“Alurian died in the war of the Divide, along with Illian Trent, the srinn of dragons, the former king of Alti, and countless others. If a terrible magic had not burned everything to ash, the soils of Alti would have run thick with blood. It was, maybe, that same terrible magic that brought Silver Alurian back to life.”

~ Bek Trent, M.A.S.O

It was over.

War had come and gone, scarring the lives even of those who should have been uninvolved. The fields where once homes or crops had sat lay dead and blackened, strewn with the riches of a thousand lives, never to rise again. By day, heavy clouds blocked out the sun, black with the smoke that carried the dead to the heavens, and with the remembered wisps of steam from the grand Castle of Altiannia. Far to the north, winter had settled in, and resources were scarce; although the beasts had broken the king’s siege on the mountain passes, it was too late for anyone to pass through. With the transition of power into the kuirsrinn’s hands, pockets of resistance remained, strongholds of those clinging desperately to the resolve of the king or the words of the council. The lawless took advantage of the chaos, and the diminished guard could not put them down. People suffered, far from the eyes of those in power. No one would save them.

This was the reality they had all known they faced.

Their successful capture of the port city and the Grand Castle had been only the first stepping stone on the path to peace. This despite the fact that everything had been very public; Silver’s rampage through the enemy forces, the descent of the dragons and winged beasts from the Issurak, the crumbling of the wall, Nersifral…it had all culminated in the moment that the gates of Altiannia slammed closed and a much smaller army - guided by Cevora through the secret corridors of the Grand Castle hours before - spilled out into the courtyard. Already, that moment had a name; the Slaughter of the Stables. Anyone who refused to lay down their arms was killed. All the stables and armories in the north half of the city had, in an instant, fallen into the Juran’s control. They had stormed the MASO, capturing the three council members who had remained in the city when war was declared.

When the gates of Altiannia finally opened once more, it was to the captains and generals under the MASO’s command laying down their weapons. They pledged themselves to their new srinn.

But of course, there were things worse than war. In the days after the conflict ended, Alti had been shaken by earthquake after earthquake. It was if the land itself protested the blood they had spilled. Buildings collapsed. Mudslides destroyed parts of Elruin, one of the major trade cities, and parts of the Issurak. Chunks of the bluffs in the east fell into the ocean, taking people and beasts with them into the sea. And the Ruveris Plague had worsened, striking like the revenge of the fallen at the hundreds who waited with baited breath for the end of the war.

Four days. All this in four days.

Bek shifted where he sat on the wood floor, eyeing the fading daylight outside the small room back in Libertia. It would be night soon enough.

His eyes strayed to Silver’s face. She lay on the bedding Cara had laid out for her on the day he dragged her back to the city, beyond saving, with Elorian pressed up against her side. Only Olrier had helped him, Urias and Vespar too overwhelmed by the scent of her blood to come within a hundred meters of where she lay, dying. Between the witch and the vampire’s healers, they had saved her, somehow. Bek had his suspicions that their interventions had done only so much.

Even now, Silver lay so still she hardly breathed. It was a miracle she was alive at all. There was no sign that she would ever wake again. Despite what Olrier had said the day they watched Silver rise, apparently from death, to tear across the battlefield, the vampire had never explained what she had done. Bek had the impression he never would. Either way, the srinn of vampires was too busy to bother with either of them now. Not with Cevora flying back and forth daily, engaging Oracles and scholars and the wisdom of the vampires alike in an attempt to save their crumbling kingdom.

Clenching his teeth, Bek leaned back against the wall. “I still don’t know who you really are, Silver Alurian,” he said aloud, bronze eyes dark as he eyed her, “but you have more to answer for than ever before.”

As expected, she did not stir. The wolf continued to stare at him from beside her, emerald eyes bright. He might never know what Silver had said to the beast who orchestrated the war to spur it to kill the srinn of Alti, just as he might never know why she had sought out the dragon in the first place. Revenge, possibly. Zien had made it clear to him who the beasts believed was orchestrating the Zara’s actions in their modern age – a creature, likely one as powerful as a dragon, called Hess. Silver likely also knew. But none of them had known the name of the beast hidden away in the heart of the castle until after the Juran took Alti. Had Silver sought him out for some other reason? If not, how could she have known?

What magic could she have used…?

His eyes crept to the ring of burn marks around her neck, the only part of her that remained raw and bloody despite the healers’ best attempts to heal her. They had been left by Zeharial’s necklace, the gift he had given her to protect her from the Zara. It might have saved her life, though he had no idea how. It was just a hunch, and one that he would follow up on if they ever managed to return to their own era. Either way, the necklace remained with her now, despite the meaningful looks he had gotten from Sara when it was discovered. Not everyone would have recognized it. The witch certainly did.

“Illian would have never wanted this for any of us,” Bek said heavily then. “Nevertheless, Silver, you played your part well. The king’s dragon has vanished. Etrion srinn passed two days ago to the wounds he inflicted, but it seems she named an heir first. Seijelar is healing well. I thought you would want to know, though Elorian might have told you already,” he paused, meeting the wolf’s emerald stare. If it spoke to him, he did not hear. The beast never left Silver’s side anymore. It snarled at shadows, sleeping only when Illian's wolf came to lie, silent, at Silver’s feet. Whatever they guarded against, it was something beyond even the dragons’ understanding.

“You know, wolf, I never expected any of this,” Bek said more softly, “I’m sure you didn’t either. Just another mission. Just one more step…”

The wolf’s silvery ears laid back. It seemed to consider something, watching the last glimmer of sunlight vanish slowly from beyond the window.

“The dragons say that the beasts follow Silver because she is nerske. Is it really the same for you?” he asked seriously. “Or is there more?”

Slowly, the wolf raised its head, staring hard at him. If he called Skourett, the dragon might be able to translate for him. Sometimes, though, Bek had the impression that there were things the wolf did not want to say to the dragons.

“What exactly are you and Faei guarding against?”

Elorian turned slowly, staring out the window of the small room. Somehow, for an instant, Bek was sure he understood. It was possible that he simply heard what he wanted to believe, after everything the witch had said to him about Silver.

“Ghosts.”

“Elorian,” he continued after a moment, “Seijelar seemed unsure, but somehow, I think you’ll know the answer to this. When Silver was stabbed, Urias and Vespar seem to think she used magic, while she was on the brink of death, to save herself. Was that—”

“Her heart stopped, human. There was a moment where she left this world.”

He felt himself staring, certain now that he had understood. Somehow, the wolf had spoken to him. Whatever the wolf said next, however, he did not understand. After a while, the beast gave up on him, resting its head across Silver’s thigh with a gusty sigh.

What was that? He knew he was no beastspeaker. Then again, the wolf was clearly no ordinary wolf, either. Even the dragons had a grudging respect for the beast.

After remaining, in silence, a little longer, Bek stood slowly, hand moving to his neck. He stopped there, fingers inches from his skin, as he looked in Silver’s direction. It was a bad habit, always touching the branded mark of the MASO when he was worried. One day, it would give him away. He should stop. He should, but this time it made him feel more at ease, as if merely touching the invisible marks could ease their power over him.

“In the end, we’ll see, won’t we,” he muttered, moving towards the door. “In the end...”