The processing center courtyard had transformed into a holding pen for the condemned.
Three thousand runners stood in clusters, their faces and clothes marked with crimson dye. Some prayed. Some wept. Some stood in numb silence, already dead inside.
Ethan stood with Dimitri and Roman against the stone wall, his eyes fixed on the massive iron gates at the northern end of the courtyard.
Those gates lead to the streets.
Once they open, there's no going back.
[FINAL SYSTEMS CHECK COMPLETE. ALL TACTICAL DATA LOADED. OPTIMAL ESCAPE ROUTE CONFIRMED.]
NEXUS. Status on street mapping.
[MAPPING: 52% COMPLETE. SUFFICIENT FOR PRIMARY ROUTE NAVIGATION. TEMPLE OF THE FALLEN LOCATION CONFIRMED. DISTANCE FROM GATE: 287 METERS.]
287 meters through chaos.
Ethan turned to his companions.
"When those gates open, stay with me. Don't run toward obvious exits. Don't follow the crowds. Watch where I go and follow exactly."
Roman nodded, his face pale but determined.
Dimitri's hands trembled slightly, but his eyes were clear.
"I'm seventy-three years old, boy. I'll slow you down."
"Then we move at a pace that keeps us all alive," Ethan said firmly. "We go together or we don't go at all."
A horn sounded.
Long. Deep. Final.
The entire courtyard fell silent.
Then—voices from beyond the walls, amplified by some mechanism Ethan didn't understand.
"CITIZENS OF URA! HONORED GUESTS! NOBLE HOUSES OF THE NORTHERN KINGDOMS!"
The voice was jubilant. Hungry.
"THE THREE HUNDREDTH FESTIVAL OF HEROES BEGINS NOW!"
A roar erupted from beyond the walls—thousands of voices cheering, celebrating.
"THREE THOUSAND RUNNERS STAND READY! THE GREATEST HUNT IN THREE CENTURIES!"
[HOST VITALS ELEVATED. HEART RATE: 142 BPM. ADRENALINE LEVELS SPIKING. RECOMMEND CONTROLLED BREATHING.]
Ethan forced himself to breathe slowly.
Stay calm. Stay focused.
"THE RULES ARE SACRED! THE WALL IS FREEDOM! THE HUNT IS GLORY!"
The gates began to move.
Massive iron mechanisms groaned. Chains rattled. Metal scraped against stone.
The gates were opening.
"RUNNERS! LET THE FESTIVAL OF HEROES... BEGIN!"
The gates slammed open.
For one heartbeat, no one moved.
Then—
Chaos.
The First MinutesThree thousand runners surged forward like a breaking dam.
Screaming. Shoving. Trampling. A desperate tide of bodies crashing toward the gates.
"NOW!" Dimitri shouted, starting to run toward the right side of the gate.
Roman followed instinctively.
"STOP!"
Ethan's voice cut through the chaos. He grabbed both men by their arms, yanking them back.
"What are you—" Roman started.
"Look. UP."
They looked.
On the rooftops flanking the right side of the gate, barely visible in the shadows—
Archers.
Twenty. Maybe thirty. House Krell hunters, already positioned, bows drawn.
Waiting.
"They know most runners will instinctively go right," Ethan said rapidly. "Away from the main crowd. The 'smart' ones. That's the trap."
[THREAT ASSESSMENT CONFIRMED. ARCHER POSITIONS OPTIMIZED FOR RIGHT-SIDE COVERAGE. RECOMMENDATION: AVOID.]
Dimitri's face went pale. "If we'd run that way..."
"You'd be dead in five seconds."
"Left side!" Ethan pointed. "Narrow streets. Less archer coverage. Move!"
They ran.
Not with the main crowd surging straight through the center gates.
Not to the right where the archers waited.
To the left, where a narrow alley branched off from the main street.
[ANALYZING CROWD FLOW... OPTIMAL ENTRY WINDOW... NOW.]
They hit the gates at an angle, slipping through behind a group of younger runners.
The moment Ethan's feet touched the street beyond, the screaming intensified.
Behind them, arrows fell on those who had gone right.
Bodies collapsed.
The crowd panicked, stampeding in every direction.
"Don't look back!" Ethan commanded. "The alley! NOW!"
They squeezed into the narrow street—barely wide enough for two people side by side. The walls rose high on either side, cutting off the archers' sightlines.
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: MINIMAL ARCHER EXPOSURE. CONTINUING NORTHWEST TRAJECTORY TOWARD TEMPLE DISTRICT.]
The three of them ran.
Dimitri struggled to keep pace, his old legs protesting, but Roman grabbed his arm, half-dragging him forward.
"Keep moving, oldman! We're not dying today!"
The alley twisted. Turned. Opened onto a small courtyard.
Empty.
No spectators. No hunters.
Just silence.
Too quiet.
[ALERT. MOVEMENT DETECTED. MULTIPLE CONTACTS AHEAD.]
Ethan threw up his hand. "Stop!"
They froze.
From the opposite side of the courtyard, soldiers emerged.
Five of them. House Thane colors. Armor, shields, swords.
Not mounted. Not archers.
Infantry.
The lead soldier saw them and smiled.
"Well, well. Only three? The rest of your group must have been smarter."
He drew his sword.
"This will be quick."
[TACTICAL ANALYSIS: 5 ARMED SOLDIERS VS. 3 UNARMED TARGETS. CONVENTIONAL ASSESSMENT: HOSTILE VICTORY PROBABILITY 99.7%.]
Conventional isn't what we're doing.
Ethan's mind raced.
They're overconfident. They see three marked runners—one old man, one middle-aged, one young. They think this is easy prey.
Use that.
"NEXUS. Environmental analysis. Weapons. Advantages. Anything."
[SCANNING... COURTYARD FEATURES: BROKEN FOUNTAIN TO LEFT. LOOSE COBBLESTONES. WOODEN CRATES STACKED AGAINST EAST WALL. SOLDIERS ADVANCING IN LINEAR FORMATION—TACTICALLY INEFFICIENT FOR CONFINED SPACE.]
The crates.
"Roman," Ethan whispered urgently. "When I say 'now,' throw me toward those crates on the left. As hard as you can."
"What?"
"Do you trust me?"
Roman stared at him. Then nodded. "I've lost my mind, but yes."
"Dimitri, when the soldiers react to me, go for the fountain. Grab anything you can use as a weapon."
The old man's eyes sharpened. "You have a plan."
"Something like that."
The soldiers advanced.
Ten meters away.
"Ready to die, little runners?" the leader mocked.
"NOW!"
Roman grabbed Ethan by the arm and shoulder and hurled him to the left with surprising strength.
Ethan sailed through the air, crashed into the stacked crates—
And they collapsed.
Tools spilled out. Lengths of wood. Metal implements.
A construction site. They were repairing the fountain.
Ethan's hand closed around a wooden mallet.
The soldiers hesitated, confused by the unexpected move.
Dimitri dove toward the fountain, grabbing a broken piece of stone masonry.
Roman scooped up a length of metal pipe that had fallen from the crates.
The lead soldier's smile vanished.
"They're armed! Formation!"
But the narrow courtyard made formation impossible. They bunched up, getting in each other's way.
[ENEMY TACTICAL ERROR CONFIRMED. EXPLOITABLE OPENING DETECTED.]
"Roman! Left one!"
The soldier on the left tried to raise his shield, but Roman was faster—desperation and rage fueling him. The metal pipe cracked against the man's helmet with a sound like a bell.
The soldier staggered.
Roman hit him again.
The soldier fell.
[THREAT COUNT: 4 REMAINING. RECOMMEND FOCUSED ENGAGEMENT ON ISOLATED TARGET.]
The second soldier turned toward Roman, sword raised.
Ethan moved.
[CALCULATING OPTIMAL STRIKE ANGLE... TARGETING JOINT WEAKNESS IN ARMOR... NOW.]
The mallet came down on the back of the soldier's knee—right where the armor plates didn't quite meet.
Bone crunched.
The soldier screamed and collapsed.
"What the—" The lead soldier's confidence shattered. "They're actually fighting back!"
Most runners don't, Ethan realized. Most just run. Panic. Die.
But we're not most runners.
Dimitri surprised everyone.
The old man might have been seventy-three, but he had been strong once. A merchant's son who had traveled dangerous roads. And forty years as a slave had taught him when to strike.
He swung the stone masonry at the third soldier's sword arm.
Impact.
The sword clattered to the ground.
[THREAT COUNT: 2 REMAINING. LEADER AND ONE SOLDIER.]
The remaining soldier looked at his leader. "Sir, we should—"
"Shut up and fight!"
But the confidence was gone. They had expected easy prey. Instead, they had found desperation, intelligence, and coordination.
"Ethan!" Roman shouted. "Behind you!"
The leader had circled around, trying to flank.
[THREAT DETECTED. CALCULATING EVASION...]
Ethan spun, raising the mallet to block—
The sword cut through the wooden handle.
The blade stopped inches from Ethan's chest.
Too close.
[ANALYZING OPPONENT STANCE... WEIGHT DISTRIBUTION FORWARD... VULNERABLE TO LOWER ATTACK...]
Ethan dropped and swept his leg out.
The soldier, overcommitted to his sword strike, couldn't compensate.
He fell.
Roman was there instantly, the pipe coming down.
Once.
Twice.
The soldier stopped moving.
The last soldier standing dropped his weapon.
"I surrender! I surrender!"
He ran.
Bolted back into the alley he'd come from, his footsteps echoing.
Silence fell over the courtyard.
Ethan stood, breathing hard, staring at the fallen soldiers.
We just... we actually...
"We need to move," Dimitri said quietly. His hands were shaking, but his voice was steady. "More will come. This area will be swarming soon."
Roman stared at the pipe in his hands. "I've never... I mean, I've been in fights, but..."
"Later," Ethan said firmly. "Dimitri's right. We move. Now."
[TEMPLE OF THE FALLEN: 164 METERS NORTHWEST. ROUTE UPDATED TO AVOID PATROL ROUTES.]
They grabbed what weapons they could carry—Roman kept the pipe, Ethan took a fallen soldier's dagger, Dimitri found a short sword he could barely lift but refused to leave behind.
"The temple," Ethan said. "Through the Undercity. Like we planned."
They ran.
Into the DarkThe Temple of the Fallen rose before them like a mountain of black stone.
Three spires reaching toward the violet sky. Ancient. Imposing. Silent.
The plaza before it was empty—most runners had avoided this area, knowing the temple district was harder to escape from.
But that was the point.
Everyone else runs toward the walls.
We run toward the one place no one expects.
They reached the temple doors.
Heavy wood, carved with symbols Ethan didn't recognize.
Dimitri pushed them open.
Inside—darkness and silence.
"The crypt," Dimitri said, his voice echoing. "Behind the altar. Just as I remembered."
They found the stairs leading down.
And descended into the Undercity.
The temperature dropped with every step.
The violet light from above faded.
By the time they reached the bottom, they were in nearly complete darkness.
[ACTIVATING LOW-LIGHT VISUAL ENHANCEMENT. WARNING: INCREASED STRAIN ON OPTICAL PROCESSING.]
Ethan's vision adjusted—colors washing out, but shapes becoming clearer.
"I can't see anything," Roman whispered.
"Follow my voice. Stay close. Dimitri, you remember the route?"
"Left passage. Three scratches. Two hundred meters, then turn right."
"Good. Move."
They entered the tunnel.
The walls closed in. The ceiling lowered. The darkness became absolute except for Ethan's enhanced vision.
Water dripped somewhere.
The air smelled of damp earth and age.
And something else.
[ALERT. MOVEMENT DETECTED BEHIND. DISTANCE: APPROXIMATELY 40 METERS. MULTIPLE CONTACTS.]
Ethan's blood ran cold.
"Someone's following us."
Roman gripped his pipe tighter. "Hunters?"
"Who else?"
[ANALYZING PURSUIT PATTERN... MOVEMENT STYLE CONSISTENT WITH TRAINED TRACKERS. ESTIMATED COUNT: 2 INDIVIDUALS. PROBABILITY: HOUSE MORROW.]
Of course.
The hunters who track. Who follow. Who never give up.
"How far to the next junction?" Ethan asked.
"Fifty meters, maybe," Dimitri said. "But the tunnels branch. We could lose them."
"Or they could split up and cut us off."
[TACTICAL RECOMMENDATION: CONFRONT PURSUERS IN CONTROLLED ENVIRONMENT. CURRENT TUNNEL SECTION NARROW—LIMITS NUMERICAL ADVANTAGE. ELIMINATES POSSIBILITY OF FLANKING.]
You're suggesting we fight them.
[AFFIRMATIVE. CONTINUING RETREAT ALLOWS HUNTERS TO CHOOSE ENGAGEMENT TIMING. AMBUSH PROVIDES TACTICAL SUPERIORITY.]
Two trained hunters. In the dark. Where they can't see but we can barely see.
[CORRECTION: HOST POSSESSES LOW-LIGHT VISUAL ENHANCEMENT VIA NANOBOT PROCESSING. HUNTERS DO NOT. ADVANTAGE: HOST.]
Ethan stopped walking.
"What are you doing?" Roman hissed.
"Setting a trap."
The Hunters in the Dark"Dimitri, how far ahead is that cistern you mentioned? The dry one with the low ceiling?"
The old man thought. "Maybe thirty meters."
"Perfect. We make our stand there."
"Are you insane?!" Roman grabbed his arm. "These are House Morrow hunters! Trained assassins! We got lucky with those soldiers, but—"
"It wasn't luck. It was tactics. And down here, in the dark, we have the advantage."
They moved quickly to the cistern.
It was exactly as Dimitri described—a circular chamber where ancient water collection had once occurred. The ceiling was low, maybe two meters high. Multiple tunnel entrances branched off in different directions.
Perfect.
[ANALYZING CHAMBER TOPOLOGY... MULTIPLE ENTRY POINTS... AMBUSH POSITIONS IDENTIFIED.]
"Roman, north entrance with your pipe. Wait until they're inside. Dimitri, east entrance, stay hidden. When they enter, I'll have their attention. You strike from behind."
"And you?" Roman asked.
Ethan pulled out the dagger he'd taken.
"I'll be the bait."
They took their positions.
Ethan stood in the center of the cistern, his enhanced vision tracking the darkness.
Waiting.
The footsteps grew closer.
Closer.
Two figures emerged from the southern tunnel entrance.
House Morrow hunters.
They wore dark leather armor, designed for stealth rather than protection. Each carried a sword. Each moved with the confidence of predators who had never lost their prey.
They saw Ethan standing in the center of the chamber.
And they smiled.
"Clever," the first hunter said. His voice was calm. Almost amused. "Most runners flee until exhaustion. But you... you chose your ground."
The second hunter circled to the left. "It won't matter. You're unarmed. Untrained. Already dead."
"I have a dagger," Ethan said.
The first hunter laughed. "A dagger. Against two of us. In the dark where you can barely see."
That's what you think.
[BOTH TARGETS ACQUIRED. TRACKING MOVEMENTS. HUNTER ONE: 4 METERS, ADVANCING. HUNTER TWO: 5 METERS, FLANKING LEFT.]
"Tell me something," Ethan said, buying time. "Why follow us down here? There are hundreds of other runners above. Easier targets."
The first hunter's eyes narrowed. "You're not like the others. The way you moved in the temple plaza. The way you think. You're... interesting."
"House Morrow doesn't hunt for easy targets," the second hunter added. "We hunt for the thrill. And you... you might actually provide one."
They don't know about NEXUS. About the nanobots. About my enhanced vision.
They think I'm just a clever runner.
Use that.
[HUNTER ONE: 3 METERS. PREPARING TO STRIKE. ATTACK PATTERN PREDICTABLE—OVERHEAD SLASH DESIGNED TO FORCE DEFENSIVE CROUCH, FOLLOWED BY HUNTER TWO'S FLANKING STRIKE.]
I need them both committed. Both focused on me.
The first hunter raised his sword.
"Any last words?"
"Yes," Ethan said. "Now."
Roman emerged from the north tunnel and swung the metal pipe with every ounce of strength.
It caught the second hunter across the back of the head.
The man went down like a felled tree.
The first hunter spun, shocked—
And Dimitri's short sword stabbed into his side, right where the leather armor had a gap for mobility.
The hunter screamed.
Ethan moved.
[TARGET INJURED BUT NOT INCAPACITATED. RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE FOLLOW-UP STRIKE.]
The hunter tried to turn, tried to bring his sword up—
Ethan's dagger found his throat.
The hunter's eyes went wide.
He collapsed.
Silence fell.
Roman stood over the unconscious second hunter, pipe raised.
"Is he...?"
"Unconscious," Ethan said. "But not for long."
[RECOMMEND SECURING THREAT.]
Roman understood.
The pipe came down again.
And didn't rise a third time.
Dimitri leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
"We just... we actually..."
"Survived," Ethan finished. "We survived. Now we keep moving."
They took the hunters' weapons—proper swords, better than the scavenged tools they'd carried.
And they continued into the darkness.
The Western WallThe tunnels seemed endless.
Left turn. Right turn. Following the scratched symbols that only Ethan could see clearly in the dark.
Three horizontal lines: forward.
Circle with line: dead end, go back.
X: danger—they avoided those passages.
Dimitri's memory proved accurate. Every junction matched his description.
Finally—
[DETECTING CHANGE IN AIR PRESSURE. EXIT TUNNEL AHEAD.]
"I see light," Roman said. "Actual light!"
They emerged behind the old tannery, exactly where Dimitri had said they would.
The western merchant district.
Unclaimed territory.
Quiet.
"The wall," Ethan said, pointing.
There it was.
Fifty meters away.
The outer wall of Ura. Massive. Imposing.
And empty of hunters.
"Is this real?" Roman whispered. "Are we actually going to make it?"
"Don't celebrate yet," Dimitri cautioned. "We still have to touch it."
They moved cautiously.
Forty meters.
Thirty meters.
Twenty meters.
No arrows. No riders. No soldiers.
The nobles didn't expect anyone to make it this far.
They concentrated all their forces near the release points. Near the obvious routes.
But we took the path no one else could follow.
Ten meters.
[WALL STRUCTURE CONFIRMED. NO VISIBLE THREATS. RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE COMPLETION OF OBJECTIVE.]
Five meters.
Ethan reached out.
His fingers touched stone.
Cold. Rough. Real.
Roman's hand slammed against the wall beside him.
Dimitri, tears streaming down his weathered face, pressed both palms against the ancient stones.
They had done it.
In three hundred years of the Festival of Heroes, they were the first.
The first to touch the wall.
The first to earn freedom.
A horn sounded from the city center.
Distant. Confused.
Voices rose in shock and disbelief.
"SOMEONE TOUCHED THE WALL!"
"IMPOSSIBLE!"
"THE RULES ARE SACRED!"
"We need to leave," Ethan said. "Now. Before they decide rules don't matter."
"The gates," Dimitri said. "The western gate is just there. For those who earn freedom..."
They ran.
The gate stood open—required by the ancient rules. Any who touched the wall could leave freely.
No one had ever expected anyone to use it.
Guards stood at the gate, their faces showing utter shock.
"You... you actually..."
"The rules are sacred," Ethan said firmly. "We touched the wall. We are free. You cannot stop us."
The guards looked at each other.
Then, slowly, they stepped aside.
"Go. Before the nobles decide to make an exception."
Ethan, Roman, and Dimitri walked through the gate.
Behind them, the city of Ura erupted in chaos—horns blowing, voices shouting, nobles screaming in rage at the impossible.
But ahead—
Open road.
Open sky.
Freedom.
They didn't stop walking until the city was a distant shape on the horizon.
Only then did Roman collapse to his knees, laughing and sobbing simultaneously.
"We did it. We actually did it!"
Dimitri sat down heavily, staring at his hands.
"Forty years. Forty years I've been a slave. And now..."
"Now you're free," Ethan said quietly.
The old man looked up at him with eyes full of wonder.
"Thank you."
Ethan looked back at the distant city.
I came to this world to plant a beacon. To complete a mission.
But I never planted it. I never even tried.
Because survival took precedence.
Now what?
[HOST. QUERY: WHAT IS YOUR NEXT OBJECTIVE?]
Ethan pulled the small beacon device from where he'd hidden it in his clothing.
Still intact. Still functional.
I need to find a safe location. Complete the mission. Signal Earth.
Then find a way home.
To Maya.
But first—
"We need to get as far from Ura as possible," he said. "They may send hunters after us. Claim we cheated somehow."
"Where do we go?" Roman asked.
Dimitri stood slowly.
"I know a place. A village three days west. They don't love Ura there. They'll hide us."
"Then we go west."
They started walking.
Three freed slaves.
Three survivors of the impossible.
And behind them, in the city of Ura, the Festival of Heroes had been broken for the first time in three hundred years.
They didn't stop walking until the city was a distant shape on the horizon.
Only then did Roman collapse to his knees, laughing and sobbing simultaneously.
"We did it. We actually did it!"
Dimitri sat down heavily, staring at his hands.
"Forty years. Forty years I've been a slave. And now..."
"Now you're free," Ethan said quietly.
The old man looked up at him with eyes full of wonder.
"Thank you."
Ethan looked back at the distant city.
I came to this world to plant a beacon. To complete a mission.
But the beacon was destroyed in the crash. Along with the ship. Along with any way to signal Earth.
The mission failed before it even began.
His hand instinctively went to his chest, where the beacon should have been.
Gone.
[HOST. QUERY: WHAT IS YOUR NEXT OBJECTIVE?]
I don't know.
The honest answer surprised him.
Without the beacon, I can't create a stable wormhole. Without the ship, I can't return home. Without the Vitallium samples, the mission is a failure.
So what now?
[OBSERVATION: HOST IS ALIVE. MISSION PARAMETERS MAY HAVE FAILED, BUT HOST SURVIVAL CONTINUES.]
Survival isn't the same as success.
[COUNTERPOINT: HOST PROMISED TO RETURN TO SISTER MAYA. SURVIVAL IS PREREQUISITE FOR KEEPING THAT PROMISE.]
Ethan closed his eyes.
Maya.
Dr. Steve promised to care for her. But how long will he wait before declaring me dead? How long before he stops the treatments?
I have to find a way back. Somehow.
"Ethan?"
He opened his eyes. Roman was watching him with concern.
"You alright? You've got that look again. Like you're thinking about things a thousand miles away."
"Something like that."
"Well, think while walking," Dimitri said, pushing himself to his feet. "We need to get as far from Ura as possible. They may send hunters after us. Claim we cheated somehow."
"Where do we go?" Roman asked.
Dimitri pointed west.
"I know a place. A village three days west of here. Millcrest. They don't love Ura there—too many of their people have been taken for the Festival over the years. They'll hide us."
"Then we go west," Ethan said.
They started walking.
Three freed slaves.
Three survivors of the impossible.
And behind them, in the city of Ura, the Festival of Heroes had been broken for the first time in three hundred years.
Ethan walked in silence, his mind racing with impossible calculations.
No beacon. No ship. No way home.
But I have NEXUS. I have the nanobots—the most advanced technology Earth has ever created.
And I have time. Five days until the brain mutation reaches critical phase.
Five days to figure out what comes next.
[HOST. ADDITIONAL OBSERVATION.]
What?
[YOU ARE THE ONLY HUMAN TO SUCCESSFULLY NAVIGATE WORMHOLE TRANSIT. THE ONLY SURVIVOR OF DIRECT RADIATION EXPOSURE. THE ONLY HOST BONDED WITH FUNCTIONAL NANOBOT INTEGRATION.]
Your point?
[IF EARTH COULD CREATE ONE WORMHOLE, THEY CAN CREATE ANOTHER. DR. STEVE HAS THE TECHNOLOGY. THE KNOWLEDGE. IF HE BELIEVES HOST IS ALIVE, HE MAY ATTEMPT SECOND TRANSIT.]
Ethan paused mid-step.
But how would he know I'm alive? I can't signal him. The beacon is gone.
[INSUFFICIENT DATA TO ANSWER. HOWEVER: SURVIVAL REMAINS OPTIMAL STRATEGY. REMAINING ALIVE INCREASES PROBABILITY OF EVENTUAL RESCUE, HOWEVER LOW.]
Low is better than zero.
[CORRECT.]
"You coming or not?" Roman called back.
Ethan looked at his companions—two men who had trusted him, followed him into darkness, and emerged into freedom.
I can't tell them the truth. That I'm from another world. That I was sent here on a mission that's already failed. That I might die in five days from a mutation I can't control.
They wouldn't understand. They'd think I was insane.
Or worse—they'd think I was dangerous.
But he could give them something else.
"I'm coming," he said, catching up. "And... thank you. Both of you. For trusting me."
Roman laughed. "Trust you? I thought you were insane. Still do, honestly. But you're insane in a way that keeps us alive, so I'll take it."
Dimitri smiled. "You gave me something I thought I'd never have again. Hope. Purpose. A reason to fight instead of just endure."
He gripped Ethan's shoulder.
"Whatever you're running from, boy—whatever secrets you're carrying—they're yours to keep. You earned that much."
They walked west as the twin suns began to set, painting the violet sky in shades of crimson and gold.
Behind them, Ura faded into the distance.
Ahead, an unknown world stretched endlessly.
And somewhere, far across the impossible gulf between worlds, Maya lay in a hospital bed, waiting for a brother who might never return.
I'm still alive, Ethan thought. That has to count for something.
I'll find a way back. Somehow.
I promised.