Xandar is dead. The finality of his death lifts a weight I've carried in my chest for too long. Relief and exhaustion coil together, strange bedfellows, leaving a quiet ache that isn't pain but release.
Ashlynn approaches, her steps careful among marble shards and splintered beams, the morning light catching her hair like gold threads. She wraps her arms around my waist. I instinctively loop mine over her shoulders, holding her close. Warmth radiates between us—a rare calm settling like a balm after chaos.
We break the embrace and begin walking, stepping over slabs of rubble toward the rear courtyard. I glance back once: almost half of the Mansion has collapsed outward, the center torn open to the sky. From this vantage, the front courtyard is visible through the gaps in fallen walls.
Hand in hand, we move through the alleyways into the main street. Bodies, both uniformed and civilian, lie strewn across the red cobblestones, silent reminders of the night's carnage.
In the distance, faint echoes of gunfire and explosions still vibrate through the air.
Are they far away now, or has the fighting simply ended? I cannot tell, and perhaps it does not matter.
Two police officers emerge around the next turn. Their eyes widen when they see us, and they hurry over.
"Are you two okay?" one asks, voice tight with concern.
Ashlynn and I glance at each other before nodding at them.
"Do you need help?"
We shake our heads. No words needed.
They pause, studying us, concern etched across their faces.
"Are you sure you're okay?" the officer presses.
"Yes," I say quietly. "We are."
Both exhale, relief softening the tension in their shoulders.
"Can you show us the direction to the explosion earlier?"
I point toward the street leading to Xandar's Mansion—what little remains of it now, a shattered skeleton of walls and stone.
"Thank you," they say, and move past us, their boots clattering softly against the cobblestones.
We continue along the street, hands intertwined, moving back toward our home.
The cluster where our Manor sits is quiet, an eerie calm settling over the neighborhood.
From a courtyard, our neighbor, Monsieur Yohn, calls out. "Monsieur Thadeo."
We stop and turn to him.
"Is it safe now?" he asks, eyes flicking toward the street that leads to the entrance.
"I think so," I answer, keeping my voice steady.
We continue to our Manor. The taxman's corpse still lies in the corner of the foyer. The wall into the kitchen remains broken, its rubble stacked neatly nearby. But it is still our home.
We head straight to our bedroom, then to the bathroom.
We sink into the bathtub together. Ashlynn rests her head against my chest while my hands wrap around her waist, holding her close. The water warms our tired bodies, washing away the grime and tension of the day.
"Is it over?" she asks, voice soft.
"I don't know," I reply, letting the uncertainty linger between us.
"Is there something else you want to tell me?"
"I don't know," I murmur again.
"Can you say anything else?" she presses gently.
"I love you," I answer.
"I love you too, Len." Her lips brush against my chest as she whispers it.
After we wash, we move on to cleaning the house. Ashlynn helps me strip the corpse of its clothes, dragging it to the stable. There, I cut the body into pieces and mix it with other materials, turning it into fertilizer.
By the time the sun sets, the house is restored. Alchemical tools return to the attic. Rubble is stacked neatly in the front courtyard, temporarily. Everything looks orderly, almost peaceful.
We wash again, together, letting the water and each other's presence soothe our bodies.
Finally, we return to bed. In each other's embrace, we surrender to sleep.
—
In the Abyss, I sit upon my throne. The nothingness stretches endlessly, amplifying the calm that settles over me like a cloak. Yet I do not linger on the sensation. I move forward, compelled, or perhaps the Abyss itself expects it.
I lift a hand and snap my fingers once.
The water before me ripples, twisting and bending as though it obeys my very thought. Then it surges, spilling outward—and Mynar appears.
He drops to one knee the moment our gazes meet.
"Monsieur Abyss, your servant is here," he intones, voice steady yet deferential.
"Good work mobilizing the police, Mynar," I say.
"Thank you, Monsieur. Though I feel unworthy of your praise. Everything simply unfolds according to your design," he replies.
I chuckle softly. "You may claim your inheritance early."
His eyes widen, a spark of excitement lighting his expression. "You mean…?"
"Xandar is dead," I confirm.
A soft, satisfied giggle escapes him. "Finally," he mutters, almost to himself.
His gaze snaps back to me, now sharp and serious. "Monsieur, I will use my new position—my new resources—for your glorious plan."
"I know," I answer.
I lift my hand again and snap my fingers. The water at his feet twists violently, bending around him like living coils. It surges upward, engulfing him for an instant, then drags him down into the depths.
The Abyss swallows him.
—
Sunlight spills through the window. I open my eyes and see Ashlynn doing the same. For a moment, we simply breathe together, letting the calm wrap around us like a warm cloak. Our gazes meet, and we giggle quietly, the sound light and unburdened, a rare note of peace after yesterday's storm.
The morning stretches before us. We play, tease, and linger in each other's presence as though yesterday never happened.
No. We remember. We know. But for now, we let go of the lingering stress and the weight of past violence.
Breakfast passes in quiet comfort. Then I step outside, drawing a breath of crisp morning air. The street in front of my manor is clean, untouched—far enough removed from the epicenter of yesterday's chaos.
My personal carriage approaches, gliding to a stop. The jarvy descends and bows slightly.
"Good Tuesday, Monsieur. Are you alright?"
I nod once. "Yes, I am."
He exhales, a mix of relief and tension. "Everyone was worried when we heard about the sudden lockdown in Eldenmere."
"I see," I murmur, scanning the street.
"We heard the police used lethal force to get in… and started massacring residents."
"Wait. Residents?" My brow furrows.
He nods. "Yes. Residents," he confirms, voice grave.
The jarvy produces a newspaper from his coat and hands it to me, his hands trembling slightly. "Here," he says, eyes flicking to mine as if seeking assurance.
I take it, my fingers brushing the crisp paper. I read aloud, voice calm, deliberate.
"The Custodian Order launched an unwarranted attack…"
Wait... What?
He swallows, eyes flicking to mine. I continue.
"Innocent residents were massacred. Our beloved Ordermaster of the Gilded Ledger Order fell victim to the attack. The Butcher, Captain Arjuna celebrated the massacre, while the Republic grieves the loss of Xandar Valazam."
The jarvy leans closer. "Read the bottom line."
I do. My voice softens, but the weight lands.
"The Twilight Wraith remains loose."