

“You can be there while we prove it. Come with us, Ariana,” Dorothea pleaded.

She moved to cut open Gren’s cell. Turning her back once done, she whispered one last request. “Protect Petunia.”

Dorothea grabbed her hand, healing it. “I will.”

Ariana nodded, giving Dorothea one last conflicted glance, and ran away.

“Thank the Gods for big mercies,” Dorothea whispered, cradling the contract after folding it into a neat square. “Gren…!” She swung the door open, it clanging with screeching rattles against the stones of the wall. In one swift movement, she was on her knees embracing him, her hands pressing against his back. They weren’t going to give in, not without one last fight.

His arms, once returned to him by her magic, went around her and squeezed her breath away. “We have to go.”

Right. When she drew back to look at him, it was as if she was looking at a new person. Still him, but her impression had been altered so dramatically in the past day. Something unbreakable linked them now, born from their shared experience. He blinked at her, looking surprised as he too realized their newfound connection. “Can you heal yourself?” His hand came up but stopped shy of touching her cheek.

“No. I can’t use my magic on myself.” Her grandfather had always, always warned her against it, and her mother had echoed the demand. She’d never tried, fearful to even imagine the consequences.

He accepted her hand and got to his feet, taking her arm and letting her lean on him since he was the far stronger one between them. “Where to?” he asked, alert and focused and now, after it all, ready to trust in her just as she was him.

“First, to Sirpo. We restore my home and then turn to yours. We’re going to protect Ghuria.” She put her hand over his to give them both strength. “We’re going to change this world.”

Gren held her body secure and guided their first steps forward. “I’m with you.”