Nicanor resumes our training the next day as though nothing ever happened. I run and fight just as hard as ever, because I recognize the wisdom of keeping sharp, but my heart isn’t in it right now.

  The pragmatic [Spear Commander] doesn’t say a word in rebuke. If anything, his eyes are soft and sad when I catch him looking at me. In a way, I respect him more for it.

  It’s difficult to still like the man, though.

  That hits me the hardest. I really enjoy his company. He’s a truly gifted fighter, but unlike some talented people I know, he’s good at breaking down techniques into simple instructions that even I can understand. I’ve begun to think of him as part of the team. Almost like family.

  Yet what kind of family happily trades the life of a child or father or aunt or cousin just so that the rest of us are better off?

  I’m not naive. I get it. Plenty of real families would put the clan over the individual. I can’t even fully blame them for making that calculation, honestly.

  It’s the smart thing to do sometimes.

  That doesn’t lessen my hatred for that kind of perspective. I don’t want to be that kind of man. I’ve already crossed lines I never dreamed I would, but my cruelty toward enemies has always been done with kindness toward my friends firmly in mind. Getting those two groups twisted feels abhorrent to me.

  The uneasy truce between us continues as the final week of our trip home flashes by. Each day feels longer than the last, a miserable slog that tests my endurance and strains my patience while we fight dawn to dusk. Yet, paradoxically, the week itself feels as short as any I can remember.

  Life’s funny like that sometimes.

  We agree to table our plans for Tem until Nicanor has time to assess the situation with his old friends who retired from the Army. He knows a few former [Soldiers] who now work guard duty at Voron’s Tower. If we do need to hammer out the rest of the details to spring Tem free, we’ll rely on my golems to carry hidden messages back and forth, encoded exclusively to each other’s mana signatures.

  Just before town, I wave farewell to Nicanor, First, and Net, who slip away to secure lodging in the Silaraon barracks. Not a single one spares us a backward glance after our terse goodbyes, though I feel zero animosity through my Domain.

  Only single-minded purpose.

  Our parting is so cut and dried, so transactional, that I don’t even feel upset about it yet. I’m still numb. In denial, most likely. And despite my conflicted feelings, I still find I miss them.

  With an aching, hollow heart, I take the last several steps toward my home city. It’s much smaller than I recall. Or maybe my sense of scale has shifted, after time in the capital and then living in Gilead for half a year. Borderlands cities aren’t very impressive in comparison.

  No place I’d rather be. I don’t care if it’s podunk. Silaraon is home.

  I recall at the last second to disable my Domain before I punch through the mage barrier surrounding the town. For once, we enter a city without any drama or fanfare, which is a nice change of pace compared with the chaos of the last year or two.

  All in all, it’s a quiet return to Silaraon—

  “Halt! Do I know you?”

  That is, until one of the guards at the gate turns to peer over his shoulder and squint at us intently. No, not at our team. At me.

  He tugs on one side of his long, dark mustache, frowning from under the scratched rim of his old helmet. His large shoulders tense.

  When he pulls out a piece of paper and studies it, alarms go off in my mind. I peek at the paper through my [Arcane Domain], and verify that it has a mage image with my face on it.

  Oh. Oh no.

  Sure enough, the big man’s eyes narrow in recognition, and I know we’re done for. I must have the worst luck in the world.

  Sighing, I brace for the inevitable, trying to figure out how much trouble I’ll be in if I drop him unconscious with a blast from my Domain and run for it. I glance at the tired expression on my brother’s face, look over at the Linas, who are scowling, and decide to play it safe. I owe them a measure of peace and quiet.

  “Nuri Shahi? Of Ember’s studio?”

  “Yessir. That’s me,” I say cheerfully.

  I am dead inside.

  He smacks the back of his hand against the paper with my portrait. “Aha! Thought so. What’s wrong, thinking you could sneak your way in, huh?”

  Ugh. What will I get arrested for this time?

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, fending off a mounting headache. “Sorry, what’s this about? Have I broken some law?”

  “What? No, no! Nothing like that. I’m just chuffed to see you. Look, I know you probably get this all the time, but can I get an autograph? My daughter is never going to believe me when I tell her that I met you!”

  The world stutters to a stop.

  Wait.

  What?

  While I’m still struggling to get my bearings, Mikko shoulders past me. He’s the same height as the guard, but somehow manages to loom over him. “We’re off the clock and on our way back from a long journey. Bring your daughter by the studio tomorrow during office hours and we will arrange a meeting. Souvenirs are extra.”

  “Oh! Terribly sorry, Sir,” the guard replies, wringing his hands. Contrition looks so out of place on such a huge, muscular frame that I start to feel embarrassed on his behalf. “Bad form to bother you like that. Long road, huh? Oh. Um. Right. I’ll come by tomorrow before my shift and ask for that autograph. Thank you!”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Dazed and terribly confused, I only nod in confirmation as my brother guides me away with gentle yet inexorably strong hands. He and the Linas encourage me to just keep walking, and soon we’re on the familiar road to my family’s house.

  Replaying the strange interaction in my mind doesn’t bring a lot of clarity. How in the abyss does he know who I am? And why does he care?

  Before my muddled thoughts and tangled emotions can put themselves aright, the front door opens. My mother steps outside, a soft look in her eyes and a smile on her face.

  She rushes out, sprinting forward to pull us into hugs, one in each arm. Squeezing as hard as she can, she holds us tight, locking us in place despite how much taller and broader we are than she is.

  “My boys are home,” she whispers, showering our necks with kisses since she can’t reach any higher without going on her tiptoes.

  When we finally withdraw, she pretends to just now notice Avelina. A mischievous smile creases her face, making Avelina squirm.

  “Little Ava! How long until I can call you daughter?” she teases at last, opening her arms wide for one more hug.

  Mikko joins them, and then Kirsi is calling for her husband Reijo to come celebrate the good news, and none of us can stop grinning madly.

  Finally, something I can be genuinely, fully happy about! My cheeks ache from smiling so hard, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s so nice to celebrate without any mixed feelings or strange reservations, which so many of my other choices seem fraught with lately.

  I clap my brother on the back, pull my soon-to-be sister-in-law in a one-armed hug, and join the family as we dance around in circles and laugh.

  Everything feels right for once.

  It’s so good to be home. I can’t wait to rest a while, and then catch up with all my old teachers and friends. I’ve missed them. They keep me grounded. And right now, I need a touch of normality in my life again.

  =+=

  “What do you mean by ‘retired,’ exactly?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and regret how tense my voice sounds, cracking at the end despite my attempt to seem reasonable. Gone are any chances to sound like I’m asking for clarification, instead of making an accusation, but I’m falling untethered through a void.

  It’s like I don't even know Ember anymore. My entire world has been spinning ever since we got back to Silaraon. I just want the ground to feel solid under my feet again. Normal. The way things were.

  Ember and I are staring each other down in an uncomfortable reunion. Where is the confident, powerful warrior who always knew exactly what to do and say? When did her hair start to turn silver, and her body look so frail?

  “You’ve surpassed me,” Ember says bluntly.

  “You say that like it explains everything!”

  “It should. It was time.” She shrugs, seemingly content to leave the discussion alone.

  “It doesn’t, you know.” I sigh and gesture at her in futility as my words fail me. “Explain everything, I mean. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “You’ve seen the books,” she replies mildly, sweeping a hand toward the office space behind her studio apartment. “We’re filthy rich now. You know my contributions are a pittance compared with the tithe I earn just from being registered as your official master.”

  “And that’s a good enough reason to—what, give up?” I sputter.

  Ember huffs, and for a split second, she looks like the powerful warrior I remember. “I shouldn’t even be on the list! Lady Evershed or Master Melidandri deserve my spot. They taught you far more than I ever could.”

  “They built on your foundation,” I remind her sternly. It’s strange for me to see her like this, so unsure of herself and racked by self-doubt. Since when did she struggle with insecurity?

  Maybe always, I think suddenly.

  Truth resonates through that statement. The answer hits me like a war hammer between the eyes. Ember isn’t some all-knowing, cosmic figure, no matter how much she overshadowed my youth after my parents passed. She’s just my Aunt Em, trying desperately to do her best for her dead friend’s son.

  Cold, implacable light of revelation bursts in my soul, chasing away the last shadows of youthful ignorance. I gasp as though leaping into an icy mountain stream, but at least the world stops spinning. Emboldened by the epiphany, I step forward and sweep Ember up in a tight embrace. My voice cracks once again as I tell her how much she’s done for me, how much she means to me.

  She squeezes back tentatively, and when I match her strength for strength, she tightens her arms and allows me the rare privilege of showing affection to one of the people I respect the most in the entire world.

  “All right, that’s enough sentimentality,” her gruff voice barks out a few seconds later. Pulling away, she smacks my shoulder, scowling. She steps back and regards me critically for a long moment, nodding once she apparently finds what she’s looking for.

  “You’ve gotten strong. Good. You’re finally filling out. Training with that spear maniac must be good for you.”

  Ever the soldier, rarely the aunt.

  I bite my tongue and don’t speak the words on my mind. I have plenty of instructors and superiors, but only a few members of my family. Why can’t she relax? Let the stress go. Greet me as an old friend. Practically a son.

  “I don’t know how you pulled off a deal with the Orpheus House, Nuri, but their auction representatives swept in a couple months ago and bought your entire stock of imbued items. I had to refuse sale on the last three just so we could release them ourselves to a market of our own choosing.”

  “Huh. I’m surprised they took no for an answer. Ozana is usually quite persuasive,” I say with an easy shrug.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Ember says, pointing at my chest with an outstretched hand. Like a blade at ready, it’s right down my centerline. She’s a coiled spring, a bound spell, ready to be unleashed. Even in conversation with her favorite nephew, Ember looks prepared to fight for her life.

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  “I looked them up, before agreeing to the deal, even though Ezio assured me that you and Rakesh had approved everything from your side. Ozana broke into the Second Threshold before you were even born, Nuri. She’s one of the wealthiest, most powerful people in the entire country. And you casually talk about her as though she’s simply another acquaintance.”

  “Oh. That.” I press my lips together and breathe out through my nose, steeling myself for what I’m about to reveal. “It’s hard to worry about things like titles or status when you’ve faced down city-eaters and won, or fought a Third Threshold [Death Mage] who wants to take over Densmore.”

  “Is that what has the Army so spooked? Never seen so much preparation without a war coming on its heels.” Her eyes narrow as she processes the last half of my declaration. “[Death Mage], huh? How’d you survive?”

  “Carved his vitrified body into pieces.”

  Ember snorts. “All that, and you wonder why I’m semi-retired! You don’t need me to look after you anymore, Nuri.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Auntie Em. War is coming. You’re right about that. But for someone so smart, you’re talented at missing the point. I don’t need a protector; I need family. Now more than ever.”

  “War is always coming, foolish boy,” Ember says, but her words are softened by the fond look in her eyes.

  She claps her hands together abruptly, making every candle in the room flare with black flames. “All right. If that’s how it’s gonna be, then let’s go win this war.”

  “You’re the best, Auntie Em.”

  She grimaces as though biting into a sour fruit. “When did—nevermind. I don’t care. Stop calling me that.”

  “Not a chance,” I say happily.

  “Peh! Fine, but keep it between us. I hear that in public and I’ll box your ears,” Ember threatens me.

  “Deal,” I say, my voice husky with raw emotion. “We’ll hire someone to run the studio. I want you by my side.”

  “Ezio can be our book-keeper. He’s already invested,” Ember says. “I’ll train your little crew, Nuri. You might be a big shot now, but someone’s gotta keep the rank and file alive. Don’t worry. I’ll whip em into shape.”

  I hug her tightly again, despite her token attempt to fend me off, and laugh joyously. “Counting on it, Auntie Em!”

  It’s a sign of how much she loves me that she doesn’t box my ears over the nickname.