The Beginning After The End novel Chapter 396

Chapter 396

Chapter 394: What Makes Home

ARTHUR LEYWIN

I was floating in a familiar hazy amethyst sea of emptiness.

The nothing-space stretched away into infinity in every direction. The absence of anything real and tangible was simultaneously a source of comfort and anxiety. Floating within it, I felt like a child huddled within my blankets, afraid of a monster under my bed I was almost certain wasn’t real—but not certain enough to let the fear fade.

Not that I’d ever had a childhood like that, but here, in the aether realm, it was easier to imagine all the different lives I might have had.

For the first time since I’d been just a small child on Earth, I imagined a life in which I’d known my real parents, ones who had raised me with love. What might I have been, then, if I hadn’t grown up as an orphan with that desperate need for attachment and love, that heart-wrenching desire to prove my worth so that someone would care for me?

I saw a life in which I’d never met Nico or Cecilia, or Headmaster Wilbek or Lady Vera. I would have learned a trade, ran a successful business, started a family of my own, and eventually died having been happy in my one peaceful, unimportant life.

“No,” a soft voice said, a physical thing that was more energy than noise.

I rotated around in the void. In the distance, a star burned bright white against the dark purple.

“Even if you lived a thousand lives, not one of them would be ‘unimportant.’”

My chest constricted, and I willed myself closer to the source of that shining light. It radiated a silvery warmth that made me feel confident and afraid and protective and loved all at once, and these feelings only grew more potent and complex as I zoomed closer.

The star grew and solidified, becoming a silhouette, which in turn manifested the refined details of a young girl with hair and eyes identical in color to mine.

I stopped just before her, greedily drinking in the sight of her, whole and unblemished. Reaching out tentatively, I poked the tip of one horn, and she stifled a delighted laugh.

“Sylvie...”

My bond smiled, and the sight of it filled me with tingling warmth.

There was so much I wanted to tell her: how sorry and grateful I was, how much I regretted everything that had happened, how much I missed her...

But I could feel our minds connecting, and I could sense in her the understanding of everything I was thinking.

“It’s still nice to hear those things said out loud sometimes, though,” she said, her head tilting slightly to the side as she examined me. “Don’t forget that.”

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Still, it’s...good to see you, Sylv.” I rubbed the back of my neck, a movement my old companion watched with clear amusement. “I’m sorry it’s taking me so long to bring you back.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got all the time in the world.” Her smile sharpened into a smirk, like she’d just said something she found very humorous.

“I will rescue you, Sylv.”

“I know. For now, though...” She reached out and poked me in the chest with one finger. As she did, a dull murmur of distant voices began to intrude on the dream. “It’s time to wake up, Arthur.”

My eyes blinked open. I was lying on a hard bed in a small chamber and staring up at the low, gray stone ceiling.

“Ouch! Damned, this thing is sharp,” the grumbling voice of Gideon exclaimed.

I turned my head slightly, revealing the old inventor with his back to me. Leaning against the far wall, Emily was watching him with the unique blend of amusement, fondness, and exasperation reserved for the old inventor. She noticed the small movement and met my eye, her expression dissolving into a look of pure relief.

“Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of genius?” I asked, getting a laugh out of Emily.

Gideon spun around and gave me an affronted look, the effect of which was somewhat dampened by the fact that he was sucking on his index finger like a wounded child. Removing the spit-shined digit, he glared at the dot of blood that immediately welled up, then at me instead.

“About time you’re awake. It’s been a day and a half, boy. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of unkillable uber hero.” He scoffed. “Our last conversation was very rudely interrupted by a bunch of Alacryans dead set on murdering us all, if you remember.”

I pushed myself up onto my elbows and maneuvered so I could sit up with my back against the wall.

The first thing I noticed was Valeska’s horn resting on a stand next to the bed.

The second thing was that everything hurt.

Looking down at my body, I realized I was covered with bandages from head to toe. The stump of my arm had regrown to the wrist, but my hand hadn’t fully formed yet. Worried, I checked my core, but it didn’t seem damaged, just low on aether. Being unconscious for such an extended period had no doubt hampered my ability to collect and purify aether effectively. Considering that, I had actually healed a lot quicker than I should have.

Something else was strange, too—an empty feeling, like something was missing.

“Regis?” I asked, worry quickening my heart rate.

He had barely been holding on when I’d woken up on the ground in the tunnel to the portal chamber, and I’d had no time to check on him beyond acknowledging that he wasn’t dead yet. I’d barely had the wherewithal to conjure my armor and build up enough aetheric reserve for a single God Step, but that alone had pushed me past the breaking point. If the Scythes hadn’t fallen for my bluff...

A small ball of purple flames and angst leaped up onto the bed, glaring at me tiredly. “What? I was napping. And having this really nice dream about—”

I reached down and tousled Regis’s puppy-form head with my good hand. “I thought you were done for.”

Regis huffed as he plopped down and rested his chin on his overly large paws. “I could say the same for you. Really went full nova back there. You were so dry on aether I haven’t been able to incorporealize myself into your core because I was soaking up too much, and I was worried you’d shrivel up like some mana-starved muck larva.”

“Well, thanks for not letting me die,” I said, bemused.

“Same though,” Regis replied before closing his eyes and immediately falling asleep again.

“You two are so cute,” Emily said, melting into a doe-eyed puddle as she stared at Regis. “I have to say, I like him a lot better this way.” She eyed Gideon carefully. “Arthur, do you think there is some way we can—”

“I am not your pet, girl!” Gideon snapped, crossing his arms and generally looking very huffy. “And anyway, all these tedious feelings are starting to give me a rash. Arthur, we need to finish our conversation so I can get back to work.”

I looked at him for a long moment as I searched my memory for some hint of our last discussion, but nothing immediately came to mind. “I’m sorry, it’s been a busy couple of days...”

“The fire salts!” he exclaimed, waving his hands. “The cannons, the...the...all of it!”

The moments before the Wraiths’ attack solidified in my mind, and the idea I’d had rushed back in, almost fully formed. “Right. Your weapons. Actually, I did have a thought.”

Gideon’s eyes lit up, and he flapped a hand at Emily. “Girl, write this down.”

Her eyebrows rose indignantly, but she pulled a scroll, pen, and ink out of a shoulder bag and made busy getting ready, shooting annoyed glares at Gideon’s back every few seconds.

“So, here’s the thing,” I began, knowing I was about to crush the old inventor. “No cannons.”

His face fell, vacillating between confusion and disappointment. “No...cannons?”

I shook my head and gave him an apologetic smile. “But, we do need to fortify our non-mage soldier’s fighting capabilities, and the technology that you’ve been working on is the foundation for how we’re going to do that.”

Although hesitant at first, as I explained my proposal in full, Gideon’s frustration transformed into studious curiosity, and then blossomed into outright excitement. Meanwhile, Emily scribbled frantically to capture everything we were discussing, only occasionally throwing in a suggestion of her own.

“This...well, it can definitely work!” Gideon said as he stared down at the long scroll full of our notes. “Not as flashy or impressive as the cannon idea, but”—he gave an exaggerated shrug—“it is a little more practical, I suppose.”

“But the priority remains on discovering how to operate the bestowal artifacts—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Gideon said, not looking at me as he turned away and started moving languidly toward the door, his nose still in the scroll. Consequently, he was also not looking at the open door and ran face first into the still form of Bairon, who had stopped in the doorframe.

“Oof! Bah, you make a better lightning rod than a door, Lance,” Gideon grumbled, conjuring a sour look from Bairon. The broad-shouldered Lance didn’t move, and Gideon was forced to shimmy through the narrow opening to leave. Emily curtseyed awkwardly in front of Bairon, who shifted, allowing her to hurry after Gideon.

Bairon watched the pair go, then looked at me with one brow raised. “It is good to see you’re awake, Arthur. We were...worried.”

I eased my legs off the bed and sat up straight. “Worried? About me?” I held out my stump of an arm, which was already healing more quickly now that I’d regained consciousness. “Just a couple minor flesh wounds.”

Bairon’s mouth twitched, but his brows turned down, as if he couldn’t decide whether to smile or frown. “I won’t pretend to understand what has happened to you, Arthur, and I doubt even you yet know the full capability of your powers. What I do know is that Dicathen is fortunate that you returned when you did, and that, after everything, you’re still willing to fight for this continent.”

I looked down at my feet, unsure what to say. My relationship with Bairon had always been hostile, and I wasn’t yet sure how to process this sudden change in the dynamic between us.

“I...want you to know something, Arthur.” I looked up to see Bairon ringing his hands, his gaze ascanse. “Maybe this won’t carry much meaning for you, but I forgive you...for my brother. For Lucas.” Finally, he met my eye. “And I’m sorry for attacking you, for”—he looked away again, some of the color draining from his face—“threatening your family.”

“Bairon, it’s—”

He raised a hand to forestall my response. “My pride blinded me to the evils of my family. My rage wasn’t even about Lucas, but your insult to our house. I was a fool, Arthur. And I’m sorry.”

I waited a moment to make sure he was finished speaking, then said, “I accept both. And I stopped blaming you for that a long time ago. The way you reacted, it wasn’t any different than what I did to Lucas. I thought it was justified in the moment—that I’d been right—but really, how I dealt with things, it made enemies, and that wasn’t smart, strategically.”

Bairon watched me with a distant, detached wariness, and there was a cold formality in his expression that reminded me of the old Bairon. Then, with a shake of his head, it was gone. “Even Lances, it appears, make mistakes. But...that is not why I’m here.”

He stood aside from the doorway, revealing a figure that had been hidden in the hallway behind him. All thought of fire salts and weapons and even the bestowment artifacts fled my mind.

Virion entered the room hesitantly, resting one old, tired hand on Bairon’s arm for just a moment. Then Bairon backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Virion pulled a wooden chair away from the wall and sat stiffly. His gaze roamed around the room for several very long seconds before settling on me. He cleared his throat.

“Virion, how are you feel—”

“Listen, Arthur, I needed to—”

We had both started speaking at the same time, then both immediately stopped. Virion leaned forward, his fists clenched together, and stared at the floor in silence, his body tense, a simmering animosity evident in each still movement.

I realized just how on edge I was, too. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to relax. Beside me, Regis rolled over and continued sleeping. At least, I thought he was sleeping until one eye peeked open a slit, caught me watching, and quickly shut again.

“It’s good to see you, Gramps. How...are you?” My tone was hesitant, almost awkward. There had been no time to address it since my return to Dicathen, but it was clear that Virion was keeping his distance from me, and I wasn’t sure why.

Virion stared down at his hands for a long moment, then said, “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

I opened my mouth to immediately interrupt, caught myself, and closed it slowly, waiting for Virion to continue.